Chapter 9
Mila
I shift in my seat, trying to avert my father ’ s eyes, which haven ’ t left my cast since we entered his car.
“ Are you in pain?” Dad questions, watching me carefully. Anytime I move or try to adjust my cast, Dad ’ s reaction is filled with guilt and worry.
“ No,” I shake my head.
His exhale feels like dirt clogging my pores. He looks out the window and rubs his chin as his driver merges onto the highway. The space in the car grows smaller with each breath. Mixed with the scent of the leather seats, the pain medication, and barely eating since the hospital, I think I might throw up.
“ It ’ s a lot to give up,” Dad states without looking in my direction.
My brows pull together. “ What is?”
“ Ballet.” Dad pulls at his tie, “ I just,” he shrugs, “ I don ’ t want you to regret leaving it. It ’ s not a sport one just leaves and returns to. Years of discipline and skills will be wasted if you leave.”
“ I…I…” Are we having this conversation? Is Dad considering letting me quit? “ I ’ m not Mom,” I whisper hoarsely, then exhale with relief. This feels like a bandaid that needed to be ripped off ages ago. Instead, my fear started to grow over it.
“ I don ’ t want you to be your mother.” Dad hisses in annoyance.
I flinch in my seat. Dad usually only speaks fondly of my mom, but this time, I have a feeling mom did something to anger him, and my wanting to quit is poking old demons.
Dad ’ s eyes shut as if he ’ s experiencing a headache. “ I want you to be happy, and dancing has always made you happy.” He clarifies.
“ It made me content because it made you and Mom happy, but deep down, it ’ s not a path I would have continued to walk on. I just don ’ t enjoy it anymore.” I admit, reaching up for my seatbelt, needing it to catch me in case this conversation goes south. “ Dad, did…did you love mom?”
Pained eyes snap open and widen with insult, “ What?” A bead of sweat slides down his temple. “ Of course, I loved your mother. Why would you ask me that?” He growls accusingly.
“ Because if you loved someone, you ’ d never force them to do something they hated. That ’ s not love.” That ’ s how I know no matter what Dash said, he did love me. Maybe it was for a fleeting moment during his game of amusement, but it ’ s still love. Dash ’ s true intention was for me to find the inner strength to walk away on my own.He built me up, made me think I could dream and hope, and gave me the inner strength to take what I wanted. I wish he didn ’ t tear me down in the end. Now I ’ m left trying to sort through the pieces so I can make myself whole again.
I will find those shredded pieces of paper that resemble my heart and tape myself back together.
Dad ’ s brows pull taut. “ I see the point you ’ re trying to make. Anyone can paint, Mila. Not everyone can dance. You ’ re special, and I want the world to know that. Ballet shows people you are disciplined and elegant.”
“ Sounds like you ’ re describing a show horse.” I bite my tongue, wishing I didn ’ t say that. “ I know you want the best for me, Dad, but that changes as a person grows.”
It ’ s not just my father ’ s fault. I ’ ve bottled up my emotions, which led me to cut myself for relief. I allowed this wound to fester.
“ I want you to be safe when I leave this earth. I ’ m trying to ensure that.”
“ You can ’ t cherry-pick the future.”
“ I can try,” Dad's smirk lasts as long as lightning crackles in the sky. “ I know your life isn ’ t normal, but in our world, I ’ ve given you more freedom than others. Parts of your life are planned, and I don ’ t regret that. When you ’ re a parent, you will do everything in your power to protect your child.” He admits hastily. “ There are things I can ’ t change, Mila. I wish I could, like allowing you to fall in love and then get married, but I have to die knowing you will be protected. But,” His eyes hold mine, “ If you don ’ t want to dance,” he swallows as if he regrets every single letter that comes next. “ I won ’ t force you. If you want to pursue art, you can.”
An echo from my pounding heart ricochets in my ears. “ You ’ re letting me choose?”
“ This .” He sternly lifts a brow. “ You know other things I can not and will not change. Speaking of which, you ’ re getting older, and we need to talk about your future.”
My moment of glee slowly dwindles like a balloon. Up, up, up I float. I think I ’ m free—until pop! I ’ m reminded that gravity exists, and my father has all the control.
Is Dad only giving me this freedom because he ’ s about to take away something else?
“ I didn ’ t ask, nor do I want to know what transpired between you and Dominic. But I know he looks at you as more than just a childhood friend, Mila.”
