Three Wolfens Betrayed Me. One Siren Didn’t Chapter 07

Three Wolfens Betrayed Me. One Siren Didn’t Chapter 07

A few days later, I met Bartholomew Hastings at a coffee shop in central London.

I sat by the window, watching the red double-decker buses crawl down Regent Street. It was unusually sunny. The light fell across the white tablecloth in bright patches.

The door chimed. Bartholomew walked in.

I’d seen photos. He looked more… normal in person. Not bad-looking. Decent build. Custom suit, silver cufflinks with the Hastings crest. But the packaging was better than the product.

“Hastings,” I said, standing.

“Winfeld.” His voice was lower than I’d expected. He sat down and looked me over. Head to toe.

His gaze made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t show it.

I took a sip of my black coffee and set it down. “I know you like Selina.”

Bartholomew froze.

His hand stopped halfway to his coffee cup. His fingers tightened, then slowly relaxed. He looked at

me with new eyes. Wary. Assessing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

But his face said otherwise. The slight furrow in his brow. The thin line of his mouth. A man caught

off-guard.

I kept going. “I know you’ve been proposing to our family. You want to marry Selina. They’ve been putting you off, saying the older daughter has to marry first.”

Bartholomew was quiet for a few seconds. Then he leaned back, spreading his knees, one hand on the table, fingers drumming.

“Winfeld,” he said, with a half-smile. “You’ve done your homework. But have you considered that maybe I just like your sister – and liking someone doesn’t mean marrying them?”

I swirled my coffee. “Then why did you buy out an entire jewelry store in Paris last month? And why were the rings sized for Selina?”

His smile froze.

The drumming stopped.

I had him.

It was a strange feeling, watching this man.

–

richer than me, more powerful than me – lay all his

cards on the table. I didn’t like manipulating people. But I needed it.

Bartholomew’s smile returned, forced. “Anyone would like your sister better.”

*Your sister.* Not *Selina.* There was a familiarity there. An intimacy.

He went on, colder now. “And Selina doesn’t exactly hate me. But she said – because *you* liked me – she didn’t want to take me from you.”

*Didn’t want to take me from you.*

Another needle. Another memory.

All those times Selina had *let me have* something. The toy. The strawberry. The hamster. The

phone number. She’d always said, “You had it first, so I won’t take it.”

I’d thought she was being generous.

11*

Now, listening to Bartholomew, I wondered if it was just… confidence. She didn’t need to take anything. What was mine would always find its way to her anyway.

I smiled. “I have an idea, You’ll get what you want.”

Bartholomew raised an eyebrow.

I’d always been the one who gave in. Selina wanted something – I gave it. My parents asked – I did it. Life gave me lemons – I made lemonade.

But not this time.

This wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t jealousy. It was survival.

I didn’t want to marry Bartholomew. I didn’t want to be locked in a loveless marriage, a breeding mare, a *Lady Winfeld* who existed only for show.

I wanted to *live*. Not just exist. Live with dignity.

So I needed him. To play along.

“We get a fake marriage certificate. You come home with me. You say Selina likes you – let’s serif she gets jealous.”

Bartholomew frowned. He stared at me like he was deciding if I was crazy or a genius.

“Fake certificate?” He tasted the words. “What exactly are you proposing?”

I told him.

He was quiet. Then he laughed – a real laugh this time. “I met you once and thought you were quiet. A decoration. But you might be the most dangerous person in the Winfeld family.”

I didn’t respond.

“People don’t know what they’ve got until it’s gone,” I said. “Get close to me at the wedding. Let her see. Then big ceremony. I disappear. You’re humiliated. She’ll feel bad, step in to save the day.

You tell her you’ve always loved her, give her a ring, and boom. Happy ending.”

Bartholomew’s eyes lit up. Like a man in a maze seeing the exit.

“…Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, that could work.”

I dabbed at my dry eyes with a napkin. “I know you and I would never be happy. You love her. She loves you. I just want you both to be happy.”

7

That was a lie. I didn’t care if they were happy. But I needed him to believe it. And people in love will believe anything.

Bartholomew stood up and offered his hand. “Winfeld. I misjudged you. You’re very kind.”

We shook. His grip was firm. Businesslike.

“As long as you’re happy,” I said.

The day I brought my fake husband and fake marriage certificate home, everyone was gathered around the dining table. Long white cloth. Silver candlesticks. Crystal chandelier.

Lord Winfeld at the head. Lady Winfeld to his right. Selina’s seat – empty.

Kane next to Lady Winfeld. Drake and Cole opposite.

Kane was expressionless, but his fingers tapped the table. Nervous tic.

Drake was smiling, but his eyes were cold – like a hound tracking scents.

Cole’s ears were flat. His lip was bleeding – he’d been biting it. I’d told him to stop that. I’d bought him lip balm. He wasn’t using it.

The news of the wedding had spread everywhere. The gossip columns. Social media. The whole of London society. *Winfeld heiress to marry Hastings heir* – biggest story of the season.

No one asked if I wanted it.

Lorian sat beside me. His face was blank, but his tail had wrapped around my ankle under the table. The tip rubbed small circles against my skin.

*Are you still there?*

L

I felt the pressure building off him. Not outward. Inward. Like a volcano getting ready to blow. His pupils were starting to change.

I smiled at him. He looked at me, then

away.

In the kitchen, I went to grab a dish. Drake was washing his hands at the sink.

“You don’t like him,” he said.

“The groom?”

“He’s not your groom.”

“Bartholomew Hastings,” I corrected. The name felt like glass in my mouth.

Drake smiled. “Evelyn. Just say the word. I’ll get you out of here.”

I looked at him.

“Kane and Cole agree,” he said.

Kane and Cole? *They wanted to help me elope?

I thought about lunch. Kane’s tapping. Cole’s bloody lip. Drake’s cold smile. I’d thought it was about Lorian. But maybe – maybe it was about the wedding.

Drake’s voice was low, seductive. “You don’t want to spend your life with someone you don’t even

like.”

He was right. I didn’t.

But I also didn’t want to spend my life with them*. Waking up to pity in their eyes. Falling asleep to the sound of them laughing with someone else. Reminding myself, in every cold moment, that I’d been thrown away.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

I walked away without looking back.

“You’ll regret this, Evelyn.”

*You’ll* regret *this.* Not *you’re making a mistake.* *Regret.*

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I would.