PART ONE
PAST
CHAPTER ONE
Some daughters are born into love, cradled in arms that promise protection. Others are born into silence—sterile rooms where monitors beep louder than congratulations, where fathers check watches instead of counting fingers and toes.
These daughters grow up learning to swallow their tears, to press compresses against split lips, bleed without leaving evidence or making a sound when the pain gets too much. I’d had someone that tried to shield me once, bartering with her body and sanity until both were gone.
Standing in my father’s office and feeling like an intruder in my home, always made me well aware of that. More so than usual. Cigar smoke hung in layers, mingling with a silence so deliberate it felt manufactured. Both pressed against my lungs with each breath I took.
The Istanbul rug beneath my feet displayed our family crest—once-vibrant gold threads now tarnished against faded crimson wool. Everything in this house lost its luster eventually.
Even people.
Dead men stared from oil paintings on the walls, ancestors who'd spilled blood to build what we had. Between their frozen gazes, security systems hummed inside the plaster, recordingevery word, every movement. I had entered without a sound, but he kept writing, giving me no sign of acknowledgement.
"Sit," he commanded without looking up after another tense few minutes rolled by.
The edge of the rug tickled my ankles as I lowered myself into the chair across from him. He placed his pen down with deliberate care. My eyes caught on his knuckles—a roadmap of pale scars that whispered of violence.
"You'll dine with Alaric Kostas tomorrow evening."
Something cold slithered down my spine. "Why?"
"To ensure he proposes marriage."
The sound that left my throat wasn't quite a laugh, more like air escaping a punctured tire.
His gaze held mine, and mother's warning echoed in my memory.His silence cuts deeper than his rage.In these moments, he weighs your fate. Mercy or punishment.
"Is something I just said amusing to you?" he asked, voice dangerously gentle.
I stared at my hands. "No, but Alaric has a fiancée."
"Had." Cigar smoke spiraled upward as he reclined in his chair and sparked a fresh one. "he’s now a free agent and has agreed to this. The Dominion requires he take a wife. You'll make it happen."
He wantedmeto convince a Kostas to align with our family? Was there something mixed into his cigar that’d made his mind a bit wonky? The Kostas were so far above his standing it was laughable he’d even set this up. I didn’t trust what means he used for their beloved heir to agree to this.
Of course, I knew to keep that all to myself and my face carefully blank as I asked my next question. “Will The Dominion approve of this marriage?”
The corner of his mouth lifted without warmth. "Your ignorance is showing, Selene."
He rose and prowled around his desk. Italian leather halted just shy of my toes. Whiskey and sandalwood cologne enveloped me—the scent of captivity.
"At twenty-eight, you should appreciate my leniency." His voice took on a blade's edge. "Other daughters would have been bargaining chips the second they were born. I allowed you to play at independence."
Freedom.
Such a delusion.
My mouth betrayed me before my mind could intervene. "You mistake submission for choice."
His hand shot out. Not to bruise—those marks were reserved for deeper defiance. His grip captured my chin instead, steel-cold fingers tilting my face upward until I couldn't escape his stare.
"Submission is survival in this household. It's the tax you pay for drawing breath beneath my goddamn ceiling and what has kept your heart beating."
I answered with only my eyes. He released me with a scoff, straightened his sleeves, and reclaimed his seat behind the imposing desk as though our exchange had never happened.