Page 31 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

THEO

“ P erfect timing, Theodore,” Mom said the moment I stepped into the foyer of the great house.

Her heels clicked against marble as she approached, posture flawless, smile sharp.

She leaned in, pressing cold, perfumed air kisses to each cheek before her hands settled on my shoulders with more force than warmth.

“I must run—need to go over a few last-minute details with the florist. You know how unreliable people can be when left to their own devices.” She gave me a pointed look that made the hair on my arms rise.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to steady my voice, though my insides were already curling in unease.

I’d only just flown in from the Caymans last night, and at Father’s request I was here.

Following an abrupt call that offered no explanation, just to be here.

I was summoned to the family estate—that never meant anything good.

“I’m sure your father will explain everything .” Her dark green eyes—so much like mine, only harder, sharper—locked onto mine, silent and piercing. There was a warning there. Follow his lead. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.

The muscles in my jaw flexed. I let out an unimpressed huff. “I’m sure he will.”

“Don’t be like that, darling.” She rolled her eyes at the sour twist on my face before I had the presence of mind to smooth it away and slide my mask back on—calm, composed, obedient.

“There are a couple of options laid out in your old room for the evening. Wear the navy. You look so handsome in navy.”

And with that, she was gone. A blur of heels, tailored silk and perfect gray-streaked brown curls.

The weight of the world—his world—settled back onto my shoulders. I moved through the house with measured steps, the familiar opulence pressing in from every side. Gold fixtures gleamed. Art hung in calculated symmetry. The walls were cream, marble floors filled with museum-like silence.

Unlike his city office, the house wasn’t overtly intimidating. It was subtle. It lulled you into a false sense of security. Comfort. Smiled at you while it slid the knife in your back.

I reached the double oak doors and raised my hand to knock, but I couldn’t?—

“Enter,” his voice came through the wood, low and resonant. He knew I was there before I touched the handle. He always did.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me with a soft click . He didn’t look up as I crossed the room and took the seat opposite his desk. His fingers drummed against the lacquered wood—one, two, three, then still.

“Nice of you to finally arrive.” His gaze lifted, and the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Vitriol dripped from every syllable. “Did the sun-drenched beaches of your offshore haven make it difficult to remember your priorities?”

I didn’t rise to the bait. “I was there on business and got back last night. You called this morning. I came as soon as my meeting finished.”

“Yes, well, I expect obedience, not sarcasm.” His voice hardened. “You will do exactly as you’re told tonight. This is not a request. It is a directive.”

“What am I walking into?” I asked, though I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

His mouth curled into something that wasn’t a smile. “A very important night for our family. The Astor legacy depends on what happens this evening. And more importantly… your future does too.”

My spine stiffened. “You mean your plans for my future.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “You’ve been allowed to play pretend long enough. You are an Astor. And Astors serve the family. You have obligations. Now is your time to step up to the table.”

My jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No one asks for power. They’re born to it. They carry it. Or it crushes them.”

His voice was calm now—dangerously so.

“I’ve spoken with the Vanderbilts,” he continued. “Tonight, you’ll be meeting their daughter. There will be photos. Smiles. Appearances. She’s well-connected. Educated. Attractive enough. You will dance with her. Charm her. Begin something that looks like a future. ”

The floor shifted beneath me. “You’re arranging a merger through me.”

“Don’t insult me by pretending to be na?ve.

This isn’t about romance. It’s about legacy.

It’s about survival. If you embarrass me tonight, if you resist what’s expected of you—” His eyes locked onto mine, cold and bottomless.

“—I will disown you. I’ll freeze your accounts.

Burn the foundations of your dreams. I’ll ruin you so thoroughly you’ll have no choice but to crawl back here and beg for scraps at my table. ”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. Just held the truth against my throat like a blade.

All I could do was stare at him, my insides twisting. I wanted to stand. I wanted to throw the chair across the room and scream that I wasn’t his pawn, that I wasn’t a piece on his chessboard. But that would only tighten the noose.

I’d known this was coming, I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. I’d fooled myself that I could outrun the future even as it breathed down my neck. At least I’d have the memories of our stolen moments to help me survive what was to come.

