"Doesn't she?" My mother glances toward where Violet stands with her fiancé. "The Montgomerys are an excellent family. Charles will provide well for her."
I bite back a retort. "I'm sure he will."
"Your father would like a word before you leave," she adds, her tone making it clear this isn't a request.
"Of course," I respond, the perfect dutiful daughter for just a moment. My mother nods, satisfied, and glides away to greet other guests.
I spend the next hour circulating through the party, making pleasant small talk with people I barely remember, all while watching for my father. I find him eventually in his study, speaking with a group of business associates. When he sees me in the doorway, he excuses himself and approaches.
William Everett looks much the same as he did five years ago—silver-streaked dark hair, immaculate suit, the confident bearing of a man used to having his orders obeyed without question. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, much like my mother's.
"Penelope." He kisses my cheek, his cologne expensive and familiar. "I'm glad you decided to join us."
"It's Violet's engagement," I say simply. "I wanted to be here for her."
"Yes, well." He gestures for me to join him at the windows overlooking the garden. "You've been missed at family functions."
"Have I?" The words come out sharper than intended.
His expression hardens momentarily before smoothing back into practiced pleasantness. "Your little... adventure has gone on long enough, don't you think? You've proven your point. It's time to come home."
"My shop isn't an adventure, Father. It's my business. My life."
"A phase," he dismisses. "Playing with flowers when you could be helping run Everett Enterprises."
"I'm not playing at anything." I keep my voice level despite my rising anger. "Wildflower is successful, and it's mine. I built it without your money or connections."
Amusement flickers across his face. "If that's what you need to believe." He sips his drink. "Nevertheless, there are family matters that require your attention. Obligations that can't be ignored indefinitely."
"I have no obligations to this family beyond what I choose to give." I set down my barely-touched champagne. "I should rejoin the party. Congratulate Violet properly."
He catches my arm as I turn to leave, his grip just tight enough to convey authority. "This conversation isn't finished, Penelope. There are things you don't understand yet—arrangements that were made long ago."
"Let go of my arm." My voice is quiet but firm.
Something in my tone must register, because he releases me immediately. "We'll speak again soon," he says, the words carrying weight beyond their surface meaning.
I walk away without responding, my heart hammering in my chest. Five years away, and nothing has changed. He still believes he owns me, still thinks he can bend me to his will.
The rest of the party passes in a blur of faces and conversations I won't remember tomorrow. By ten-thirty, I've decided I've fulfilled my familial obligation and discreetly call for a rideshare. Whatever Violet wants to tell me, I'll learn some other time. I’m done for the night. While waiting for the car to arrive, I step onto an empty side terrace for some fresh air.
"Running away again, Penelope?"
I turn to find a man watching me from the shadows. He steps forward into the light, and I recognize him immediately from the charity gala photo I found online—Gage Blackwood. In person, he's taller than I expected, broad-shouldered in an impeccably tailored suit that emphasizes his athletic build. Dark hair, cut short and styled perfectly. Strong jaw, straight nose, and eyes so intensely blue they're almost unsettling.
"I'm not running," I reply, straightening my spine. "I'm leaving. There's a difference."
His lips curve in a slight smile. "Is there? I suppose it depends on whether you're moving toward something or away from it."
"I don't believe we've been introduced," I say, though I know exactly who he is.
"Gage Blackwood." He extends a hand, which I reluctantly take. His grip is warm and firm, lingering a second longer than necessary. "I've admired your work at Wildflower. You have a gift for creating beauty from fragile things."
"Thank you. I appreciate your business."
"I appreciate beauty in all its forms." His gaze is direct, assessing. "You've built something impressive these past five years."
"You seem to know a lot about me, Mr. Blackwood."
