46

Chapter 46

"Are you alright, Carl?"

The voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up, startled. Mr. Young stood nearby, his weathered face etched with concern as he studied me carefully.

"I'm fine," I replied, forcing a smile. "Just needed some air."

Mr. Young didn't seem convinced. His gaze lingered, narrowing slightly as though he was trying to piece something together.

"I actually need to get back," I said quickly. "Richard's family needs me at the bleachers.

"Oh," he blinked, surprised by my sudden exit. "Of course. Don't let me hold you up."

I nodded. "Have a good day, Mr. Young."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This wasn't the time for a breakdown. I pushed my feelings aside and walked back to the bleachers, sitting beside Mrs. Preston. She smiled warmly, unaware of how close I had come to losing it in the parking lot.

The rest of the polo match was a blur. I clapped when it was appropriate, smiled when someone looked my way, and did everything I could to act like I belonged. But my mind kept drifting to Richard and Andrea—how perfectly they fit this world, how easily everyone accepted her as his future.

When the game ended, Andrea's team won. She rode over to the bleachers, beaming as the crowd applauded. Richard helped her down from her horse, his hand resting briefly on her waist. It was innocent, but the simple gesture left a sour taste in my mouth.

********

The tables under the tent were elegantly set with fine china and crystal glasses. I ended up sitting between Richard and Mrs. Preston, with Andrea directly across from us. Her parents, Melinda and Daniel Hawthorne, sat next to her, and Mr. Preston rounded out the table. The conversation started off casually, but soon shifted to topics I wasn't familiar with—business deals, international investments, and luxury vacations. I stayed quiet, cutting my chicken into small pieces and nodding every now and then like I knew what they were talking about.

Andrea's laugh rang out as Daniel recounted a story about her childhood horseback riding mishaps.

"She's always been determined," Melinda said fondly. "Even as a little girl, she never gave up until she got what she wanted."

"Sounds familiar," Mr. Preston said, glancing at Richard. "You two were inseparable back then. I remember when you both insisted on having that little pretend wedding in the garden."

Andrea blushed, laughing lightly. "I was six."

"And you were very serious about it," Mrs. Preston added with a chuckle. "Richard told everyone he was going to marry you when you grew up."

"Well," Daniel said with a grin, "there's still time to make that happen."

Richard flashed a courteous smile, but I saw the discomfort in his eyes.

The laughter around the table felt suffocating. I kept my gaze down, pretending to focus on my dish though my stomach churned. My fork scraped against my plate as I pushed the food around, suddenly losing my appetite. They were talking about futures and legacies that spanned generations.

Under the table, Richard's hand slipped into mine. His fingers curled around mine, squeezing gently. It was comforting, but also a painful reminder that what we had couldn't be public.

I glanced at him, but he was focused on the conversation, his expression unreadable. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of my hand, as if silently telling me he knew how hard this was for me.

I squeezed his hand briefly before letting go, pulling my hand to my lap. They didn't mean to make me feel invisible, but I was. An outsider pretending to fit into their perfect world.

After lunch, the Prestons and the Hawthornes mingled with other guests while I stayed nearby, ready to help if needed.

Richard spotted me by the refreshment table, sipping on a glass of lemonade to cool down from the midday heat.

"You've been quiet," he inquired, stepping closer.

I forced a small smile. "What's there to talk about?"

He looked at me closely. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied again.

Richard's parents called out to him, signaling for him to meet with one of their business partners. He hesitated for a moment, then squeezed my arm gently before walking away.

*****

The drive back to the estate was quiet. Richard sat beside me, staring out the window while his parents talked in the backseat about trips and events.

I couldn't stop thinking about their conversation with the Hawthornes earlier. It doesn't matter if Richard told me he loved me, the truth of our situation was hard to ignore. Our worlds were too different.

When we arrived at the estate, I parked the car and helped unload their things. Richard walked beside me as we made our way to the main entrance.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked quietly when his parents had gone inside.

"Not right now," I replied.

His expression tightened, but he nodded. "Okay. But when you're ready, I'm here."

*****

The next morning, I carried a tray of coffee to the solarium, my mind still stuck on yesterday. I set the tray down and was about to leave when Mrs. Preston's voice called me back.

"Oh, Carl, before you go, could you pass me the paper please?" she asked, gesturing to the folded newspaper at the end of the table.

"Of course," I said, handing it to her.

As I straightened it, my eyes caught the front-page image in the lifestyle section. It was a full color photo of Richard and Andrea at the polo event. She was smiling at him, her hand casually resting on his arm as he looked at her. The caption beneath the photo read:

"A Perfect Match: Richard Preston and Andrea Hawthorne—The Next Power Couple?"

