He Wanted an Heir, So I Gave Him Ashes Chapter 08

He Wanted an Heir, So I Gave Him Ashes Chapter 08

I didn’t turn back.

That false cry was an invisible rope, trying to drag me back into their nauseating little performance.

Rhett spoke first, his voice carrying an impatient reassurance clearly meant for Daisy.

“Leave her alone. She’s been obsessed with those flashy reports you East Coast people are so fond of. Let her go cool off.”

The words hit my back like a cold bullet.

I kept walking, my mind flashing back to a few years ago. When Walker Ranch was on the verge of bankruptcy, it was those “flashy reports” that had dragged the entire family out of a mountain of debt. He had once held my hand, staying up all night to analyze data with me, telling me I was a gift from God, that my mind was more valuable than the richest soil in Texas.

Now, all the work I had poured into this family was just a trivial, “East Coast” affectation.

I quickened my pace, pretending I hadn’t heard.

Watching my retreating back, Rhett felt a flicker of irritation.

Ellie had been too calm lately.

Disturbingly so.

He’d said those words on purpose, hoping to provoke her, to make her argue with him like she used to, her face flushed as she spouted business terms he didn’t understand. At least then he’d know she still cared, that she was still fighting for her place in this family.

But she hadn’t even paused.

For a split second, he felt a sliver of panic, a fear that she might actually be withdrawing from his life.

But the thought was quickly crushed by his own deep-seated arrogance.

Ellie loved him too much.

She had been miserable during their brief separation, so willing to be the first one to come back.

How could she ever truly leave?

Everything she was, everything she had, was tied to the Walker family.

Satisfied, Rhett pushed the unease aside.

At dusk, I returned to the main house.

I needed to retrieve something. Several personal documents, essential for my future, were locked in the gun room Rhett and I shared. Since I was leaving, I had to take everything that was mine and leave no trace.

But when I pushed open the heavy oak door, I froze.

The floor was a disaster.

My fingers trembled as I bent down and picked up a torn piece of parchment. The familiar texture and faded ink sent a chill through my blood.

It was the Walker family’s hand-drawn land deed map, passed down for a hundred years. The foundation of the family, drawn by Rhett’s own great-grandfather.

It had been ripped to shreds.

Only Beau was in the gun room. He had pulled out all my old maps and business plans and was gleefully creating a masterpiece on his “canvas” with a large pair of scissors and several cans of paint. The analysis reports, market plans, and supplier lists I had spent countless hours creating were now a ruined mess of paint and glue.

My mind went blank.

After a few seconds, I heard my own voice, cold and unfamiliar.

“What are you doing? Who let you in here?”