His smile reached his eyes once more, transforming his face. “Good. Then I’ll make the arrangements.”
That meant I’d done what I was meant to, didn’t it? That I’d survived the first test. So why did it feel like I’d just agreed to something I didn’t understand?
CHAPTER FOUR
We drove in silence, raindrops racing each other down the tinted windows, turning the city lights into liquid silver.
Dion kept his eyes on the road. He never pried unless I brought something up first, and then he reminded me of every Morgan Freeman character who’d ever offered quiet wisdom.
The gates to the estate parted for us, then sealed shut with a mechanical sigh. My beautiful prison, welcoming me home. I noticed it immediately, almost every window blazing with light.
My father hadn’t gone to bed.
“I can get that,” Dion rushed.
“I’ve got it.” I was already pushing the car door open, tugging my dress straight, arranging my face into something unreadable.
“You’ll be, okay?” he asked quietly.
This man was so incredibly sweet, but there wasn’t anything he could even if I wasn’t.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassured him with a soft smile.
“One day I hope you mean that. Goodnight, Selene.” His voice was quiet.
“Goodnight.”
He climbed back into the car and his headlights lingered until I was safely inside. Not to keep me in, but to keep harm out. The kind of protection my actual father had never bothered with.
Inside, I moved toward the formal living room like a prisoner to the gallows. This wasn’t a choice; it was ritual. I hesitated at the threshold, my eyes drawn to that spot on the hardwood where my mother’s blood had pooled and darkened.
No amount of scrubbing had erased it completely. Some stains were eternal.
My father’s silhouette cut against the firelight, ramrod straight, a monument to his own authority. I stood in silence, knowing better than to speak first. One minute passed. Two. Three. I didn’t dare shift my weight.
Finally, he pivoted, his eyes dissecting me like surgical instruments. “Well?”
“He said he would like to see me again.”
The silence that followed made my skin crawl. His pleasure was always more terrifying than his rage. He nodded once—a judge passing sentence. “Good. You see what happens when you listen like a good girl? When you do what’s required of you?”
“Yes, sir.” The words tasted like ash.
“If he follows through as I expect, this family will finally have what it’s owed.”
He crossed the space between us, and I fought the urge to back away as he drew close enough for me to count the tiny blood vessels in his eyes, to see the jagged scar near his temple, the one my mother had given him with a broken wine bottle.
His voice dropped, soft as a knife sliding home. “Don’t mistake progress for success, Selene. One doesn’t guarantee the other.” He studied me for a moment too long, the line of his mouth curving into something cruel. “Did you let him touch you?”
My brow furrowed. “No.”
“Are you sure?” His fingers twitched at his side.
“We were at a restaurant,” I reminded him, each word careful. “There were other people.”
He laughed softly, the sound too close, too familiar. “Ah, Selene. You’re still so fucking naïve. Men like him—men like me—we don’t need privacy to take what we want.”
Well, I want to cut your throat while you sleep, I thought.