Not Your Bride Anymore

Chapter 9: The Chess Lesson

Avery stared at the two notifications.

One from the man she had almost married.

One from the man who had told her not to let herself be hurt.

The kitchen was quiet around her. The wineglass stood beside her laptop, half full, catching the light from the island pendant. Rain still whispered against the windows, soft now, like the city had exhausted itself.

Jason Blake: I know chess.

Callum Rhodes: Are you free now?

Avery’s thumb hovered over the screen.

Once, Jason’s message would have been enough.

She would have replied immediately. Maybe teased him for hiding a skill from her. Maybe asked if he could teach her the next day. Maybe accepted whatever half-distracted version of help he gave, then told herself it was enough because it came from him.

Now she looked at his name and felt nothing but fatigue.

Callum’s message waited beneath it.

Avery tapped his.

Avery Collins: Yes.

The reply came almost at once.

Callum Rhodes: I’ll have Noah pick you up.

Avery blinked.

Avery Collins: For what?

Callum Rhodes: Chess.

Avery Collins: You don’t have to. I can learn online.

Callum Rhodes: You asked for help.

Avery Collins: I asked generally.

Callum Rhodes: I’m answering specifically.

Avery stared at that sentence.

It was so Callum that she could almost hear his voice behind the words, calm and exact, leaving no space for unnecessary argument.

Avery Collins: This is too much trouble.

Callum Rhodes: I have time.

That was not true.

Avery knew enough about Callum Rhodes to know he did not simply have time. Men like him carved time out of other people’s schedules and made the world rearrange itself.

She should have refused again.

Instead, she looked toward the hallway, where the house remained silent. Ruby was locked away in her college prep program. Helen and George were out. Jason was blocked everywhere except, apparently, the parts of her past she had not yet learned how to seal.

Avery Collins: Thank you.

Callum Rhodes: Wear a coat.

Avery looked down at her thin sweater.

Then she looked at her phone again.

Her lips pressed together before she could stop the faint smile.

Bossy.

But the coat was warm.

Noah called fifteen minutes later.

“Miss Collins, I’m outside.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Avery grabbed her bag, checked the stove twice though she hadn’t used it, and stepped into the cool night.

The black Rolls-Royce waited beyond the gate.

Noah stood beside it with his usual polite smile. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Avery glanced at the back seat before getting in.

Empty.

Something in her loosened.

Something else, more embarrassing, sank.

Noah opened the door. “Mr. Rhodes is still at the office. He asked me to bring you there.”

“Oh.” Avery slid inside. “All right.”

The door shut.

The first thing she noticed was the cup.

A white paper cup sat in the holder beside the small rear table, steam curling from the drinking slot. Beside it lay a folded napkin and a wrapped almond cookie from a bakery Avery liked but rarely visited because it was across town.

Noah started the car.

“The coffee is yours,” he said. “Mr. Rhodes said you don’t like tea very much.”

Avery’s hand stopped halfway toward the cup.

Noah continued, entirely too innocent, “Cream and sugar. Not too bitter. He wasn’t sure how sweet you take it, so he said to keep it safe.”

Avery picked up the cup.

Warmth soaked into her fingers.

She took a sip.

It was exactly the kind of coffee she liked. Softened with cream, sweet enough to take the edge off, not so sweet that it tasted like dessert.

She thought of the black tea in the car. The way she had drunk it politely. The way Callum had noticed anyway.

Avery lowered the cup and looked out the window.

“Noah.”

“Yes, Miss Collins?”

“How did he know I don’t like tea?”

Noah’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “I value my job too much to speculate.”

“That sounds like speculation.”

“It sounds like survival.”

Avery almost laughed.

The car turned onto the main road, heading toward the financial district. Westbridge at night was all glass, wet asphalt, and the bright pulse of late traffic. Restaurants were still open. Office towers still burned with white light. Somewhere behind her, Jason’s world continued with its clubs and private lounges and noise.

Ahead, Rhodes Group rose from the center of downtown like something built to make other buildings feel temporary.

Avery had seen the tower before, of course. Everyone in Westbridge had. It was a landmark, a slab of steel and glass with Rhodes Group’s name set discreetly near the entrance rather than shouted across the skyline.

Somehow, that restraint made it more intimidating.

Noah drove into the private underground entrance. Security recognized the car immediately. No one asked Avery who she was. No one asked why a woman with damp hair, a beige coat, and a half-empty coffee was arriving at nearly nine o’clock at night.

They simply opened doors.

Noah led her through a private elevator lobby. The floor was dark stone. The lighting was warm and indirect. Everything was quiet in the expensive way, the kind of quiet created by people being paid well to make sure nothing ever went wrong.

The elevator rose fast enough for Avery’s ears to pop.

She watched the numbers climb.

Noah stood beside her, hands folded in front of him.

“Does Mr. Rhodes often teach chess at this hour?” Avery asked.

“No.”

