Chapter 41 Mara #2
“As we celebrate this victory. I am reminded that tonight is not just about politics or polls. It’s also about family.” He beckons me with a hand, and I obediently ascend the single step onto the stage beside him. Chase follows close behind, never letting go of his hold at my waist.
My father slides an arm around my shoulders, drawing me to his side in front of the podium. I know exactly how we must look: the triumphant patriarch and his beautiful daughter—the perfect American family portrait.
“This young woman here has been my rock and my inspiration. My daughter, Mara Black—her strength, her grace, her devotion to this country’s future—well, she has found her perfect match.”
Perfect match.
The phrase lands like a slap across my face. Even though I’ve been bracing for it, I feel something inside me splinter.
My lungs constrict; I can’t breathe.
I want to run. I want to scream. Chase’s fingers curl possessively at my waist, anchoring me in place. My smile is frozen so hard it feels carved on.
Father leans forward to the microphone, his voice dropping into a proud, warm timbre. “It is my honor to announce,” he says, drawing out the moment, “the engagement of my daughter, Mara Black, to…” He turns slightly, extending his free arm toward Chase. “Chase Harrington.”
Then the room erupts.
The orchestra strikes up a jubilant chord, guests cheer and whistle.
I hear a few startled gasps and delighted exclamations from those who clearly didn’t see this coming tonight.
A blur of motion surrounds us as people leap to their feet, champagne sloshing in their glasses as they applaud the happy news.
Happy. Yes, this is a happy moment, what else could it be? A new president and a fairytale engagement all in one night.
Chase steps forward and smoothly takes my left hand in his. He produces a ring from his pocket—a glittering monster of a diamond set in an antique gold band. My vision blurs at the edges as I watch him lift it.
No, no, no…
My mind is keening, but no sound escapes my lips. I’m smiling, and everyone is watching, and I’m trapped.
He slides the ring onto my finger.
A strangled noise claws at the back of my throat. To the audience, it must look like a gasp of surprise or even joy. Chase’s hand wraps around mine, warm and imprisoning, as he turns us to face the crowd.
Somewhere to my left, a waiter pops open a bottle of champagne with a celebratory crack. As if on cue, glasses are raised all around. My father takes one from an aide and lifts it high.
“To family.” He looks directly into my eyes, a blazing pride in his. “To legacy.”
A fleet of waiters circle with champagne; one presses a flute into my free hand. I lift it mechanically along with Chase and my father, mimicking a happiness I do not feel.
In that overwhelming chorus, I feel something hot trail down my cheek. A tear. It courses down to my chin, threatening to mar the immaculate makeup.
Before I can wipe it away, Father catches sight of the tear. Ever the consummate showman, he uses it. “Ah.” He laughs gently into the microphone, and with a proud smile, he brushes the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Tears of joy.”
The room positively melts. A collective aww rises from the guests. They see a moved daughter overwhelmed by happiness on her father’s big night. The cameras flash even more furiously, eager to immortalize this tender moment. No one can possibly hear the way my heart is shattering.
Chase pulls me into his side as the applause swells again. He leans in, brushing a kiss against my temple for the cameras, his voice so low only I can hear. “That’s my girl.”
My stomach churns at the possessive tilt of his words. I’m not your anything, I want to spit, but I catch sight of his smile and I know I have to match it. I have to play along.
Across the ballroom, near a cluster of black-clad security staff, Dredyn stands at the forefront of the trio, half a step ahead as if he had started to surge forward. Jasper’s hand clamps onto Dredyn’s arm, fingers white with the effort of holding him back.
My boys.
Inside, I’m screaming. Do something! I beg silently, my nails biting into my palms.
Make it stop. Please, someone, make this stop.
But of course, they can’t. Not here, not now.
The applause is finally beginning to ebb as guests sip their champagne and chatter excitedly amongst themselves.
Father has stepped down from the podium to mingle again, and the string orchestra eases into a soft waltz.
The formal announcements are over, and the celebration truly begins.
People will soon approach to congratulate us.
No one notices that my hands are shaking. My vision blurs again, and I tear my eyes away from that reflection before it crushes me completely.
Chase’s hand slides up from my waist to the middle of my back, guiding me gently off the stage. He’s still waving to well-wishers, playing the charming groom-to-be. I move beside him, the cheers washing over me in waves of static.
As we reach the bottom of the steps, another server appears at my elbow, offering a fresh glass of champagne on a silver tray. The bubbles catch the chandelier light. I lift it slightly and that’s when I see it.
Etched faintly into the crystal, right beneath the rim, is the Syndicate seal—a dagger stabbing through an open book, blood dripping down the page.
I stare at it for a long moment, pulse thrumming in my throat. Then Chase leans close, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“Smile, sweetheart. And play the game.”