Dishearten Chapter 10

Meet the villain(?)

Dishearten is a spicy, dark-gray romance inspired by Alice in Wonderland, and Book 2 in the Frayed Satin Series, interconnected standalones giving classic ballets dark and twisty HEAs. Preorder today! Releasing June 26, 2026.

New to the series? Start with Book 1, Unveil, a dark Swan Lake retelling where the ‘villain’ steals the girl. Or jump into the first generation with Rouge, a Moulin Rouge x Romeo & Juliet remix.

PS: This is a spicy romance that explores dark themes and should only be read by 18+ mature audiences. Reader discretion is advised.

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Trigger warnings: ROUGH DRAFT + SUBJECT TO CHANGE—aka DON’T GET ATTACHED Y’ALL… harsh language, violence depicted, sexual descriptions

Copyright © 2026 by Greer Rivers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for social media promotion on behalf of Greer Rivers. No part of this book may be used or uploaded to train Generative AI. AKA: Pls don’t steal or copy! It’s not nice and hurts authors’ feelings!

Dishearten Chapter 10

Lucy

“You never accept a drink when I offer it,” Castle muses, swirling the amber liquid in his rocks glass. His ice-blue eyes appraise me. “I’m not sure where you’re from, Alice, but around here, it’s rather rude to reject an offering of food and drink.”

He takes a slow sip, and I swallow right along with him. But I keep my face blank.

I am Kian McKennon’s daughter. No one will out-poker-face me.

“Wilmington, sir. My family has a history of alcoholism, so I never touch the stuff.” When up against someone as formidable as Castle, always cover your lies with the most vulnerable truth you can allow.

To my knowledge, no one in my family has stepped foot in Wilmington, though my parents have been sober for decades. They have been ever since my Gramps helped my dad through some hard times, and my mom quit drinking the night my father saved her life.

But my friends and I? We drank like sailors on Bourbon Street from the time the first of us—Nox and all six-foot-five of him—could pass as anything other than teenagers.

Castle doesn’t need to know that, though. Or that I’m still underage until next month.

And most importantly, he doesn’t need to know I don’t trust him enough to be anything less than fully alert in front of him.

“Interesting.” He hums. “We all cope differently, don’t we? My daughter was murdered by a drunk driver, and yet…” He lifts the drink beneath the glow of the green Tiffany lamp on his desk, studying its brilliant amber hue. “Every night I drink a glass of the same poison that killed her.”

No errant facial twitch until the end. Two truths and a lie.

But again, he doesn’t need to know I know that.

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” I reply softly, genuinely meaning it. “I can’t imagine.”

He huffs, swirling faster. “Do you know what the prosecutor told me before he dismissed the case against my daughter’s murderer?”

“No sir.” I shake my head while quietly studying him in return.

He glares at the glass as he sets it down, then leans forward. If his face wasn’t set in a permanent almost-frown, he’d remind me of an older version of my father. Sames features with his strong jaw, hair color, and lightly tanned skin tone, but most notably, the capacity to bend a room to his will before anyone realizes they’ve been brought to their knees.

A vein pulses at his salt-and-paprika hairline and his focus is fixed somewhere beyond me, over my shoulder. A real or imagined vision, I’m not sure, and I don’t want to turn around to find out. Not while he’s either allowing me a glimpse at genuine emotion or performing one.

I have a feeling it’s the former, but I don’t know why I’d be the one privy to that kind of honesty in his den of secrets.

“Apparently there’s a saying in the DUI world,” he goes on. “A drunk driver will drive inebriated ninety-nine times before they’re caught the hundredth. It’s all a numbers game.”

I frown. “The prosecutor thought that about the driver, and he still dismissed the case?”

“And he still dismissed the case,” Castle echoes slowly, finally returning his gaze to mine. I shiver under the icy weight of it. “I had the murderer tailed after that. I couldn’t have them making the same mistake again, of course.”

The grandfather clock in the corner ticks several times before I decide he actually wants me to participate in whatever game this is.

“What happened?”

His mouth quirks with the smallest twitch as his attention drifts beyond me again.

“If the prosecutor’s impudent adage held merit, then my daughter’s killer drove one-hundred-and-one times before they were driven into an early grave.” He points his drink at something behind me. “Straight into a palmetto tree. The only thing that survived the crash was the tree itself.”

I follow the gesture toward three bright paintings on wooden planks that look like plywood. Pink, purple, and blue chickens dance beneath towering palm trees. They’re the only real color in Castle’s otherwise gentleman’s smoking lounge decor.

“Amazingly durable plants,” he adds, an air of fascination in his delivery. “Did you know they survived cannonball blasts during the Revolutionary War?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“It’s why our lawmakers put one on our flag.” He leans back slowly. “Probably the last useful thing they ever did in that building.”

