Page 11 of Her Obedience (Ruin & Gold #1)

"Is that how you see marriage?"

The question seems to genuinely interest him. "In many ways, yes. Two individuals with separate desires and goals finding the most efficient compromise to achieve mutual benefit."

"There's nothing mutual about our situation," I point out. "You hold all the power."

"Currently, perhaps." His gaze is steady, assessing. "But power dynamics shift over time. You're intelligent, resourceful, and determined. Those qualities don't disappear simply because you find yourself at a disadvantage."

I study him, trying to understand his angle. "Are you suggesting I might eventually gain leverage over you?"

"Relationships evolve and your perception of powerlessness may be more temporary than you currently believe." He rises from the bench, extending a hand to help me up. "Shall we walk? The sunset view from the western terrace is worth seeing."

I ignore his offered hand, standing on my own. "Why are you doing this?"

He drops his hand, accepting my rejection without comment. "My purpose is to help you adjust to your new reality with minimal trauma. To begin creating whatever relationship is possible between us, given the circumstances."

"A relationship requires consent," I remind him. "Something notably absent from our arrangement."

"You have more choice than you acknowledge, Penelope." He begins walking along the garden path, slow enough that I can easily keep pace without feeling led. "You're choosing your family's welfare over your immediate freedom."

"A choice between a rock and a hard place is hardly a choice at all."

"Few choices in life are without significant constraints or consequences." He gestures toward a path leading to a stone terrace overlooking the valley below. "The western view."

I follow, partly out of curiosity and partly because continuing the conversation feels more productive than returning to my isolation. The terrace offers a stunning panorama of mountains bathed in the golden light of sunset, the valley below transitioning from day to evening.

"Beautiful," I murmur despite myself.

"Yes." But when I glance over, he's watching me, not the sunset. Something in his gaze makes my pulse quicken—not fear, exactly, but awareness of something unpredictable beneath his controlled exterior.

"Tell me what you want," he says suddenly.

I blink, caught off guard by the direct question. "What I want? Freedom. To return to my life. To never have heard the name Blackwood."

"Beyond that," he presses. "If our arrangement proceeds—which we both know it will—what would make it tolerable for you? What would you require to find some measure of contentment?"

The question is so unexpected that I answer honestly. "Control over my own schedule. Continuation of my business without interference. No pretense of romantic feelings or physical intimacy. A clear understanding that this is a business arrangement, nothing more."

He considers my terms without visible reaction. "The first two are easily granted. The third and fourth are... negotiable."

A chill runs through me. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that while I won't demand physical intimacy immediately, I do expect it. We will be married, Penelope, in every legal and practical sense. Continuing your business, maintaining your creative independence—these are concessions I'm willing to make. Permanent celibacy is not."

The blunt statement hangs between us, heavy with implication. "You can't force?—"

"Penelope." His interruption is sharp, almost angry. "I expect your eventual willingness, not your submission to force. There's a significant difference."

"And if that willingness never materializes?"

He studies me for a long moment. "Then we would have an unfulfilled contract, with consequences neither of us desires. But I don't believe that will be the case."

His confidence infuriates me. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Perhaps not," he concedes. "But I know human nature. Given enough time, even arranged marriages often develop genuine attachment."

"Is that what you want?"

The question seems to catch him slightly off guard. "I want a partnership with clearly understood expectations and mutual benefits. Whether that includes emotional attachment is... secondary. Anything else?" he asks, returning to my list of requirements.

I consider what else might make this prison more bearable. "Information. Complete transparency about your expectations and the full scope of your agreement with my father. No more surprises or revelations designed to manipulate me."

He nods slowly. "Reasonable, within certain limitations. Some aspects of my business require discretion for legal and security reasons."

"The illegal parts, you mean."

A slight smile touches his lips. "The sensitive parts. Not all that requires discretion is illegal, Penelope."

The sun has nearly disappeared behind the mountains, painting the sky in dramatic streaks of orange and purple. In this light, with the valley spread below us, I can almost forget the circumstances that brought me here.

Almost.

"Why me?" I ask abruptly. "Out of all the women you could have chosen or arranged to marry, why select someone who clearly doesn't want the position?"

Gage is quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than I've heard before.

"When your father first suggested the arrangement, it was purely tactical—a means of securing his compliance and gaining certain social advantages through connection to the Everett name.

But as I learned more about you over the years, watched you create something from nothing after leaving your family.

.." He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

"Your determination impressed me. Your resilience.

Your refusal to be defined by circumstances or expectations. "

"Those are precisely the qualities that make me unsuitable for an arranged marriage," I point out.

"On the contrary," he counters. "They're exactly what I need in a partner. Not blind compliance or decorative presence, but intelligence, strength, and adaptability."

"For what purpose?"

His expression closes slightly, the brief glimpse of openness disappearing. "That's part of the longer conversation we'll have as our arrangement progresses."

The evasive answer heightens my suspicion. "More secrets, Mr. Blackwood?"

"Strategic information, shared when appropriate." He checks his watch. "Dinner will be served soon, if you've reconsidered joining me."

The abrupt shift in topic signals the end of his transparency, limited though it was. I shake my head. "I think I'll eat in my room tonight. I have a lot to process."

He accepts this without argument. "Of course. I'll have something sent up." He gestures toward the main house. "Shall I escort you back?"

"I can find my way."

He nods, maintaining the illusion that I have choices, control. "Tomorrow, perhaps you'd like to see the conservatory. I have several rare orchid species that might interest you, given your professional background."

The invitation is clearly an attempt to normalize our situation, to establish a routine that includes civil interaction.

Part of me wants to refuse outright, to maintain clear opposition to his control.

But the rational part recognizes that building rapport, gathering information, and searching for leverage requires engagement.

"Perhaps," I say noncommittally.

"Good night, then, Penelope." He remains on the terrace as I walk away, his tall figure silhouetted against the darkening sky.

I follow the path back to the main house, where a staff member waits to escort me to my room.

The meal that arrives shortly after is exquisite—roasted salmon with fresh vegetables, crusty bread, and a glass of white wine.

I eat mechanically, barely tasting the food, my mind replaying the conversation with Gage.

His willingness to preserve Wildflower is significant—the first real concession in what has otherwise been a completely one-sided power dynamic. And his unexpected honesty about expecting physical intimacy eventually, while disturbing, provides valuable insight into his expectations.

Two weeks, he said. Two weeks to "accept the inevitable" and agree to his terms. Two weeks to find some alternative that doesn't destroy everything and everyone I care about.