Page 8 of Her Obedience (Ruin & Gold #1)

M orning arrives with cruel clarity. I've slept perhaps two hours, my mind refusing to quiet despite exhaustion.

The room—my prison—is bathed in soft light filtering through sheer curtains.

Everything is tasteful, expensive, and utterly impersonal, like a luxury hotel suite designed to please everyone and reflect no one.

I sit up, running a hand through tangled hair. My ruined dress is gone from the bathroom floor, removed while I slept by unseen staff. The violation of my space while unconscious sends a fresh wave of anger through me.

A knock at the door precedes Mrs. Henderson's entrance. She carries a breakfast tray, her expression professional but not unkind.

"Good morning, Miss Everett. I've brought some breakfast and fresh clothing." She sets the tray on a small table by the window. "Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in his study at ten o'clock."

I glance at the clock—8:30 AM. "And if I refuse?"

Mrs. Henderson's expression doesn't change. "That would be your choice, of course. Though I believe there are matters regarding your family that require discussion."

My family. The arrangement. The deal my father made using me as currency.

"Fine." I don't bother hiding my bitterness. "Tell Mr. Blackwood I'll be there."

"Very good." She moves to the closet, which now contains several outfits in what appears to be my size. "These should fit. If there's anything else you require, please use the house phone by the bed."

After she leaves, I force myself to eat despite my lack of appetite. The food is excellent—fresh fruit, yogurt, warm pastries—but tastes like ash in my mouth. I shower again, trying to wash away the lingering feeling of violation from last night's revelations.

The clothing provided is simple but expensive—dark jeans, a cream sweater, leather ankle boots. Everything fits perfectly, another reminder of how thoroughly I've been studied like a specimen under glass.

At precisely 9:55, I leave the guest suite. The door is unlocked now, though I suspect that's more about Gage's confidence in the security of his estate than any real freedom on my part. A staff member waits in the hallway, ready to escort me.

"This way, Miss Everett."

I follow in silence, taking mental notes of the layout.

The mansion is enormous—modern architecture blending seamlessly with classic elements, floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of manicured grounds and distant forest. Security cameras are discreetly placed at regular intervals.

No obvious escape routes present themselves.

The staff member stops at a set of double doors, knocks once, then opens them without waiting for a response.

"Miss Everett, sir."

Gage's study is exactly what I would expect—a vast space dominated by a wall of windows overlooking the estate grounds, bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, and a massive desk of polished wood. He sits behind it, reviewing documents, but rises when I enter.

"Penelope. Thank you for coming." As if I had a choice. "Please, sit."

I remain standing just inside the doorway. "You mentioned my family."

His lips quirk in what might be amusement at my defiance. "I did. Your father will be joining us shortly."

"My father?" The news catches me off guard. "He's coming here?"

"He's already here." Gage gestures to the seating area near the windows. "He arrived an hour ago. I thought it best if we spoke privately first."

I reluctantly move to the indicated chair, perching on its edge. "What is there to discuss that wasn't covered last night?"

"Your father believes you require... convincing about our arrangement." Gage sits across from me, his posture relaxed but alert. "I disagree. I think you simply need complete information to make a rational decision."

"There is no rational decision to be made about forced marriage."

"Again, no one is forcing you." His tone remains conversational, as if we're discussing a business merger rather than my life. "You have options, limited though they may be."

"Limited by your design," I counter.

He inclines his head, acknowledging the point.

"Life is defined by constraints, Penelope.

True freedom is an illusion—we're all bound by circumstances of birth, social conventions, legal frameworks, economic realities.

The difference is whether we recognize those constraints and work within them, or waste energy fighting against immovable objects. "

"Philosophy doesn't change the fact that you're holding me here against my will."

"I'm providing sanctuary after a traumatic event." That smooth correction again, reframing my captivity as protection. "And offering you a future with considerably more autonomy than most women in your position would receive."

Before I can respond, the door opens again. My father strides in, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, his expression a mixture of impatience and disapproval when his eyes land on me.

