"Joan is blunt, yes. But she's always been straightforward—she wouldn't stoop to underhanded tricks to frame someone."
Rhys whipped around to face me, his gaze ice-cold.
"Ursula, what are you playing at? You've always competed with Joan behind closed doors. Now you're suddenly defending her?" A sneer twisted his lips. "It's because you're jealous of Janet, isn't it? I used to think you had some sense of decency. Turns out you're just like Joan—scheming, spiteful, and impossible to reason with!"
Every word landed like a stone. I felt nothing.
Rhys lifted his chin, voice ringing with self-righteous conviction.
"Let me make one thing clear to both of you. If my family weren't forcing my hand, the only woman I'd ever marry is Janet." His eyes swept over us with contempt. "Even if you get my name, you'll never have my heart!"
With that, he scooped Janet into his arms—she was still sniffling on cue—and strode away without looking back.
But Janet, nestled against his chest, turned her head just enough to catch our eyes.
And smiled.
A faint, knowing curl of the lips.
I watched Rhys disappear around the corner, then turned to Joan.