Instead of fighting, I swallowed the bile in my throat and said, “Navy it is. I’ll go and get ready now. How long before we leave?”

He sat back, satisfied. “Good. The car arrives in an hour.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. I left his office with numb legs and a throat that grated like sandpaper every time I swallowed.

Each step up the sweeping staircase felt like dragging chains. The house around me was blurred—a kaleidoscope of polished golds and creams, sterile and curated like a museum built for someone else’s life. My life, apparently. The gilded cage I couldn’t escape.

The second I closed the door to my childhood bedroom, the air changed. I dropped my mask the moment the latch clicked. My knees buckled before I even reached the bed.

I folded over, gripping the edge of the mattress with white-knuckled fingers, trying to keep the scream inside. My lungs burned. My ribs ached. The pressure in my chest was unbearable.

He’d finally done it.

The tears came fast—hot and bitter. I pressed my fist into my mouth to muffle the sound as I doubled over, forehead nearly touching my knees.

The suit options lay untouched on the bed, still wrapped in their plastic armor.

I wanted to tear them apart. I wanted to scream until the walls shattered and the ghosts of this house crumbled with them.

I thought I had more time. Just a little more time with him—Sin.

A memory hit like a fist to the ribs—Sinclair’s fingers threading through my hair, his mouth warm against mine, the quiet sound he made when I whispered his name. His voice in the dark, steady and real and mine.

“I’m not afraid of you, Theo. I just wish you weren’t either.”

I stripped mechanically, trying not to fall apart again; stitching pieces of myself back together as they fell. The navy suit waited like a noose on the hanger, taunting me.

In the bathroom, I turned the water on hot and stepped under the stream, letting it scald the guilt and grief off me—but it clung too deep.

My head thudded against the cool marble tile.

Over and over, every memory assaulted me: Sin’s sleepy laugh in the mornings, the way he’d tug me back into bed just to steal five more minutes.

How he kissed like we were the only two people in the world.

The look in his eyes when I told him I was coming—and the look that would be there when he saw me tonight with her.

I stayed under the water until my skin flushed red, and my chest quieted enough for me to breathe again. And I donned my armor, repaired the walls around my heart, making them impenetrable.

My heart belonged to one man. I refused to ever give it to another. Sin saw me for who I truly was beneath my cold bitter exterior. I owed it to him to honor everything we had, even if after tonight he thought I’d betrayed him.

Eventually, I dressed. It took an eternity to put my suit on. Just like the puppet I was, I wore the navy one. I was nothing if not the image they created. The embodiment of my Astor heritage.

He was already waiting by the car, a sleek black Bentley polished to a mirror shine. I could see myself in the surface of the door, but I didn’t recognize the man staring back.

My father’s gaze slid over me with clinical precision. His jaw ticked once. “Good. You look appropriate.”

No warmth. No approval. Just an assessment. Like a weapon he’d finally sharpened.

I slid into the back seat without a word, and our driver closed the door behind us with the soft finality of a coffin lid.

My father’s tuxedo, blacker than sin, and sharp enough to cut glass, would have looked out of place anywhere else. But here, in Brookhaven Ridge, among silk-draped privilege and generational wealth, he fit perfectly. As if the place had been carved from his soul.

The car pulled away from the estate and I watched the world outside blur—rows of perfectly manicured hedges and discreet iron gates giving way to the sprawl of the country club’s golf course. Landscaped like Eden, maintained like a crime scene. Every blade of grass, a lie.

His phone rang before he could fixate on me, and he answered it with a clipped “Astor,”—already halfway into another power play.

His voice dropped into that low, persuasive register he used when sealing billion-dollar deals or threatening someone’s livelihood.

As he barked down the line, I stared out the window, wishing I could unbuckle the mask tightening around my face.

I didn’t even know what this event was until two hours ago. And now here I was. On parade.

The only silver lining was that Sin wasn’t working tonight. I’d checked the roster. He was off for another two days. I wouldn’t have to see his face. Wouldn’t have to watch everything I’d broken in him reflect in his eyes.