"Penelope." No warmth, just acknowledgment. "I see you're being difficult, as usual."

I stand, facing him directly. "Difficult? That's what you call objecting to being sold like property?"

"Don't be dramatic." He moves to the bar cart, pouring himself a measure of scotch despite the early hour. "This arrangement has been in place for a decade. Your... escapade these past five years was merely a delay of the inevitable."

"William." Gage's voice carries a subtle warning. "Perhaps we should focus on explaining the situation fully, rather than assigning blame."

My father waves his hand dismissively. "She knows the situation. She's just being stubborn."

"Actually," I interject, "I know very little beyond what Mr. Blackwood told me last night—that you traded me to cover up your crimes."

My father's face darkens. "Watch your tone, young lady. This 'trade,' as you so crudely put it, preserved our family name, your sister's future, and your own standard of living."

"At the cost of my autonomy and choice."

"Your choice," he sneers, "would have been to run away at the first opportunity—oh wait, that's exactly what you did, without a thought for the consequences to anyone but yourself."

Gage clears his throat. "Perhaps we should focus on the present, rather than rehashing old grievances."

My father turns to him. "I told you she would be difficult. We should proceed as planned, with or without her willing participation."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "What does that mean?"

Gage's expression hardens slightly as he looks at my father. "It means nothing. That's not how this will proceed." He turns to me, his tone more measured. "Your father is understandably eager to conclude our agreement, but I've made it clear that I prefer your willing participation."

"Willing participation under duress isn't willing," I argue.

"Semantics again." My father drains his glass. "The fact remains, Penelope, that your little experiment with independence is over. The marriage will proceed as agreed. The only question is whether you'll be sensible about it or continue this pointless rebellion."

"William." Gage's voice has an edge now. "That's enough."

Something in his tone makes my father pause. For all his bluster, there's a deference in his posture when he addresses Gage—the subtle shift of a man accustomed to power acknowledging someone with more of it.

"I merely want to ensure my daughter understands the gravity of the situation," my father says, more subdued now.

"She's intelligent enough to grasp it without your... elaboration." Gage moves to his desk, retrieving a folder. "Perhaps we should discuss the specifics of the financial arrangements. Penelope deserves to understand exactly what's at stake."

My father looks uncomfortable. "Is that necessary? The details are?—"

"Essential," Gage finishes firmly. "If you expect her cooperation, she deserves complete transparency."

He hands me the folder. Inside are financial statements, legal documents, and what appears to be evidence of fraud on a massive scale—all tied to Everett Enterprises.

"Ten years ago," Gage explains, "your father's company was on the verge of collapse. Not merely bankruptcy, but criminal charges that would have sent him to prison for decades."

I flip through the documents, understanding enough to recognize the severity. Tax evasion. Embezzlement. Fraud across multiple states and international boundaries.

"I approached your father with an alternative to prosecution," Gage continues. "Financial restructuring, legal protection, and a merger of families through marriage—specifically, to you, once you reached an appropriate age."

"Why me?" I look up from the damning evidence. "Why not Violet?"

My father shifts uncomfortably. "Violet was already promised to the Montgomery family. A long-standing arrangement between our families."

"So I was the spare," I say bitterly. "The one you could trade away without disrupting your precious social connections."

"You were always difficult, always questioning everything," my father snaps. "Violet understood her responsibilities to the family name. You were too busy playing rebel to appreciate the opportunities your position afforded you."

"Opportunities?" I laugh harshly. "Like being sold to cover your crimes?"

"Enough." Gage's command silences us both. "What's done is done. The question now is how we proceed."

I close the folder, unable to stomach any more evidence of my father's corruption. "And I still have a choice in this?"

"To an extent," Gage acknowledges. "As I explained last night, you can agree to the marriage, maintaining a version of your current life with certain... adjustments. Or you can refuse, in which case the legal protection extended to your father would be withdrawn."

"You'd go to prison," I tell my father, not bothering to hide my satisfaction at the prospect.