The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 128

Callum

The manor was dark when I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me with more care than sound. My collar felt tight, my jacket heavier than it should have. The colosseum, the mess hall still clung to me.

I’d just stepped into the hall when a lamp snapped on.

“Where have you been?”

My mother’s voice cut through the stillness, cool and sharp. She sat in one of the high-backed chairs by the window, the lamp she’d lit casting long shadows across her face. The silk robe she wore didn’t soften her. Nothing ever did.

“Reviewing reports,” I said, keeping my tone level. “Making sure tomorrow runs smoothly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

I didn’t answer. Silence worked better sometimes. She hated when I used it against her.

“I know what you’ve been up to. How many times do I need to remind you, you’re riding the line of losing everything, Callum.” She stood, her shadow stretching across the polished floor. “You think this tournament is just another game? It’s not. It’s our name. Our reputation. Every headline, every whisper from the crowd—Bianca is carrying that for us. And you—” she sliced the air with her hand “—you are supposed to be at her side. Twenty-four hours a day, if that’s what it takes.”

“She doesn’t need me every hour.” My voice didn’t rise. It stayed calm, even.

“She needs your presence. Your hand on her arm. Your name beside hers. Do you understand? This isn’t about matches. It’s about perception. And right now, they see you as disinterested. They see your loyalties as divided.”

I met her gaze, refusing to waver. “My loyalty is to this family. Always has been.”

“Then prove it. Stand with Bianca. Smile, nod, make them believe in the perfect pair. If you don’t—everything your father and I built will crack, and when it falls, it will be on you.”

Her words landed like they always did, sharp and practiced. Once, they would’ve cut me open. Tonight, I let them slide.

“I am doing right by the family,” I said quietly, firmly. “I know what’s at stake. I’m the heir—not Bianca. Not anyone else. Me. And I’ll carry that weight.”

For the first time, something flickered in her expression. She hadn’t expected me to sound so certain.

“But I’ll do it my way.”

I adjusted my jacket, straightened my shoulders, and turned toward the hall. The calm in my steps was louder than any door I could’ve slammed.

“Callum,” she snapped behind me, command curling sharp in the air.

I paused just long enough to say, “Goodnight, Mother.”

Then I walked on, leaving the lamplight, and her fury, behind me.

“Must’ve been a mistake—”

Not a mistake. Not luck. The tournament wasn’t just fighting. It was strategy, speed, endurance, and staying on your feet when everyone wanted you down. I hadn’t been perfect, but I’d been consistent throughout the ther trials. And apparently, that counted more than Bianca’s one flashy win.

The corner of my mouth twitched. Just barely. The city was about to riot all over again.

Across the crowd, Bianca’s face was a portrait worth framing. Wide eyes, lips pressed so tight they nearly vanished. Shock hit first, but didn’t last.

It melted into something sharp and glossy, a smile blooming slow and deliberate as she pushed her shoulders back. Second place still meant something.

The top five competitors would be interviewed by the King’s envoy. The first by the King himself. Which meant… all eyes shifted to me again.

If I won, I got the relic. But if I won… my father would likely announce who I was.

Maybe that’s what Bianca wanted—an interview with him. But why, with all her lies?

I kept my chin down, hood shadowing my face. No need to give them the reaction they were hunting for.

Bianca, though, she floated past her entourage, hair tossed over one shoulder like the light belonged to her. She looked radiant, triumphant. But I saw the truth in the dig of her nails into her palm, the tremor in her jaw.