“Pass me the salt.”
Marcus’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the dining room.
Winter looks up from her plate, expecting Drae to respond since he’s closest to the salt.
But he sits rigid in his chair, his fork clutched tightly in one hand as though it’s a weapon, making no move to acknowledge Marcus’s words.
Without a word, Winter leans across the table and hands the salt to Marcus.
As she settles back into her seat, her mind drifts to what Drae had said to her earlier.
What had he meant?
Was he suggesting the Hales were involved in that woman’s death, or worse—was he hinting that he had killed her and would do the same to Winter if she didn’t heed his warning?
The thought sends a chill down her spine, but she keeps her face neutral as she takes a sip of water.
The next chance she gets, she’ll confront him and make him explain.
She’s tired of his cryptic messages and veiled threats.
It’s time for him to come out with the truth.
“Drae, dear,” Sarah begins, her voice gentle but firm, immediately catching Winter’s attention.
She knows exactly what her mother is about to announce, and she braces herself, fully aware Drae won’t take it well.
“We’ve decided that Winter will start riding with you to school from tomorrow. Your father and I think it’s best, given the circumstances.”
Drae’s fork clatters onto his plate with a loud, jarring sound.
He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shoots Marcus a glare.
“Seriously?” he asks, disbelief evident in his tone.
“You expect me to play chauffeur now?”
Marcus doesn’t flinch.
Winter is beginning to realize that very little seems to faze him.
“It’s not a request, Drae. Winter doesn’t have her upper-class license yet, and we can’t have her navigating Transville alone.”
Drae lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head.
“That’s nonsense, and you know it. You’ve got connections. You could get her that license in a couple of hours if you wanted to. So what’s the real reason for this?”
Winter’s eyes flick toward Marcus, watching carefully for any sign that Drae has struck a nerve.
She’d wondered the same thing earlier.
Marcus always seems to have a way of solving problems, of pulling the right strings, so why is this different?
But why?
Marcus’s expression remains steady as he responds.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the connections to make that happen right now. There are… complications. Winter will need a month of training before she can take the test. Until then, you’ll drive her.”
Drae’s laugh is sharp and bitter.
He leans forward, eyes narrowing dangerously.
“I don’t care about your ‘complications.'”
Marcus’s eyes harden, his calm slipping for just a moment.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to spend the month teaching her yourself, since you’re so determined to be difficult.”
Winter suppresses a grimace.
On one hand, this arrangement might give her the opportunity to question Drae about his earlier remarks.
On the other, the thought of spending more time alone with him—especially in a confined space—feels suffocating.
She isn’t exactly afraid of him, but she doesn’t trust him either.
“No,” Winter and Drae say at the same time, their voices overlapping in unison as they both reject Marcus’s proposal.
Marcus leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting between them.
He studies them for a long, tense moment, as though calculating something, before finally speaking.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he says, his voice low and firm.
“You’ll teach her, Drae. And that’s final.”
Winter can feel the tension rolling off Drae in waves.
His fists clench tightly in his lap, his jaw set as he glares at Marcus with barely-contained fury.
“You can’t be serious,” Drae mutters through gritted teeth.
“I am.” Marcus’s tone leaves no room for argument.
“And if you have a problem with that, I suggest you keep it to yourself.”
The air in the room feels heavy, thick with hostility, but Winter forces herself to remain calm.
She has to handle this carefully, to find a way out without drawing too much attention to her reluctance.
Taking a slow breath, she notices Drae’s eyes flick toward her, dark and unreadable.
Before Drae can argue further, Marcus shifts topics, his voice returning to its usual controlled tone.
“That reminds me,” he says, as if the previous conversation hadn’t nearly erupted into a confrontation.
Winter blinks, her thoughts shifting immediately.
Sophia Turner?
Wasn’t that Diana’s mother?
She’d nearly forgotten about it.
Caspian had invited her as his plus-one, and now, with Marcus insisting they attend, she can accept without hesitation.
A small smile tugs at her lips.
Drae notices her expression immediately and scowls.
“What’s so funny?” he asks sharply, clearly irritated.
“You actually looking forward to that mess?”
Winter doesn’t miss a beat, her wit rising instinctively to the surface.
“Oh, absolutely,” she replies, her tone sweet but mocking.
“It’ll take any chance to watch you squirm.”
Drae’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting into a sneer.
“Yeah, right. Just be honest. Mingling with Crestwood’s finest is at the top of your bucket list. Must be thrilling for someone coming from the lower class.”
Winter is about to fire back with a sharp response when Sarah suddenly interjects.
“Actually,” she begins, addressing Drae carefully, “your father and I have set our wedding for this Saturday. I’m hoping that after you see your father and me exchange vows, you’ll begin to see us as a family.”
“Oh, fantastic,” Drae mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Another event where I have to act like I care.”
Marcus’s jaw tightens, the hint of irritation finally breaking through his calm facade.
He looks at Drae with an intensity that makes it painfully clear he’s done tolerating the disrespect.
“You’ll be there, Drae,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “and you’ll behave.”
Drae’s fists clench beneath the table, his eyes fixed on his father.
He knows that look.
It’s the same one he’d seen in the weeks leading up to his mother’s illness.
“I don’t want to be part of this family, Marcus.” Drae’s voice is cold now, stripped of sarcasm and replaced with something far more raw.
“This whole charade, this lie—you can keep it. I’m done.”
With that, Drae pushes back his chair, the scrape of wood against the floor jarring in the silence.
Then he storms out of the dining room, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they finally fade into silence.