Betrayed Heiress Strikes Back

Chapter 19

The tea service was laid out with precision—china cups, silver spoons, and the faint aroma of Earl Grey drifting through the garden. Reginald Whitmore sat upright now, cane resting against his chair, his expression sharper than before.

He stirred his tea slowly, then looked at Julian and Kya with a measured gaze. “Tell me,” he began, his voice deliberate, “has the announcement been made in the papers? The engagement of Julian Gray and Kya Byrd?”

Julian hesitated, his eyes flicking to Kya. She met his gaze, the silence stretching between them. Then Kya cleared her throat, her voice calm but firm.

“I prefer not to announce it,” she said.

Reginald’s brows lifted, his expression shifting into something more formal, more scrutinizing. “Not announce it? Why?”

Kya sat straighter, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her tone was steady, thoughtful. “Because great things are not meant to be shared in public. They flourish in quiet, away from spectacle. Marriage does not thrive in the eyes of strangers—it is between two people, and it should remain as such.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint clink of Reginald’s spoon against porcelain. His eyes lingered on her, sharp and assessing, as though weighing the truth of her words.

Julian’s gaze softened, pride flickering in his expression as he watched her.

Finally, Reginald leaned back, his lips curving faintly though his tone remained formal. “An unusual answer. Most would crave the recognition, the spectacle, the validation of society. You choose privacy.”

Kya met his gaze without flinching. “I choose what endures.”

Reginald’s eyes gleamed, and for a moment, the sternness in his face eased. “Perhaps you understand more than I thought.”

Julian reached for Kya’s hand beneath the table, his touch warm, steady. She squeezed back, her heart racing but her composure intact.

The tea cooled, the garden quiet, but the weight of Reginald’s approval—or disapproval—hung in the air. Kya had spoken her truth, and now it was his turn to decide if he would accept it.

Reginald’s gaze lingered on Kya, his expression unreadable, before shifting deliberately to Julian. The old man’s voice carried the weight of authority, sharper now, formal.

“And you, Julian,” he said, stirring his tea with slow precision. “Do you agree with her? That your union should remain private, unannounced, hidden from the eyes of society? Or do you believe the Gray name demands spectacle?”

Julian’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking briefly to Kya. She held his gaze, steady, her words still echoing in the air. He exhaled, then turned back to his grandfather.

“I agree with her,” Julian said firmly. “This marriage is ours. Not the public’s, not society’s, not even the family’s to parade. It belongs to us, and that’s where it will thrive.”

Reginald’s brows arched, his expression sharpening. “You would deny the Gray legacy its announcement? Its recognition?”

Julian leaned forward, his voice calm but resolute. “Legacy isn’t built on headlines. It’s built on endurance. If our marriage is strong, the family will be strong. If it falters, no announcement will save it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint clink of Reginald’s spoon against porcelain. His eyes narrowed, studying Julian as though peeling back layers.

Finally, he leaned back, his lips curving faintly. “You speak with conviction. Perhaps more than I expected. You both do.”

Kya’s hand brushed Julian’s beneath the table, her touch light but steady. He squeezed back, his expression softening for her alone.

Reginald’s gaze lingered on them, sharp but faintly approving. “Very well. Privacy, then. But remember—privacy is not protection. It is a choice. And choices carry consequences.”

He lifted his cup, sipping slowly, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “We shall see if yours endure.”

The tea had grown cooler, but Reginald’s eyes remained sharp, his cane resting against the table as though it anchored him to the moment. He sipped slowly, then set the cup down with deliberate care.

“One more question,” he said, his tone formal, heavy with expectation. “Legacy is not only about names in papers or whispers in society. It is about heirs. Tell me—will you begin a family as soon as you are married?”

Kya’s cheeks warmed, her fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. She glanced at Julian, uncertain, her blush betraying her silence.

Julian leaned forward, his voice steady, his expression calm but resolute. “Yes. I would like us to have four children.”

Reginald’s brows lifted, his lips curving faintly. “Four,” he repeated, as though testing the word. “Ambitious.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “But as long as there is one boy to carry the family name, that is all that matters.”