“ We ’ re just—”
Dad holds up his hand. “ I don ’ t need details, but,” he pauses, letting his words hit me hard. “ If you care for the boy, you will stop whatever is happening. You don ’ t belong to him. I ’ ll have a word with his father.” Dad shakes his head. “ Dominic should know better. Anyway, once he moves and you have some distance between you, it will fizzle out. He ’ s not the man for you.”
“ Who is?” I blurt out bitterly.
For a moment, Dad ’ s eyes fill with pity. He reaches out and softly pats my knee. “ Don ’ t worry about that now. Just know who I picked has enough power to keep you safe. I just want you safe.” He repeats.
“ So you have picked someone,” I reply.
“ I shouldn ’ t have said that,” he mutters as if I can ’ t handle the truth. “ I just want you to get better.”
A cage can keep you safe from the outside world, but what if the creature inside is a danger to themselves? What then, Dad?
◆◆◆
“ Let me help you,” Dom offers as he enters my bedroom. His smile widens as he comes to my side, bends down, and picks up my black velvet shoe.
An inhale sticks to my throat. “ You ’ re not supposed to be here,” I whisper.
“ You make it sound like you don ’ t miss me.” Dom bites as his fingers start to crush the velvet.
I swallow, “ Dom…” He ’ s right. Physically, I don ’ t miss him. He ’ s my biggest regret.
I ruined a friendship and lied by giving him hope that there was something between us. I was heartbroken, and he helped numb that pain.
I used him like a pincushion; each time I wanted to do something stupid like hurt myself, I pressed my body into him instead. My body became the needle. I just kept pushing and shoving myself into Dom so it all would stop.
Does that make me a monster?
I didn ’ t mean to play with his emotions. I miss having a friend, hanging out, going to our secret field, laying down a blanket, and watching the clouds as we drink and talk about nonsense. I thought I knew the definition of loneliness. Then Dash left, and I learned that I was never lonely. I was bored.
I wish I could go back to simpler times when escaping boredom was the biggest problem. I ’ ve never gone back to cutting, but I realize now instead of facing my demons, I just chose another way to numb myself. This time, using Dom.
Looking at your reflection is the most terrifying act of accomplishment. Just you, yourself, and your inner thoughts, no filters, no one else to give you comments. Just you.
I still haven’t done this. But one day I will.
“ You know our fathers didn ’ t agree with us, Dom. I don ’ t want to cause trouble. We have to try to get over it.” The ‘ it ’ s not you, it ’ s our fathers ’ talk still hasn ’ t sunk into Dom. This was weeks ago, but he still keeps trying to convince me to talk to my father again.
He grabs my leg, lifts my foot, and gently slides the shoe on. His fingers linger on my now-healed ankle. “ How ’ s it feeling?” Ignoring my statement, his hand skims up my leg before he stands.
“ Better,” I mutter.
He nods, lost in thought.
“ We should go downstairs.” I offer gently.
He looks at me without meeting my eyes. “ We used to hide out and escape this party. Now you ’ re so eager to attend.”
I close my eyes, pushing away a headache. “ Dom, please.”
When my eyes open, hooded, smoldering eyes glare back at me. “ I ’ d fight for you, Mila.”
His words mold my face like silly putty into a painful frown. Reaching out, I take his hand. “ I know, but I don ’ t want you to get hurt. Our fathers are business partners, this…us. We shouldn ’ t have blurred the line. Can ’ t we be friends?”
Suddenly, he invades my space. My next heartbeat is short and quick as his hipbones press into mine. I feel him physically, but emotionally, it ’ s like our bodies are bookends—our past the books stacked between us, keeping us apart. My chin is now pinched between his fingers as he guides my face up. His eyes narrow like a voyeur, peeking through blinds they shouldn ’ t. “ You ’ re such a beautiful liar,” he smirks cruelly.
I try to step back, but he swings his arm behind me, slapping his heated palm on my lower back, keeping me in place. “ The problem is,” he speaks slowly as he lowers his lips to mine. “ I don ’ t know what was a lie.” His mouth sweep over mine in a fast yet stern touch. “ Was it your love for me, or are you lying now just to protect me from your father?”
“ Dominic,” I press, inching my face away from his. “ You ’ re scaring me.”
He snorts, “ Wouldn ’ t want to do that now, would I.” He steps back, “ One day I ’ ll find out, Mila. I ’ ll get the truth from your lips if it ’ s the last thing I do.”