The clock ticks.

Geez, the soundproofing in this office is incredible. Watchman always lowers the volume downstairs for closing, but I should still be able to hear something from the club below us.

Instead, there’s only the dull vibration of bass beneath my ballet flats and…

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, feeling woefully underdressed in my sweats and hoodie against his pristine suit. Then again, I guess it’s better than lingerie.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Usually, the best way to get someone to talk is to let silence do the work, but Castle called me in here for a reason. I’m beginning to suspect I won’t learn what that reason is until I fully play along.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I give in.

“Why did the prosecutor dismiss the case?”

Castle laughs drily. “Politics, my dear Alice. ‘First kill all the lawyers,’ Shakespeare said. And that’s exactly who fills that wretched building.” He gestures vaguely. “What better way to ensure job security than to make laws so convoluted the average layman has no hope of understanding them? Not even the police.”

“I…” I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, at the time in this state, there were approximately fifty-two ways an officer could mishandle a DUI stop. Probably more now.” He sighs. “And even if performed perfectly, there’s still no predicting what a jury will do.”

His fingers tap once against the glass.

“The sole officer on duty that night in our tiny one-red-light coastal town managed to commit thirty-seven mistakes.” His lip curls faintly. “The precinct—if you could call the former strip mall turned police station that—could barely afford tape for the windows, let alone the equipment necessary to avoid twelve of those mistakes. He never had a chance to do his job correctly.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Not that he wanted to. He had… other motives.”

The room suddenly feels colder as he settles his gaze on me again. I wrap my arms around myself tighter, unable to do more than listen.

“With the cop a miserable excuse for a detective, the prosecutor said the case was dead in the water.” Castle huffs softly. “Those were his exact words. I don’t think the overworked fool even remembered my six-year-old drowned in the marsh after the car went off the road.”

“Oh God. I’m sorry, Mr. Castle.” My chest twists with sympathy. “That’s… horrific. For so many reasons.”

He nods, eyes wide and distant as they linger on his glass.

“So many things might’ve gone differently that night if I could’ve predicted my daughter’s future.” His forefinger traces the rim of the rocks glass. “If I’d read the paper that morning, I would’ve realized the stock I was preparing to purchase for a client was a bad investment, and I wouldn’t have insisted on the impromptu meeting before the overseas market opened. I could’ve driven her home from her dance class myself.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“If, earlier that year, I hadn’t placed an astronomically successful bid on a company producing the genetically modified grain used in a very specific cheap rye bourbon, then this particular liquor’s distillery wouldn’t have seen the highest profits in its history.” He studies the amber liquid again. “And perhaps it never would’ve been distributed in this state to begin with. Or be given as a gift of appreciation. My daughter’s murderer might’ve been forced to stick to the wine they were used to, instead of a bourbon with proof that rivals Appalachian moonshine.”

A chill creeps up my arms.

“And if I’d spent less time flying back and forth to Manhattan, chasing Wall Street and convincing myself I was helping my family…” His jaw tightens. “I might’ve recognized the officer for what he was. Personally compromised from the start. In love with the driver.”

I still.

Castle taps one finger against the glass.

Tick. Tap. Tick.

“So now I pour this drink every night as a reminder of what happens when you place a bad bet.” He glances at me. “How important information is. Calculation.”

The green lamp light catches the ice in his drink, and he narrows his eyes at the glass.

“Because it wasn’t the liquor that prevented justice that night. You don’t hate the product. You don’t even hate the consumer.” His voice lowers. “You hate the people with the power to weaponize both.”

He suddenly smiles at me. Unnerving, attractive, even almost passing for carefree. Like I’m in on a joke.

“That’s the irony, isn’t it? Flawed systems are still preferable to none at all. People quote Shakespeare without understanding him. ‘First kill all the lawyers’ wasn’t condemnation. It was a warning. Without systems, without predictable motivations, without pressure points to exploit, there’d be chaos. No numbers. Nothing reliable.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Nothing… useful. You understand?”

I force myself not to squirm beneath his stare. “I… think so, sir.”

“Besides,” his tone lightens, “death is hardly the worst punishment. It’s a gift, really. Far kinder than having everything you love stripped away piece by piece until there’s nothing left of your humanity.”

The grandfather clock strikes two heavy bells.

Castle waits through both before continuing, “So long as I know the secrets of every devil in charge, I know how they tick. I know which strings to pull and which to cut.” He tips his nearly untouched drink toward me. “That’s what Wander Isle is all about, isn’t it?”

His ice-blue eyes sharpen.

“And tonight, dear Alice…” One brow lifts slightly. “You met a devil I do not know.”