“Does he often bring people to his office after hours?”

“No.”

Avery looked at him.

Noah looked straight ahead. “General answer. No speculation.”

“You’re very disciplined.”

“I’m terrified.”

This time Avery did laugh.

The elevator doors opened onto the top floor.

Avery stepped into a reception area with dark wood walls, low leather seating, and a wall of windows overlooking the city. Most of the lights were dimmed, but the far end of the floor was still bright.

Noah guided her down a hallway.

As they passed glass-walled conference rooms, Avery saw evidence of a long workday abandoned but not finished: presentation folders stacked neatly, a tablet left charging, half-erased figures on a digital board.

At the last door, Noah knocked once.

“Come in,” Callum said.

Noah opened the door for Avery.

Callum Rhodes’s office was not as flashy as she had imagined.

It was worse.

Not because it was excessive, but because it was precise.

A massive desk stood near the windows, clear except for a laptop, two files, and a pen aligned with almost unsettling care. Built-in shelves held art books, legal binders, and a few pieces of modern sculpture. The far wall was glass from floor to ceiling, and beyond it, the city spread out beneath them in rain-bright gold.

Callum stood behind his desk with his jacket off and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. His tie was loosened by maybe half an inch. On anyone else, it would not have been noticeable.

On him, it felt indecently informal.

He looked up.

Avery suddenly became aware of the coffee in her hand, the fact that she had changed in a hurry, the slight dampness at the ends of her hair.

“Miss Collins,” he said.

“Mr. Rhodes.”

His gaze rested on her for a second.

Then he looked at Noah. “You can go.”

Noah nodded. “Call if you need anything.”

He left and shut the door.

The quiet that followed was far more dangerous than the elevator.

Avery held up the coffee cup. “Thank you for this.”

“You drank the tea yesterday like it was medicine.”

Her face heated. “I wasn’t that obvious.”

“You were polite,” Callum said. “Not convincing.”

That was somehow worse.

He came around the desk and gestured toward the seating area near the windows. A chessboard had already been set up on a low table. The pieces were weighted, glossy, carved from pale and dark wood. Beside it lay a slim beginner’s book and a small notepad.

Avery looked at the board.

“You prepared all this?”

“You said it was for a child.”

Something in her chest softened.

“Nina,” she said before she thought better of it.

Callum did not ask.

Avery sat on the sofa. “She’s a patient. Sort of. I mean, I haven’t gotten far enough for it to feel like counseling yet. She doesn’t talk much.”

Callum took the armchair across from her. “But she plays chess.”

“I think so. Or she used to.” Avery set her coffee on the table. “Her mother said her grandfather taught her. The board is the only thing in the room she still looks at.”

Callum nodded.

Not pity. Not curiosity.

Attention.

It made Avery continue.

“I don’t need to become good. I just need enough to sit across from her without making the board feel like another thing adults are ruining.”

“That’s a good reason to learn.”

Avery looked up.

Callum had already turned the board so the white pieces faced her.

“You’ll start with white.”

“I don’t even know if that’s good.”

“It means you move first.”

“That sounds like pressure.”

“It’s also an advantage.”

Avery studied the pieces. “Is this going to be difficult?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him.

His mouth moved slightly. It was almost a smile. “But not tonight.”

Avery leaned forward, trying to focus.

Callum began with the king.

He did not teach like someone trying to impress her. He did not bury her under strategy or speak in a way that made ignorance feel like stupidity. He picked up each piece, explained its movement, placed it back, and had her repeat it.

King. One square.

Queen. Any direction.

Rook. Straight lines.

Bishop. Diagonals.

Knight. The strange one.

Pawn. Small, limited, underestimated.

“That one seems unfair,” Avery said, touching a pawn. “It can barely move.”

“It can become anything if it survives long enough.”

She paused.

Callum’s eyes lifted to hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Avery looked down first. “That sounds like something from a motivational poster.”

“It’s still true.”

She pushed the pawn one square forward. “Fine. I’ll respect the pawn.”

“Wise.”

His voice was so dry that she almost smiled again.

They played slowly.

Or rather, Callum let her move pieces while quietly stopping her from destroying herself too quickly.

“No,” he said when she reached for a bishop.

Avery froze. “No?”

“You can move it there. If you want to lose your queen.”

She pulled her hand back. “I don’t.”

“Then look at the whole board.”

“I am.”

“You’re looking at the piece you want to move.”

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Looked again.

He was right.

Avery sat back, annoyed less with him than with the fact that he had seen exactly what she was doing.

Callum leaned forward and tapped one square.

“Before you move, ask what changes after you do.”

The sentence landed with unexpected weight.

Avery stared at the board.

Before you move, ask what changes after you do.

She wondered how many years she had spent doing the opposite with Jason. Moving because he wanted, waiting because he expected, forgiving because the old version of him stood somewhere behind the new one like an excuse.

She moved the knight instead.

Callum watched the board, then looked at her. “Better.”