The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 77

Callum

I pushed through the bodies around, trying to nod and remain polite as I did, but there stares were like waking through knives. I told Bianca Iwas headed to the bathroom, but I need more, just a momment.

I pushed out into the quiet halls of the grand room, the ceilings low and dark, only the warm light from the door lighting up the space.

My back crippled into the wall and slid down a bit. It was quie out here. Finally.

The ballroom inside had quieted to a simmer of gossip, suspioutions beneath polite small talk and strained murmured. But even with the chandeliers gleaming and the music playing again, nothing had truly returned to normal.

I tried to straight my spine as if posture alone could stop the storm pressing in on every side. Liora was gone. Zane had disappeared. Mia, too. And I…was set to be publicly engaged in a matter of minutes. All that remained of the wreckage she left behind were the whispers, a name none of them had expected, least of all me.

Silverthorne.

I had to find her—

I stopped myself, jaw tightening. That thought again. The same one that kept slithering back no matter how many times I tried to cut it off at the root.

I have to find her.

But I couldn’t. We were done. That was the truth, wasn’t it? Separated and severed by the Moon Goddess herself.

Still, I felt it. This sick, aching pull in my chest like gravity itself hadn’t gotten the message. Like some part of me hadn’t accepted what happened. What I’d done.

She’d walked away from me without looking back, and I hadn’t stopped her. I’d let her go. I told myself it was for the best. That it had to be done.

Now I was standing here like a fool, staring down the hall like she might suddenly appear. Like I’d know if she was close. Like my body hadn’t gotten the memo that she wasn’t an option, my reason anymore.

“Callum.”

Thomas’s voice was quiet as he peeked around the corner, slipping into the hallway with careful steps, like he already knew I’d snap.

“Thomas,” I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair. “I know, alright? I know. I’ll calm the crowd, I’ll reassure everyone about Bianca’s status, I’ll get the damn ring. Just give me five minutes.”

He didn’t touch me, but his voice landed like a hand to the shoulder.

“It’s not me, sir.”

He lifted the phone from his pocket. “It’s… your father. He’s requesting a word.”

I stared at the small metal screen like it might explode in my face. Whatever energy I had left, whatever fragments hadn’t already been gutted out of me, drained.

“Now,” Thomas said quietly. “Please.”

The screen lit up as I took it.

Thomas stepped back without a word, the apology already carved into his eyes.

I couldn’t see them, but I coudl practically hear the scene through the phone.

My father, sitting like a storm in a pressed suit, eyes sharp enough to draw blood. My mother, regal and cold beside him, as unreadable as ever.

“Explain,” my father barked before I even opened my mouth. One it was just one word, but it was loaded, venomous.

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