Obsidian Veins

I was livid. Mad beyond words.

My father—my protector, my confidant, the man I trusted more than anyone—had just walked in with him. Smiling.

Laughing. Welcoming my worst enemy like an old friend. The traitor.

He was supposed to shoot Tristan, not shake his hand.

I stared at them from across the foyer, gave my father the sharpest side-eye I could manage, then stormed into the kitchen. My heels clacked against the tile. My hand went straight for the wine. I wasn’t a big drinker, but today? I needed something strong. Something to kill the last bit of patience in me.

This farce ends tonight. Nothing—not blood, not loyalty—was going to stop me.

He may have been the man I loved most, my father. Yet, I was still his favorite daughter. And he had always given me the final word.

So why was he letting the Ambroses waltz into our lives again? Why was Tristan—the man who’d dismissed me for years, being treated like family?

I poured the wine and downed a sip. The bitter burn made me feel slightly better. Slightly.

Tristan Ambrose, my so-called fiancé, was everything I loathed in a man—egotistical, careless, entitled. A man-whore dressed in Armani who thought the world should revolve around him. Once upon a time, I’d believed in his charm.

When we were young, he had been golden—smiling at me like I was the sun but puberty ruined him. Or maybe he was always going to become what he was now: a man who changed women like shirts and never looked back.

I didn’t want a playboy. I didn’t want a husband who put another woman’s name ahead of mine.

Anne, my best friend, had always reminded me not to be a hypocrite. She left home to study in Europe, and it changed her—gave her freedom. Her father tracked her but never interfered. Mine, on the other hand, was far more traditional.

Yet he had given me more freedom than most girls in our world. I studied abroad. I traveled. I lived. That should have been enough.

In our society, engagement was business. Alliances. Deals. You didn’t fall in love—you were matched. Positioned.

Expected to uphold a contract. Love was optional. Vows were negotiable. Even mistresses were a public secret dressed in pearls.

I was done pretending that didn’t bother me.

“Kai.” His voice. Behind me. Of course he’d come looking.

I didn’t turn around. I kept chopping dill on the cutting board, ignoring the heat in my ears.He used my nickname. He always did when it suited him.

“What do you want?” I said, flatly.

“Are you ignoring me?” he asked, stepping closer. “People are beginning to talk—”

“Let them.”

“Kai,” he said again. “At least look at me when we’re speaking.”

I slammed the knife down and turned to face him slowly. My rage simmered just beneath the surface. “Why? You haven’t had the decency to speak more than a handful of words to me in weeks. Let alone spend time with me.”

His eyes flickered, just a twitch of the brow. Barely anything. “Are you done with your tantrum?” he said, frowning like he was the one being wronged.

“Tantrum?” My voice rose. “Is that what you think this is?” I took a steadying breath before continuing. “If that’s what you call me finally saying how I feel after months of being sidelined—ignored—humiliated… then yes, call it a tantrum.

“Call it whatever the hell you want. But I’m done staying quiet.”

“You’re being insensitive—”

“Me? You’re calling me insensitive?” I cut him off. “I’ve bent over backwards to make this arrangement look real. I stayed quiet when you skipped our dates, when your ‘obligations’ kept you away. I told myself to be understanding about Tessa. I know she’s your childhood friend. I know she was sick but she has a family, Tristan. She’s not my responsibility. You are. Or you were supposed to be.”

He opened his mouth to respond. I lifted my hand to silence him. “You made a promise to her? Fine. You made one to me too. Yet, you haven’t kept it.”

“Tessa is my friend. You are my fiancée, Kaia.” His jaw tightened. I could see his anger brewing.

“Exactly. I’m—WAS your fiancée. So why do I always feel like your second choice?”

He said nothing.

“I don’t even have a ring, Tristan.” I held up my bare hand and wiggled my fingers. “You haven’t given me anything.”

“If that’s what you want, I can—”

“No. I don’t want a ring I have to ask for. I don’t want a man I have to beg to see me.” His face darkened. “This engagement was a mistake from the start. You didn’t want it. I knew that. But instead of being honest, you strung me along. Used me. Kept me on the shelf like some last-resort coat.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered. “Our families—”

“Both our families, yes. Not me. Not us.”

He looked at me then like he was finally seeing something he hadn’t before. “Where is this coming from?”I shook my head. “You pushed me here. Every time you left me to run after her, every time you brushed me off, you made this choice for both of us.” I straightened, shoulders squared. “I’m not a girl anymore, Tristan. I won’t keep pretending this is a relationship.”

I looked him in the eyes. “This engagement is over.” I turned back to the dill, calmly slicing it apart like nothing had happened.

“Kaia—you can’t be serious. Our families expect this marriage—”

“I don’t need to make others happy—I need to make myself happy. YOU have destroyed any relationship we might have had.”

He grabbed my arm again, more forcefully this time. “Your grandfather made it clear that we needed to get married in order to receive your inheritance. Why end the engagement now?” His brown eyes darkened with frustration.

I sighed and ripped my arm free. “Ugh. I already listed them. This is tiring,” I said, voice low with exhaustion. Then, steady and final: “I should have been your first choice. I was your fiancée for years, Tristan, but you never valued me.

Never picked me. I deserve to be someone’s first—not someone’s last.”

I didn’t know why he was trying to stop me but I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I would never change my mind.

“You know so little about me,” I continued. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t need it. My grandmother left me enough to live comfortably. I have a job. I’m not some brainless arm candy, no matter how convenient that would’ve been for you.”

I stepped in front of him, hand on my waist. “Besides, as the saying goes—there are plenty of fish in the sea. You’re not the only man. The inheritance does not specify who I must marry.” I swept past him.

“And for the record?” I tossed over my shoulder, turning with a flick of my hair. “I never signed a contract. Neither did my father.” Then I walked out.

Leaving him standing alone.

Just like I’ve felt—too many times before.