Heir of Montville

Chapter Four: Shadows on the Ridge

Jake’s POV

A week after that nightmare dinner with my parents, my mother’s words still echoed like a bad song stuck in my head.

“Ask her about her real part in Montville.” What did she mean? Elena was an open book—or so I thought—but the way she’d dodged questions about her past at her father’s dinner last month had me wondering.

And why was Mayor Buckle suddenly playing gossipmonger about my love life? Ted Blackwell’s glare that night, all venom and jealousy, didn’t help. Something was brewing in Montville, and I was determined to figure out what.

Tonight, the town was alive with the Harvest Festival, sprawled across Old Times Square, along the southern ridge below the town's Gothic Bell tower.

The air buzzed with the smell of caramel apples, bonfire smoke, and the faint twang of a country band on the main stage. Strings of fairy lights twinkled above food stalls, and a creaky Ferris wheel spun lazily against the starry sky.

I’d convinced Elena to come with me, calling it a chance to “see what Montville’s all about.” She’d laughed, called me a 'hopeless romantic detective', and agreed, her green scarf swinging as we walked through the crowd.

“You’re seriously telling me you’ve never had a funnel cake?” Elena asked, her hazel eyes wide with mock outrage as she licked powdered sugar off her fingers. “Jake Thorne, heir to a fortune, scared of a little fried dough?”

I grinned, nudging her arm. “Not scared. Just picky. Unlike you, Miss, ‘I’ll eat anything that’s deep-fried and covered in sugar.’”

“Oh, please,” she shot back, waving her half-eaten funnel cake like a weapon. “You’re the guy who drinks black coffee like it’s his personality. Live a little!”

Before I could counter, her friends Lila and Nora barreled toward us, arms loaded with festival swag. Lila, the blonde, was drowning in an oversized cowboy hat she’d won at a ring toss, the brim flopping over her eyes. “Jake! Elena!” she squealed, nearly dropping a stuffed unicorn. “You missed the pie-eating contest! Nora went full savage on a blueberry pie and still lost to Old Man Jenkins!”

Nora, the redhead, adjusted her glasses, her face still speckled with purple. “Laugh it up, Lila. At least I didn’t bat my lashes at a Carnie to win that hat. You looked like a bad rom-com heroine.”

“Excuse me, I charmed him,” Lila huffed, adjusting her hat dramatically. “You’re just jealous because your face is now a tribute to Smurf Village.”

Elena burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but join in. These two were a walking comedy act, cutting through the tension I’d been carrying all week. But my eyes kept scanning the crowd, searching for Mayor Buckle. I’d heard he’d be here, shaking hands and kissing babies for votes, and I needed to know why he was so invested in me and Elena.

I spotted him near the cider tent, his tie crooked as always, talking to a tall guy in a dark coat and a fedora that screamed “trying too hard.” Their hushed voices and quick glances set my nerves on edge. Something wasn’t right.

“Be right back,” I told Elena, squeezing her hand. “Gotta check something out.”

She raised a brow, her lips twitching. “What, you doubling as a private eye now? Should I get you a trench coat?”

“Only if it comes with a better hat than Lila’s,” I said, winking. “Save me some of that funnel cake.”

I slipped through the crowd, keeping Buckle in sight. He and Fedora Guy ducked behind a popcorn stall, their voices low but urgent. I crouched near a stack of hay bales, catching snippets of their conversation.

“…can’t let Thorne get too close to her,” Buckle was saying, his voice shaky. “If he digs into the Virelle family—”

“Keep him distracted,” Fedora Guy interrupted, his tone cold as ice. “The Blackwells are handling the rest.”

My stomach dropped. The Virelles? Elena? I leaned closer, but a kid with a sparkler stumbled by, nearly setting my sleeve on fire. I swatted it away, muttering a curse, and when I looked up, Buckle and Fedora Guy had vanished into the crowd.

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At the festival’s edge, Ted Blackwell watched Jake and Elena from a distance, his jaw tight as he saw her laugh, her hand brushing Jake’s arm. His mother, Patricia, had been crystal clear: Jake Thorne was a threat, not just to Ted’s ego but to the Blackwell family’s influence in Montville. Ted had devised a plan to knock Jake down a peg—a public stunt to make him look weak, orchestrated through Jimmy, a local troublemaker with a penchant for bar fights and bad decisions.

The plan was simple: Jimmy would pick a fight, throw a punch or two, and Ted would swoop in as the peacemaker, painting Jake as a reckless hothead. But Ted’s confidence faltered as he watched Jake move through the crowd, his eyes sharp, his posture alert. Jake wasn’t just the rich heir who’d saved Elena a month ago; he was unpredictable, and that made him dangerous.