“ Mila, darling?” my dad yells as he turns the corner and enters my room. He and Dom ’ s eyes clash like a Titan against a god—an endless battle where one wins, the other loses, but always rises to fight again.
Oh shit!
“ Dominic,” Dad clears his throat in warning, “ I heard you came tonight. You weren ’ t supposed to be here.”
That ’ s news to me. My eyes bounce from Dom to my father.
Dom grabs the lapels of his coat. “ Is that any way to speak to your business partner ’ s son?”
Ladies and gentlemen, grab your popcorn, sit back, and relax; we are about to have an up close and personal lesson on how predators make veiled threats.
“ Careful,” Dad ’ s smirk grows. “ It looks like your shoes are a little too big. We wouldn ’ t want you to trip and fall.” Translation: If I catch you here again, I will kill you.
“ I ’ ll make sure to watch my steps, sir,” Dom growls. “ If only you watched Mila ’ s footing as carefully, she ’ d still be dancing. That ’ s all I ’ m trying to do.” Translation: You can try, but I put safety nets in place. So you might want to reconsider my offer. Blackmail is a bitch when she is in heat, sir, and I’m ready to start fucking around.
“ There will be no more looking or touching.” Translation: I will kill you very slowly.
“ A shame; I did such a good job watching her for you all those years.” Dom tsk. “ Did he tell you that, Mila?” Translation: Go ahead, she will hate you. Can you live with her hate?
My shock doesn ’ t show because I already figured that out.
Dad ’ s reply is instant: “ Oops, it looks like you just tripped in your shoes, boy. Be careful; predators pounce when you stumble, Dominic.” Translation: This is my final warning. The next time you want to play, I will bite, and you will scream.
“If there is one thing you taught me, sir, it was to get back up quickly,” Dom spits as he strides toward the door. Translation: Let the games begin.
Dad looks down and frowns. “ That boy is trouble.” Translation: I am sorry, Mila, but I will kill him if I find him near you again.
“ He just needs time.” I close the distance, trying to defuse the situation. "We all need to calm down and take a breath; just give it time to blow over. Fanning a fire does not extinguish it. Don ’ t worry, Dad. I ’ ve made it crystal clear to Dom we ’ re just friends."
“ The funny thing about being crystal clear, Mila, is that it all depends on the angle you ’ re looking from. Step to the left or right, and a new perspective might reveal a fracture.”
◆◆◆
I flatten my palm over my stomach. Breathe in, now out, in again. How the heck can I relax when that lady is looking at me like she wants to tear the dress off me? You want it? Take it! Everyone else takes, so just rip the fabric off me!
Chin up high, that ’ s right, calm down, and ignore the fake smiles and phony conversations. I ’ m standing in a den of vipers, yet everyone is nodding and grinning like their angels in line to enter heaven.
A pang of sadness wraps around my mind. Dom was right; he and I used to escape these holiday parties and have the best time. I ’ d steal a tray of desserts and Dom a bottle of booze, we ’ d hide out in the backyard, and the night would fade away.
Without meaning to, my eyes find Dom. He tips his head back, laughing as he talks to an older gentleman. God he’s good. You’d never know he was heartbroken. This constant guilt he floods me with is getting too much to bear. I didn ’ t mean to break his heart; I just… jumped from one sinking ship to another when I should have just learned how to swim.
Everything is such a mess.
I turn slowly, looking at all the wonderful Christmas decorations filling every inch of the house. It ’ s not warm and cozy vibes. More like my home is a hotel. Dad hosts these holiday parties for both his staff and his clients. I feel as much a guest in my own house as these strangers. I ’ ve spent more time behind the walls of boarding schools than my father ’ s home.
A silver tray appears right in front of my eyes. “ Champagne?” the server grins broadly at me.
“ Got the bottle?” I grab the glass and take a sip. Wow, my cheeks hurt from forcing a smile .
He grins, “ I ’ ll stand here as long as you need.” He does just that as I drink my glass and then grab a second.
“ Thank you.” I murmur, "I'm not usually like this.”
"Judgement-free zone," He winks.
"You won't survive here long with that mentality." I joke.
“The pay is good, so I look on the bright side. If you need me, I'll be close by. The next tray is lobster tartlets." He whispers, "They usually go fast, so I'll try to save you some."
“ Thanks. I needed that." Not the laugh, just the escape, a random conversation.
