MY RUIN: In Love With My Step-Uncle Chapter 29 - Twenty-Nine: Sealed

//CLARA//

The drawing room was silent, save for the rhythmic, dry scratch of Mr. Cromwell’s fountain pen and Oliver’s barely audible breathing.

I watched the ink dry on the top page. I didn’t need to explain why I was doing this.

"Fifty-fifty," Mr. Cromwell murmured, his spectacles sliding down his nose. "And you are certain about the veto clause, Mr. Whitfield? Miss Thorne would have final authority over the public image of the company."

Oliver looked at . I didn’t blink. I just leaned back, my fingers interlaced over my knee, waiting.

"I’m certain," Oliver said, his voice gaining a resonance it had lacked at the Bazaar. "I know how to build the machine, Mr. Cromwell. She knows how to make the world want it."

"Then we are ready." Mr. Cromwell turned the docunts toward us.

The heavy oak doors burst open, striking the stops with a crack that vibrated through the floorboards.

Both gentlen jumped in their seats and turned toward the doorway as if they had been caught committing a cri. The color drained from Mr. Cromwell’s face so quickly that I wondered if he might actually faint.

Casimir strode in with his waistcoat unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as if he had been working or perhaps pacing a hole into his study floor. His eyes went straight to the papers on the table, then to the inkwell, and finally to .

"Good of you to join us, Uncle."

I kept my posture relaxed, the perfect portrait of unbothered composure, despite the storm currently blowing through my ribcage. I had known he would co. I just hadn’t expected him to arrive before we finished. Soone had tipped him off.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, I had a contract to seal and a raging guardian to deal with.

"What is this?" His voice was quiet, controlled, and all the more dangerous for it.

"As you may know, this is Mr. Oliver Whitfield." I gestured gracefully toward Oliver, who had gone very still. "And I would like to introduce you to Mr. Graves Cromwell, a lawyer."

Casimir’s gaze shifted to the trembling solicitor. "Lawyer."

Mr. Cromwell extended a hand that shook noticeably. "G-good day, Mr. Guggenheim."

Casimir stared at the offered hand without moving. He did not acknowledge Mr. Cromwell at all. He simply stared at him as one might look at an insect that had wandered into the wrong room.

The poor lawyer lowered his hand and began sweating bullets. He looked less like a legal counsel and more like a man praying for the floor to open up and swallow him before Casimir’s gaze could finish the job.

"Mr. Cromwell." The na ca out like an accusation rather than a greeting. "I do not rember authorizing a legal consultation in this house today."

Mr. Cromwell opened his mouth, but no words erged.

"I did."

I just sat there, letting the silence of the room settle around like a velvet cloak, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a flinch.

"I invited them both here. I assud your schedule was too full of transactions to be bothered with a dostic matter."

Casimir’s gaze dropped to the contract on the table. His eyes moved across the pages with the speed of a man who had spent his life reading docunts and knew exactly where to look for trouble. He found the numbers first. Then the clauses. Then my signature line, still waiting.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, the only sign that he was currently experiencing a controlled explosion of fury.

"Are you the one who wrote this?" Casimir asked the lawyer without looking at him.

Mr. Cromwell shook his head with such violence that I worried for his neck.

"No, Mr. Guggenheim. Miss Thorne drew up the terms and conditions herself. I rely notarized the docunt to make it legal and valid."

Casimir looked at then, and there was sothing in his gaze that I could not read. Surprise, perhaps, or sothing else entirely.

"You made this?"

I tilted my head and offered him a sweet smile. "Why? Do you think I am incapable?"

He did not answer. Instead, his attention shifted to Oliver for the first ti, and his gaze turned so cold that it should have left frost on the man’s collar.

"You are taking money from a girl who has not even seen her twentieth birthday?"

For a mont, I thought Oliver might crumble. He was pale, and his hands were clenched at his sides. Any reasonable man would have retreated. But instead, he stood up and leveled his gaze at Casimir with a steadiness that made proud.

"I am taking an investnt from a business partner who believes in my work." His voice carried enough confidence despite the tremor in his fingers.

"You developed this machine?"

"Yes," Oliver replied. "And I have already patented it."

Casimir nodded slowly. Then he turned back to , rounded the table, and planted his hands on the mahogany surface on either side of where I sat. He leaned in, caging without touching a single hair on my head. He slled of sun and iron, and the storm in his eyes swirled with sothing I could not na.

"Why did you not say sothing to when you asked for the money?" he whispered, low enough that only I could hear.

I picked up the pen from the table, keenly aware of the inches between us and the two other n in the room who were suddenly very interested in the pattern of the wallpaper.

So much for propriety, Uncle.

The pen was heavy and cool in my hand, and it felt like a weapon. Perfect. I always fought better ard.

"I told you," I said with the barest hint of nonchalance as I held his gaze. "It is my business, not yours. This is what the money was for."

I pressed the nib to the parchnt and signed Eleanor’s na with a flourish that felt like a slap. Then I slid the paper across the table to Oliver for him to sign.

Casimir watched the ink settle into the fibers of the page. He looked like he wanted to rip the docunt to shreds with his bare hands. I gestured to Mr. Cromwell. He hesitated at first, glancing at with wide eyes.

I remained calm and composed despite having a seething guardian breathing down my neck. He pulled out his wax and seal and stamped the paper with a trembling hand.

"Done," Mr. Cromwell announced, though he sounded less enthusiastic.

He kept one eye on Casimir as if expecting to be hurled across the room at any mont.

I stood up and smoothed the front of my dress. I could feel Casimir’s gaze following the movent with a burning weight.

"Thank you, Mr. Cromwell," I said, offering my hand for a shake.

He took it with the eagerness of a man being thrown a lifeline. I turned to Oliver and extended the sa hand.

"Mr. Whitfield, it has been a pleasure doing business with you."

Oliver shook my hand with a firm grip and a small smile that suggested he understood exactly what had just happened.

I called for Higgins to escort the gentlen out.

As the door closed behind them, I picked up the silver-handled mirror, focusing on a stray lock of hair as if it were the most pressing matter in the room. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to. I could feel the volcanic pressure emanating from him, threatening to blister the very air between us.

Slowly, I t his gaze in the reflection and offered the glass a thin, innocent smile.

"What?"