I took a bigger swallow of whiskey, the heat stinging my eyes. “Then I find a new one. “
“Why?” he pressed. “What are you so afraid of?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and fragile.
No one had ever asked me that. Not like that.
Not with genuine curiosity instead of exasperation. Chloe called me a control freak. Marcus had called me “a lot. ” But Rhys was asking *why*.
The fire, the storm, the whiskey… it all felt like a truth serum.
“Chaos,” I whispered, the word tasting like ash. “I’m afraid of feeling helpless. Of having the rug pulled out from under me. ”
I stared into the flames, but I wasn’t seeing them. I was seeing my old apartment, me waiting by the phone. “My ex, Marcus… he was chaos.
One day he loved me more than life itself, the next I was suffocating him. He’d disappear for days and then show up with flowers and apologies.
Our whole life was a series of soaring highs and crushing, gut-wrenching lows. I never knew which version of him I was going to get. “
The confession left me feeling raw, like I’d just peeled back a layer of skin. “When I finally left, I swore I’d never feel that powerless again. So, I plan. I control every variable I can. Because I can’t survive another rug pull. “
I braced myself for judgment, for a platitude.
Instead, there was just a profound, empathetic silence.
When I finally dared to look at him, his face was etched with a surprising softness. The cocky charm was gone, replaced by a deep, aching understanding.
“We all run from something,” he said, his voice a low thrum. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “You build walls and make plans. I just… keep moving. “
It was my turn. “You talk about your photography like a passion. It doesn’t sound like running. “
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “It’s both. The perfect excuse. ‘Sorry, can’t make the family summit, I’m shooting glacial caves in Iceland. ‘ ‘Sorry, can’t take over the company, I’ve got an assignment in the Serengeti. ‘ It’s hard to pin down a man who’s always on a different continent. “
“Take over the company?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Davenport & Sons. Investment banking,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a weary distaste.
“My father is Rhys Davenport Sr. My grandfather was Rhys Davenport. I’m supposed to be the third. A dynasty of men in tailored suits, moving money around, acquiring. . . things. A life mapped out before I took my first breath. Chloe bought into it; I ran from it. “
He took a long drink. “They see my camera as a charming hobby. A rebellious phase I’m supposed to outgrow. They don’t understand that looking through a lens is the only way I can make the world feel real. Out there,” he gestured towards the storm, “everything is honest. A lion, a mountain, a storm… they are what they are. In my family’s world, everything is strategy. Every word has a price. I’m not running from responsibility, Ava. I’m running from a life that isn’t mine. “
The air in the barn crackled with more than just static. It was thick with shared secrets, with the weight of two souls laid bare. He wasn’t just the infuriating best man.
He was a man running from his own gilded cage. And he saw me.
He truly saw the frightened girl hiding behind the spreadsheets.