"You have a nice smile; I hope you don't mind me telling you that. Smiles are rare around here; too much Botox." He teases, but his eyes are searching mine, looking for a sign I won't drink myself to death.
I turn, glass in hand, and take another sip. The bubbles fizz up my throat and tickle my nose, causing my face to scrunch.
“ Careful,” a deep, husky voice says from behind. “ you look as light as a feather.” His words echo with a predator ’ s grin.
His shadow hits me first, wrapping and curling around me so tightly that the light from the French chandeliers above can't illuminate an escape. His shadow has a force of its own; cold, monumental, and deafening. All the sounds seem to fade as I turn and tip my chin up to face the unwavering mountain I have stumbled upon. My lips part, and those eyes—I know them. In fact, his face looks so familiar, just aged, as if I were frozen and just set free.
Even though the room is booming with conversation, I know this man can hear my swallow. “ Mr. King,” I acknowledge without a doubt, the most dangerous man in the room. He has a gravity of his own, causing eyes to pivot our way.He ’ s a goddamn black hole, the unknown, a force so powerful you ’ re enticed to come closer, but you know if you do, you can never escape, and you ’ ll never be the same again because he will twist and contort every aspect of your life. Every. Single. Detail. He will dissect and own.
His lips curl into a saccharine grin that would make a Dutch painter envious of its mysterious appeal. “ Call me Marcus.” He states.
Not the devil?
“ Ma...Marcus,” My throat seems to have gone on a diet because she shrinks down two sizes making my next inhale too tight.
He challenges me with a raised brow. “ You seem unsure, as if you thought I went by another name?”
I step back, but damn these shoes! I stumble; Marcus watches without giving his aid, just waiting for me to correct my faults, like a lion allows a deer to begin to jog before it runs. Almost as if he ’ s deciding on whether I ’ m worth the chase.
“ No,” I reply. Can he read minds?
“ No, what? No, you ’ re not unsure, or no, you thought I was someone else?”
“ No, I mean yes, no,” I nod because my tongue has refused to work.
He lowers his gaze slightly, like a god perched on a cloud, lazily looking over the edge of the fluffy white horizon to observe how humans struggle to do basic tasks. A click of his tongue has his chin raising north again. “ Assumptions can lead to deadly outcomes. It ’ s best to be certain.”
His eyes float to the almost empty glass in my hand, but he says nothing. We ’ re locked in this bizarre silence as those surrounding us wait with bated breath to see what Marcus will say next.
“ You ’ re smaller than I thought.” He finally admits.
What ’ s that supposed to mean?
“ You ’ re…You ’ re as tall as the rumors make you out to be.” I don ’ t even know what I just said, but he didn ’ t kill me yet, so there ’ s that.
A laugh plays at the corners of his lips. “ Sometimes it ’ s the smallest of things that can give us hope. A light flickering in a long, dark tunnel is better than just darkness.”
“ Sometimes hope is just a cruelty to make you suffer longer.” Your son taught me that.
“ It ’ s when we ’ re suffering that we find our inner strength. I hope you found yours. I think you ’ re going to need it.” His eyes look me up and down, measuring me.
“ Is that why you did it?” I sneer, catching him off guard.
He steps closer, looking down at his cufflinks. “ You ’ ll have to refresh my mind. I ’ ve done so many things lately that it ’ s hard to keep track.”
My voice comes back because it ’ s fueled by rage. I wish I could channel this all the time. Scream and shout instead of stumbling over my words as I whisper. So I take advantage, knowing it won ’ t last. “ I think you keep score just fine.” I rebuttal. Just like your son did. “ Is that why you sent Dash to Silverstone to participate in The Cleansing? So he could suffer and find his inner strength?”
I want to see you squirm! I want it for Dash, wherever he is, if he ’ s truly alive. I want that abused boy to watch his mentor, who failed him, suffer.
“ Careful. You drank a lot of bubbles, but bubbles can be popped in an instant.” He accentuates the P , causing my heart to skip a beat. “ Don ’ t let the Champagne go to your head. It didn ’ t give you confidence; it made you impulsive. Alcohol tends to do that. I suggest finding something that lasts longer to fuel your tongue.” His smirk is as cold and sharp as a dagger fresh from a whetstone.
I ’ m reminded that I am not a chess player; I don ’ t plan and plot. I move and pray I ’ ll remain on the board, but the devil hears my prayers and answers the opposite of them.