Across town, in the Blackwell residence’s dimly lit study, Patricia sat at her desk, her tablet glowing as she initiated a video call. Mayor Buckle’s face flickered onto the screen, his tie a crumpled mess, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Patricia, it’s a madhouse out here,” he groaned, his voice crackling through the speakers. “The festival’s packed, and Mrs. Jenkins cornered me about her pothole again—she’s got a petition now, with signatures!”

Patricia’s smile was razor-thin. “Focus, Harold. Jake Thorne’s becoming a problem. He’s too close to Elena Virelle, and we need to know why.”

Buckle mopped his brow, glancing nervously around the cider tent. “The guy’s a walking legend! Saved Elena from a robbery, got a plaque from the police—my secretary’s calling him Montville’s Captain America on Fanbook! What do you want me to do?”

Ted, pacing behind his mother, leaned into the frame. “Find something to bury him with. Or her. I don’t care who, just make it quick.”

Buckle’s eyes widened. “Bury them? I’m not a mobster! I’m just trying to survive the festival without Jenkins chaining herself to my car!”

Patricia’s voice was ice. “Do your part, Harold. Dig into the Virelles. There’s a rumor about Elena’s mother—something buried. Find it.”

The call ended, and Ted turned to his mother, his eyes blazing. “I saw them at the Virelle dinner, Mother. Kissing like they’re in some damn rom-com. I’m not letting Thorne take her.”

Patricia nodded, her mind already spinning. The Virelles were respected, but whispers of an old scandal—something tied to Elena’s mother’s sudden departure years ago—had resurfaced. If she could unearth it, it might be the leverage they needed to drive a wedge between Jake and Elena.

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Jake’s POV

I found Elena by the Ferris wheel, her funnel cake now a sugary crime scene, powdered sugar dusting her scarf. “You’re a walking disaster with that thing,” I teased, brushing a speck of sugar from her cheek.

She grinned, licking her fingers. “Jealous you didn’t steal a bite?”

“Heartbroken,” I said, stepping closer. Her eyes sparkled under the lights, and for a second, I forgot about Buckle and his shady friend. I just wanted to pull her close, kiss her like I had at her father’s dinner, when the world had felt like ours alone.

But trouble has a way of finding me.

“Hey, Thorne!” a voice bellowed, cutting through the festival’s hum. I turned to see Jimmy, that same wiry troublemaker from the Main Street rumors, stomping toward us. His face was flushed, his eyes wild, like he’d had one too many ciders. The crowd parted, sensing a scene.

“Jake, let’s go,” Elena said, grabbing my arm. “He’s not worth it.”

But Jimmy was already in my face, his breath sour. “You think you’re some big hero, huh? Strutting around with her?” He jerked his chin at Elena, then—before I could react—flung his drink at her. The sticky soda splashed across her scarf, and she gasped, stepping back.

Rage flared in my chest, but I held it in check. “Back off, Jimmy,” I said, my voice low.

He smirked, then swung a sloppy right hook. I leaned back, the punch grazing my jaw with a sting that woke me up. The crowd gasped, phones already out. He swung again, but I sidestepped, and Jimmy, off-balance from his own drunken momentum, stumbled and crashed into a stack of hay bales. The crowd erupted in laughter as he flailed, straw sticking to his hair.

“You tripped me!” Jimmy yelled, scrambling to his feet, pointing at me like I’d planned his faceplant. “You think you’re tough, Thorne?”

I raised my hands, staying calm. “Didn’t touch you, man. Maybe lay off the cider.”

Lila, never one to miss a moment, cupped her hands and shouted, “Nice one, Jimmy! Tripping over your own ego deserves a gold star!”

Nora, scribbling in her notebook, snorted. “Adding ‘how to fall spectacularly’ to my self-defense tips. Thanks for the demo, champ!”

Elena wiped soda from her scarf, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Real classy, Jimmy. Maybe next time aim for someone who deserves it.”

Jimmy’s face turned redder, but the crowd’s laughter drowned him out. I glanced around, expecting to see Ted Blackwell gloating—he’d been at the Virelle dinner, throwing shade like it was his job—but he was nowhere in sight. The whole thing felt off, like Jimmy was a pawn in someone else’s game.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I told Elena, guiding her away from the chaos. My jaw throbbed, but I ignored it, more worried about the soda-soaked mess on her scarf.

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