Chapter 10 [Cole's POV]

My father, Sterling, never truly looked at me—only when I won championships or made mistakes would he spare a fraction of his attention in my direction.

The night I claimed the regional junior title, I was summoned to his sprawling study. I'd expected a few words of praise, but instead, he opened with Wren.

"You've been spending too much time with the Kelly girl lately."

I said nothing. Years of experience had taught me that with my father, the more I spoke, the more I erred. Better to wait in silence while he delivered his verdict.

"Her name is Wren—daughter of a building superintendent. You are the Ashford heir. You were born into different worlds." He set down his pen and moved to the window, his back to me. "It's harmless for children to find novelty in such friendships, but you must understand boundaries. This notion of a 'lucky charm' is nothing more than self-delusion for the weak."

I couldn't help but push back. "She is my lucky charm."

My father's cold laugh cut through the room, each word sharp as a blade. "Your victories come from six hours of daily training, day after day. They have nothing to do with some cheap candy bead or a girl from the lower rungs. Relying on others is weakness."

Resentment churned inside me. He would never understand the warmth of that bead pressed into my palm, the pale tension in her face as she watched from the corner of the stands, the rare sweetness of someone caring about my success without ulterior motive—no trophy, no fortune attached.

Before I could argue further, he delivered a heavier blow. "I've finalized arrangements with Blackwood Tennis Academy. You'll leave next semester."

My heart plummeted. Blackwood was the nation's premier tennis boarding school—a place I'd once dreamed of attending. But now, all I could think was that going there meant never seeing Wren again.

"I won't go. I can keep winning from here." My voice trembled despite my effort to stay firm, but I refused to yield.

My father turned, his gaze piercing straight through me. "You look to the stands first after every match. You keep that worthless bead in your pocket year-round. You're willing to reject a superior opportunity for the sake of that girl—I see it all perfectly clearly. Sending you away isn't about tennis. It's about severing this useless entanglement before it drags you down."

In that moment, I felt hatred toward him for the first time. He saw everything I treasured about Wren, and he intended to rip it away as if discarding a piece of furniture left in the wrong room.

Back in my bedroom, I pulled out the faded silver bead and turned it over and over between my fingers until they ached. The memory of that circle drawn in the greenhouse mist replayed endlessly in my mind. The harder my father tried to tear us apart, the tighter I would hold onto what was mine.

I made a silent vow: even if I went to Blackwood and claimed every championship, Wren Kelly would remain mine. No matter the distance, no matter how many years passed, I would return and bring her back to my side. I was young then, underestimating the cruelty of fate. I never imagined that when we finally reunited, it wouldn't be the bead connecting us—it would be a cold contract for two hundred fifty thousand dollars, and a body at the bottom of a well.