The clearing of my throat sounds more like a car backfired, but I persist. “ Why won ’ t you answer my original question?” Tell me you ’ re a monster who sent your son to die.
“ Because I don ’ t have to.” He chuckles, and his laugh rings out like the bars of a prison cell closing, locking all his secrets inside.
Then he meets my stare again. My heart stops as he digs deep into my mind, just like his son did. His pupils dilate like the tip of a shovel swinging down to dig into me, unearth my roots, and pluck me clean from the soil I have tried to hide under.
Then, the most bizarre thing happens. No, he didn't kill me as I expected. He dips his chin and prepares to turn.
“ Marcus,” I reach out, grabbing his elbow. Swiftly, four bodyguards step out, surrounding us. Marcus nods and they stand down like obedient dogs.
“ You ’ re brave.” He mutters, his eyes lock on my hand grasping him.
I tip my chin up. “ So was Dash,” I just want his father to know that. Deep down, I know Dash was broken because he lacked his father ’ s approval in some form.
Do I hate Dash? Yes and no. It ’ s complicated, but I need his father to know that the boy who crushed me was brave. After all, not everyone walks away from The Cleansing.
Marcus ’ s throat rolls. “ He ’ s many things I am not.”
Present tense. It stuns my ears. Why couldn ’ t I believe Dante? I suppose I just needed to hear it from Marcus.
Dash is alive.
My fingertips press into his arm; it ’ s like pushing into a diamond. He won ’ t bend or break; no, he only grows stronger under the pressure. “ What do you want?” I ask. Why did you approach me?
His eyes break contact with mine as they roam over my face like an asteroid, deciding on where to make an impact first. Should I make her lips tremble with a scream, her cheeks pucker with the malice sour note of my threats? Where should I attack?
Like any skilled predator, he stabs me where I least expected it. My heart. “ I want my son to have what I had.” He leans close to whisper in my ear. “ Without the consequences.”
He pulls away suddenly, leaving breadcrumbs for me to follow if I dare. A flex of his arm causes my grip to slip like a rope left to dwindle on the side of an abandoned ship.
He can see in my eyes the trauma, misery, and fury; what I hate the most is the happiness that Dash is alive, as well as the confusion and suspense. He knows I want to push up on my tiptoes and dance until I reach him again. He wants me to perform, beg, and plead for him to tell me what he meant.
“ Good evening, everyone.” The crowd turns to watch my father as he makes his way up the grand staircase to give his speech. Marcus ’ s eyes slowly peel off me, allowing me a moment to breathe. That or die of cardiac arrest. I ’ m still too close to him, so I slink back five large steps, merging my way into the crowd like a fish trying to outrun a shark.
Relief and hate flood me, consume me, seep from my pores, and replace my shattered soul.
Dash is alive. Maybe it was all a game.
Is he fucking other girls?
Did he replace me as fast as I did him? Is he hurt?
Does he even think about me?
I clutch my stomach, stumbling on my feet as whispers meet my ears. I ’ m still being watched, and now I ’ m causing a scene.
“ You need to hide it better.” Dash ’ s words from the past echo in my ears.
“ What?”
“ Everything.”
Inhale. Exhale . Straighten your spine, that ’ s it. Stand tall. Blink away your tears and uncurl your fist. Be the doll you need to be. People expect scared animals to run. Don ’ t show your cards, Mila.
Tipping my chin high, I look towards my father, but I hear nothing. For all I know, he could be speaking English or Valyrian, but finally, everyone ’ s attention is on him and not me.
Marcus steps onto the stairs, causing my father to hesitate before covering it with a practiced grin.
What is happening?
Marcus smirks, a smile so graceful God himself would weep over its beauty. He touches my father ’ s shoulder, then takes a predator ’ s advantage and stands two steps higher than him.
This is a reminder, folks: your name might be on the deed, but Marcus owns the world. He can move the plate tectonics your little mansion sits on. He controls the seas, and he will wipe your existence from this earth all for the fun of the sport.
“ Thank you for having us, Greg,” Marcus announces as the room waits with bated breath so loud you can feel the beating of the frantic hearts bounce off your skin. At the bottom of the stairs, Marcus ’ s guards stand like sentinels, but it ’ s the guard to the right who has his eyes glued to my direction, as if he can see my short body through the crowd. I move, but his eyes still follow me.
How the hell is he doing that?
