Chapter 19
Princess
A s I sit at my vanity, the dim glow of my bedroom lights casts a golden sheen over the smooth expanse of my skin. I swipe the soft bristles of a powder brush against my cheek, but my thoughts are elsewhere, my mind already detached from the performance I’ll have to put on tonight.
Dinner. Another night of forced conversations, polite laughter, carefully measured words. And Daniel Morgan.
Daniel doesn’t interest me, but I suspect I’m not the object of his fascination in the first place.
I smooth the rich fabric of my dress down my hips, adjusting the way it clings to my frame.
Scarlet. A color that demands attention.
A color that stains. I catch my own gaze in the mirror, my lips painted a deep red, my expression unreadable.
Inhaling slowly, I roll my shoulders back, sinking into the familiar rhythm of control.
The knock on my door comes exactly when I expect it.
“Princess,” my mother calls. Sharp. Commanding. Uninterested in whether I’m ready or not. “Come down. The Morgans have arrived.”
I exhale, setting my brush down. Time to play my part.
Opening my door, I head down the dimly-lit hallway, the soft carpet silencing my steps as I make my way toward the grand staircase.
The scent of roasted meat, aged wine, and expensive cologne drifts up from the dining room below, mingling with the faintest trace of freshly-cut flowers—a carefully curated image of perfection.
But I know better. Everything in this house is a performance.
The soft rustle of my dress follows me as I step onto the first marble step, the cool stone firm beneath my heels. My hand rests lightly on the banister, my fingers tracing absent patterns along the polished surface.
From my vantage point, I can see the dining room just beyond the archway. The guests are already seated, laughter and murmured conversations filling the space.
And then I see him.
Daniel Morgan. Perfect posture. Perfect suit. Perfectly out-together. His expression is one of effortless charm, a mask of ease and confidence as he converses with Kaito.
But I see the way he watches him. Not me. Him. I press my lips together, suppressing a smirk. Interesting.
Pausing, I tilt my head slightly, observing. Calculating. A strange kind of amusement blooms in my chest, spreading slow and knowing.
The moment stretches, the candlelight flickering along the chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the polished floors.
Then, with a slow exhale, I descend the final steps, smoothing down the silk of my dress.
As I step into the light, all eyes turn to me.
The room hushes—just slightly. The dining room is bright, elegant, but I can already tell tonight will be a dull affair.
I take a seat next to Daniel; everyone goes back to their hushed conversations. He’s speaking in his perfectly polished, carefully rehearsed voice. He’s everything a mother like mine would want: wealthy, well-connected, refined.
But I don’t care for any of that. Because he bores me to death.
I sip my wine, listening but not listening, nodding at the right moments, smiling when expected. Feigning interest. He talks about politics, his father’s upcoming campaign, some recent gala he attended. I let him talk and watch him closely.
His posture is relaxed, his tone easy, but his eyes…
they flicker too often toward my brother.
It’s subtle, but I see it. The way his focus shifts when my brother speaks, the way his lips part slightly, like he’s holding himself back from staring too long.
I swirl the wine in my glass, tilting my head slightly. Curious.
I take the chance to talk to him when everyone seems busy with their first course.
“So, Daniel…” I murmur, dragging my nail along the rim of my glass. “I get the feeling you don’t find me all that interesting.”
He blinks, his polished demeanor faltering for half a second.
“That’s not true,” he says smoothly, smiling. A practiced, perfect response.
I arch a brow, sipping my wine. “Isn’t it?”
His gaze flicks briefly to my brother before he settles back on me, tilting his head. Studying me.
“You’re very preceptive, Princess,” he muses, taking a sip of his drink.
I hum. “And you’re very careful.”
His lips curve slightly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aren’t we all?”
I smirk, tapping my glass with my fingertip. Perhaps Daniel isn’t playing the same game my mother thinks he is. Perhaps, he’s playing his own.
And I have no interest in being his pawn. We’re finally being served our food; the smell of steak and roasted potatoes floats around the room.
I push my food around with my fork, hardly listening as conversation drifts between business, politics, and power play disguised as pleasantries. I try to appear interested but honestly, I’d rather be in my room, watching Lucio from the comfort of the dark.
My mother clears her throat. Everyone stills, the quiet command in her tone drawing attention.
She lifts her wine glass, the deep red liquid swirling as she gazes at Daniel and me with thinly veiled satisfaction.
Which is the first red flag that something is going to happen.
Something I won’t like but will have to accept.
“We’re delighted to formally announce,” she says, her voice smooth, dripping with artificial warmth, “the engagement between my daughter and Daniel Morgan.”
The words slam into me like a bullet.
The room spins. The clinking of silverware stops. A beat of silence, stretching too long, too suffocating.
Daniel stills beside me. His smile falters—barely, but I catch it.
I stare, my fingers tightening around my fork, my pulse a violent, erratic thing in my chest.
Engaged? To Daniel?
What. The. Fuck?
I feel the weight expectant stares pressing against me, waiting for my reaction. For a delighted smile, for a demure lowering of my gaze, for some pathetic sign of gratitude.
I say nothing. Because what the fuck am I supposed to say?
Daniel, to his credit, adjusts quickly, smoothing out his features and forcing a smile, though I can see the tension in his jaw. The flicker of something uneasy behind his hazel eyes.
He lifts his glass, playing the role expected of him. Good boy. Well-trained.
“A strong alliance,” he murmurs, his voice steady, but I hear the restraint beneath it. “An honor.”
I swallow down the scream rising in my throat.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of empty conversation and the crushing weight of inevitability. I don’t speak. Not once. I sip my wine, stare blankly at my plates, nod when necessary. Because if I open my mouth…
I might shatter the entire fucking night.
The door clicks shut behind our last guest. My mother exhales softly, pleased, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her dress.
I, on the other hand, am shaking. Not visibly. Not yet. But I feel it: the burning rage coiled beneath my ribs, the sharp edge of betrayal digging into my bones.
I wait. Wait until we’re alone. And then…I snap.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My voice is sharp, slicing through the hollow silence of the dining room.
She doesn’t even flinch. She takes her time, pouring herself a drink. The deliberate slowness of her movements only fuels my fury.
Then she lifts her gaze to mine—calm, unaffected. “I’m securing your future.”
I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’re pawning me off like a fucking trophy.”
She arches a delicate brow. “Do not use that tone with me. I’m doing you a favor. Daniel is someone who will be able to take care of you.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of!” I snap.
My mother takes two steps toward me and backhands me. The sound is sharp, loud, and unyielding. My cheek stings with the pain. Reaching up, I smooth my fingertips over it.
She breathes in, smoothing down her dress before she says, “We want to strengthen our relationship with the Morgans, and this marriage will be the next step to solidify the relationship between the Morgans and the Gambis. Now pull yourself together and stop acting like a damn child.”