Page 1 of Threaded Lies

ONE

Rowan

Two can play this game.

That’s the motto I repeat over and over with each step, each click of my sky-high fuck-you heels that echo as I waltz into the TinSpirits office.

My bravado might be false, but my resolve is stronger than ever.

It’s been six days.

Of utter confusion.

Of chest-aching heartbreak.

Of dodging Chadwick and my mom and their incessant push for wedding plans—all of which makes my stomach churn.

Of trying to figure out how to play any and every angle of this mess to my advantage but still coming up short.

Of Holden’s utter fucking silence.

Isn’t that what hurts even worse than his betrayal? His ability to just cut me off like I never mattered? Like the night in New York and the unspoken I love yous that I thought we both felt, but clearly didn’t, never mattered or existed at all?

On his end anyway.

The man gave me one of the best, most thoughtful nights of my life, a private Clayton Seaburn concert. In hindsight, it was all a part of his smoke-and-mirrors show to distract me—or assuage his own guilt—from what he was doing elsewhere.

Like screwing me over.

I keep my head held high as I walk down the hallway, praying no one congratulates me on my engagement and steeling myself against having any reaction, any expression, when I eventually see him.

Because I will see him. It’s inevitable.

Three nights.

That’s all I gave myself to cry in the silence of my hotel room in Georgia. Three nights of tears and heartache and being a slobbery mess who doubted herself and her ability to judge other people. Who allowed herself to be utterly heartbroken over a man she fell for when she knew she shouldn’t have.

During the day I put on a brave face and sold the shit out of our company, negotiating my ass off and sealing the deal on a very forward-thinking contract with a new supplier. And then at night, I returned to my hotel room and gave myself the grace to fall apart.

But that self-imposed grace has expired.

Now that I’m back home in Westmore, I must face the reality that I gave my heart to a man who set out from the get-go to destroy it.

And as much as I’d give anything to avoid Holden with all I have, that would make me just like him. A coward.

Two can play this game.

“I know you have to get married to claim Gran’s inheritance.”

Chad’s comment is enough of a stunner as I fly in Holden’s private jet to Georgia. My hand grips the cell phone tight as I try to process the words that just came through it. Especially when they were delivered on the heels of me finding the executed contract that proved the deal was done and that Holden’s word isn’t to be trusted.

He screwed me out of everything he promised.

“What do you mean you know I have to be married?”

“My uncle let it slip,” Chad says, referring to Gran’s estate attorney.

“Awesome,” I mutter. Just fucking awesome. Anger should fire at private, legal details being spilled out into the open, but I’m too heartbroken, too overwhelmed to find enough fucks to give.