I glance up and see a scattering of body guards on the second floor balcony of the ballroom. At least four dozen men are armed and trained to be faithful to their bosses below. I find another set of eyes standing near the top of the stairs, watching me, his lips moving, no doubt telling the guard below where I ’ m at.
Why though?
I offended Marcus, and now he ’ s going to publicly execute me! That’s what is happening.
“ I hope you don ’ t mind, but well,” Your daughter touched my arm, and now she must die! Marcus looks out over the ground and chuckles, “ I just thought what a perfect moment to tell everyone the news.” Sharp eyes look down at my father, giving him no choice but to agree.
Marcus pats dad ’ s shoulder again. “ Greg and I are thrilled to announce the engagement of my son Dash to his beautiful daughter Mila.” Time doesn ’ t stop; it accelerates so fast I can ’ t interpret everything else Marcus says.
I don ’ t hear the gasps and applause from the crowd, nor do I feel the gentle touches of happiness that press against my back.
I feel one thing: a new presence behind me, a warm breath seeping over my shoulder like a blanket trying to warm my numb soul. It ’ s too late. I ’ m frostbitten. Wounded.
My nerves are altered. They don’t know what love is or if this is reality or a twisted dream merged with a nightmare.
“ Dash and Mila, come up here and join us.”
Hands turn and gently shove me towards the stairs, causing me to stumble. For the first time in weeks, I feel a throbbing pain in my ankle return. “Ouch!” I gasp.
A growl of warning makes them step back, creating an open runway for me to walk down. But that sound affects me differently.
Thump! Thump! My heart feels like it ’ s beating again, but it ’ s so broken it hurts. Each pump trying to force my mind to awaken is like running shards of glass over newly healed flesh.
No! This isn ’ t real. I close my eyes. I ’ m dreaming.
The fabric on my dress moves as he comes to stand next to me.
Heat! I ’ m burning up, up, up; I feel a nervous rash cover my chest and neck. His hip hits mine as gracefully as a ship nudges a buoy when it ’ s forced to dock—chained down, never to feel the open waves crash against its hull.
With just one quick press of his body, it happens again! I ’ m sick, mentally and physically. Sparks sputter and then roar back to life. It is as if I ’ m a vintage car, and someone is trying to make a move again, force my rusty damaged gears to work... or else.
Turning with fear, I look up to face him. Dash is here in the cold-hearted flesh. He ’ s taller; his shoulders are broader, and his neck is more corded with muscles. His jawline looks sharper and more squared, but his stony blue eyes are locked dead ahead. I lean forward so I can look into them; those small hazel streaks within them now seem dulled, less golden, and more like land begging for nutrients.
What hurts more? The shock of seeing him or the fact that he hasn ’ t looked me in the eye?
He begins to walk towards the stairs, but I find my feet trapped on the floor, unable to move. He slows, and then a guard appears beside me, taking my elbow in his strong callus hand as he forces me to walk. I want to slip free of my body, float up, and hang over the room like a rain cloud, unsure if it should cry out in pain or thunder out in fury.
Dash ascends the stairs, standing higher than my father but lower than his. The guard guides me to the same step, but I fear it might crumble under Dash ’ s power.
My lips part as I look at him, a new sorrow spreads its roots in my chest. He ’ s changed so vastly. Sure, he has the same eyes, blue mixed with a tiny bit of hazel, but they are more pained if possible.
Dash was always tall and strong, but he ’ s more man now than I ever could have imagined. Strong muscles sculpted over our years apart take shape under his black suit. His back is strong and wide like a wall of defense that can never be breached. He stands wide and balanced, daring others to so much as challenge him.
Where did he get that scar on his eyebrow? A tear leaks from my eye, rolling down my cheek before it stains the floor.
What have they done to you?
The broken prince is no more. He ’ s all king now—hard lines, refined edges, and a jawline as ruthless and cruel as the man himself.
My father turns, then hugs me. “ I didn ’ t plan on telling you like this. I ’ m sorry. We will talk later.” His eyes hold mine in warning.
Dad turns to Dash and extends a hand. Dash looks down at it as if my father ’ s touch is beneath him. Marcus clears his throat; Dash grabs my father ’ s hand and shakes it.
Why hasn ’ t he looked at me?
We are…we are getting married!
I close my eyes, feeling dizzy. I knew I ’ d never have the choice of picking my husband, so I didn ’ t think about it. I thought about escaping instead.
The person who vowed to set me free now holds me captive—how is this possible?