"The engagement was arranged by your grandmother and my grandmother. You agreed to the wedding. And now you're saying it was wrong?"

"I changed my mind. Is that not allowed?"

I was getting irritated.

"Sylvester, you can't force something that isn't there. A man with your credentials doesn't need to waste his time on me. Word gets out, it won't do your reputation any favors either."

Sylvester stared at me, unblinking. The rims of his eyes slowly turned red.

Then he spun around and strode toward the display cabinet in the corner of the conservatory.

An antique pistol sat on one of the shelves, a Farley family heirloom passed down through generations.

He snatched it up so fast that even the bodyguard beside him didn't have time to react.

He raised the gun. The cold metal barrel pressed against his own temple.

"If you walk out that door today, or say the word 'divorce' one more time—"

He looked me straight in the eyes. His hand was steady, but his voice shook.

"I'll pull the trigger."

Matriarch Farley gasped. "Sylvester! Have you lost your mind?"

I smiled.

He'd pulled this exact stunt in my last life.

Back then, I'd panicked. I caved immediately, promised I'd never bring up divorce again.

And what happened?

He turned around and went straight to Lucy Stephens.

This time, I wasn't falling for it.

Everyone in the conservatory was frozen in shock.

Matriarch Farley shot to her feet. "Sylvester! Put that gun down!"

I stood rooted to the spot too.

In my last life, he'd kept himself pure for Lucy, even walked away from the board of directors for her. It had never occurred to me that he would use something like this to corner me.

Where had things gone off track?

Was it because I hadn't clung to him the way I did before, so his pride was wounded?

Or was this simply what happened when the young master of the Farley family got rejected and couldn't stomach the humiliation?

Matriarch Farley was frantic. She shot me a look, eyes wide with urgency.

"Rose! Talk some sense into him!"

I couldn't move.

I didn't want to walk down that same road again.

The conservatory was so quiet it was suffocating. The only sound was the low, steady hum of the greenhouse ventilation system.

Sylvester's gaze locked onto me, unrelenting, waiting for my answer.

I stared at the barrel pressed against his temple, and for the first time, I hesitated.

"Ma'am, Old Mrs. Henson has arrived."