Kya’s blush deepened, but Reginald’s tone softened, his eyes shifting toward her. “Do not mistake me, child. It does not mean the girls do not matter. Girls are special—just as the boy. They carry grace, wisdom, and strength. They are the heart of the family, even if the boy carries the name.”

Julian’s hand brushed Kya’s beneath the table, steady and reassuring. She exhaled softly, her blush fading into a faint smile.

Reginald leaned back, his expression easing for the first time. “Four children… a boy to carry the name, and girls to carry the spirit. That would be a legacy worth building.”

The garden fell quiet, the weight of his words lingering in the air. Kya felt her heart race, not from fear but from the realization that Reginald was no longer testing her alone—he was envisioning their future, their family, their place in the Gray legacy.

Kya excused herself politely, rising from the table to find the washroom. The soft click of the door left Julian alone with his grandfather, the garden suddenly quieter without her presence.

Reginald leaned back in his chair, his cane resting against his knee. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying Julian with the same sharpness he had used on Kya.

“Tell me, Julian,” he said, his voice low but deliberate. “You used to date Elena Carney, did you not?”

Julian frowned, his jaw tightening. “Briefly. It was nothing serious.”

Reginald’s gaze sharpened. “Then why was she at your engagement party last night?”

Julian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “My parents invited the Carneys. I had nothing to do with it.”

The old man’s expression softened into a faint smile, though his eyes still gleamed with calculation. “Good. Because I like Kya better.”

Julian blinked, surprised.

Reginald continued, his tone firm but approving. “Your ex is more interested in our name than in building a family. She sees legacy as a prize, not a responsibility. Kya, on the other hand… she speaks of marriage as something private, sacred, enduring. That is what matters.”

Julian’s frown eased, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I know. That’s why I chose her.”

Reginald’s smile deepened, rare and fleeting. “Then you chose wisely.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. For the first time, Julian felt his grandfather’s approval—not grudging, not conditional, but genuine.

When Kya returned, Reginald’s expression had already shifted back to its formal composure, as though nothing had been said. But Julian carried the weight of his words with him, a quiet reassurance that their union had passed yet another test.

**

Julian and Kya bid farewell to Reginald Whitmore, his cane tapping lightly against the stone as he nodded them off with a rare smile. “Tea was good,” he said simply, “and so were your answers. Go now, but remember what we spoke of.”

Julian bowed his head respectfully, and Kya offered a gentle smile before they stepped back into the car. The drive away from the estate was quiet, the countryside rolling past until Julian slowed near a small bakery tucked along the road.

“Hungry?” he asked, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening. “It’s my father. Go ahead inside—I’ll wait here.”

Kya nodded, stepping out into the crisp air. The bakery smelled of fresh bread and sugar, its windows glowing warmly against the fading afternoon. She pushed open the door, only to freeze at the sight of Cecilia standing near the counter.

Cecilia’s eyes flicked up, narrowing instantly. Beside her stood an older woman, elegant in posture, with silver hair pinned neatly.

“Rylee,” Cecilia said, her tone dripping with disdain. “What a surprise.”

The older woman turned, her expression polite. “Cecilia, is this the young lady you mentioned? Have we met before?”

Kya shook her head softly, her voice calm. “No, we haven’t.”

The woman nodded, her smile kind. “Then it’s a pleasure.”

Kya wondered, silently, how someone so gracious had become friends with Cecilia.

Cecilia’s lips curved into a smirk, her voice sharp as glass. “Well, it’s hardly possible for a woman of wealth and refinement like my friend here to meet someone like you. After all, Rylee—” she spat the name with venom “—doesn’t know anything beyond being a housewife. Trash doesn’t mingle with treasure.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel. The older woman’s polite smile faltered, her brows knitting faintly at Cecilia’s remark. Kya stood tall, her chin lifting, refusing to let the insult pierce deeper than it deserved.

Without another word, Cecilia turned, her heels clicking against the tile as she swept out of the bakery, her friend following reluctantly.

Kya exhaled, steadying herself, the scent of fresh bread grounding her. She picked up a small box of pastries, her composure intact, and stepped back outside where Julian was still on the phone.

She glanced at him through the car window, her heart tightening.