My chest tightened as I turned away, my vision blurring slightly. I forced myself to leave the sunroom before Mrs. Preston noticed how pale I'd gone.

The newspaper photo haunted me for the rest of the day especially that damned caption. I told myself it was just an article trying to stir gossip, but the truth behind it didn't change.

Later that night, I read the article.

'The Preston and Hawthorne families made quite the impression at yesterday's charity polo event. While the day centered around philanthropy, attendees couldn't help but notice the undeniable chemistry between Richard Preston, heir to the Preston-Astor fortune, and Andrea Hawthorne, whose family has long been associated with medical technology innovation. Sources close to the families have hinted that a potential union might be on the horizon—one that could replicate the historic Preston-Astor merger that helped build one of the largest conglomerates in the world.'

I set the paper down, my hand shaking slightly. One thing was becoming clear, I had to end it.

They did look perfect together. And as long as I was in the picture, I was just going to make things more complicated for him. I'd be the one standing in the way of Richard having the future everyone expected him to have.

Richard deserved the life he was born into. Not whispered secrets behind closed doors with his family's butler.

If I'm going to end it, I need to move out.

I opened my laptop and typed "apartments for rent" into the search bar. Listings filled the screen: tiny studios with stained carpets, basement units with no windows. I clicked through a few options, but everything looked awful.

Leaving the manor wasn't just leaving Richard. It was leaving everything familiar. The warmth of the kitchen on cold mornings. The quiet routine I'd built after years of loneliness. The occasional nights when Richard would sneak into my room just to lie beside me.

I was halfway through reading about a small one-bedroom on the outskirts of the city when a knock startled me.

I slammed the laptop shut. "Come in."

Richard walked in, dressed in sweatpants and a white T-shirt that clung to his frame, his hair still damp from a shower. His eyes immediately darted to the laptop.

"What are you up to?" he asked casually.

"Nothing important," I said, my voice too tight to be convincing. "Just... looking at stuff online."

His eyes flicked toward the laptop. "Something naughty, I bet?"

My mouth went dry. "Something like that."

"How about we view it together?" He walked to the laptop and opened it.

His brow furrowed when he saw the website, and he sat on the edge of my bed. "Why would you be looking for apartments? Are you thinking of moving?"

My pulse spiked. I couldn't tell him the truth. I needed to come up with something plausible fast.

"It's just... I was thinking maybe it would be better for both of us. You know... a conflict of interest."

"Conflict of interest?" he repeated, confused.

I swallowed. "I'm dating the son of my employer. That's... not exactly professional."

His confusion shifted into something warmer. His eyes widened, then his lips curved into a smile. "Wait," he said slowly, sitting straighter. "That's why you're looking for an apartment?"

I didn't answer.

"You're thinking about moving out so we wouldn't have that problem anymore?" His smile grew wider. "Carl, that's... incredible. You're doing this for us?"

I opened my mouth to correct him, but the hope in his eyes stopped me cold.

"You're really thinking about taking this to the next level," he said, his voice filled with a quiet wonder. "You're willing to leave the manor just so we can be together openly."

"Richard, that's not—"

He didn't let me finish. He stepped forward, pulling me into a tight embrace, his arms around me and his chin resting on my shoulder.

"God, Carl, you have no idea how happy this makes me," he whispered. "I thought you'd never want to do this. I thought you'd never risk it. But here you are."

I stood stiffly in his arms, my heart breaking into pieces.

He thought I was making a sacrifice for our relationship when, in reality, I was running from it.

His chin rested against my hair as he exhaled contentedly. "I knew you'd get there eventually," he said, his voice full of relief. "I told you I'd wait."

The guilt was unbearable.

I clutched his shirt, my throat tightening. Silent tears fell as I clung to him, feeling like the worst person in the world.

Richard noticed immediately. He pulled back slightly, cupping my face. His thumb brushed away a tear. "Hey," he said softly. "Why are you crying?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe past the lump in my throat.

"Carl," he whispered, his smile faltering. "What's wrong?"

I opened my mouth to give him some excuse, but the truth poured out before I could stop it.

"I love you," I said brokenly.

His expression softened instantly. He smiled, eyes glistening as if he'd waited forever to hear me say it. "You... you do?"

I nodded, the tears coming harder now.

His smile widened, and he kissed me—soft and tender, full of hope. I kissed him back, knowing that every second of this was a lie.

I love you, I thought as I kissed him back. And I want all the best for you.

Even if that best life doesn't include me.