Page 9 of Her Obedience (Ruin & Gold #1)

"Not just me." My father's smile is cold. "These documents implicate several executives who've since moved on—including your mother's brother. The scandal would destroy multiple families, including your precious sister's engagement to Charles Montgomery."

"The Montgomery family would withdraw from any connection to scandal," Gage confirms. "Your sister's future would be... significantly altered."

I stand, pacing to the window. Outside, the estate grounds stretch toward distant security fencing. A beautiful prison.

"So my choices are marry a stranger who's been stalking me for years, or destroy my extended family, my sister's happiness, and watch my father go to prison." I turn back to face them. "Some choice."

"Most choices in life come with constraints," Gage says simply. "This one is merely more explicit than most."

My father checks his watch impatiently. "We've wasted enough time on explanations. Penelope, you will accept this arrangement like the adult you claim to be. The wedding will take place before Violet's, as Mr. Blackwood and I have agreed."

"And if I refuse?" I challenge.

"Then you force my hand." Gage's expression remains impassive. "I withdraw legal protection from your father and return you to exactly the position you would have been in five years ago—except now, with a public scandal attached to your name."

I stare at him, searching for any sign of compassion or doubt. There is none. Just calm certainty and the unwavering belief in his right to determine my future.

"You're both despicable," I say quietly.

My father scoffs. "Always so dramatic. You're being offered marriage to one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the country. Most women would be grateful."

"Most women aren't being traded like cattle to cover their father's crimes."

Gage rises, moving to stand by the window near me.

"I understand your anger, Penelope. But consider this from another perspective.

Your life these past five years—the independence you've valued, the business you've built—none of it would have been possible without the protection I've provided.

Even your rebellion has been enabled by the very arrangement you're now rejecting. "

The cruel irony isn't lost on me. The freedom I've cherished has been an illusion all along, a gilded cage with invisible bars.

"How can I possibly trust anything about this situation?" I ask, my voice low. "How can I believe that whatever 'choice' I make won't just be another manipulation?"

"Because I've never lied to you," Gage replies simply. "I've monitored you, yes. Protected you from a distance. But I've never misrepresented my intentions or the reality of our situation."

My father snorts derisively. "This is absurd. She doesn't need coddling or explanations. She needs to fulfill her obligation to this family."

"William." Gage's voice carries a definite warning now. "Remember your position in this arrangement."

Something in his tone makes my father pale slightly. He sets down his empty glass with a sharp click. "Fine. Handle it your way. But the timeline stands. The wedding happens before Violet's."

He stalks toward the door, pausing beside me. "For once in your life, Penelope, think of someone besides yourself." Then he's gone, the door closing firmly behind him.

I remain by the window, arms wrapped protectively around myself. "He acts like I'm the villain in this scenario."

"Your father sees the world through a very specific lens," Gage observes. "One where family obligation outweighs individual desire, and where appearances matter more than ethics."

"And how do you see the world, Mr. Blackwood?" I turn to face him. "Through what lens do you justify stalking and emotional blackmail?"

He considers the question seriously. "I see it through the lens of necessity. Of taking what's mine when it's offered. Of protecting investments."

"Is that what I am to you? An investment?"

His gaze is unsettlingly direct. "Initially, yes. A strategic acquisition with potential value beyond the immediate advantage of having leverage over your father."

"And now?"

Something shifts in his expression—a momentary softening, quickly masked. "Now, you're a complication I hadn't anticipated. Your resilience, your independence... they're admirable qualities, even if inconvenient to my plans."

"Yet you still intend to force this marriage."

"I intend to honor an agreement made in good faith," he corrects. "And to give you time to adjust to the reality of your situation."

I turn away, unable to bear his unwavering certainty. "How generous."

"More generous than your father would prefer," Gage says dryly. "He advocated for a more... expedient approach."

A chill runs through me at the implication. "Meaning?"

"Meaning he suggested we proceed immediately, without this period of adjustment I'm offering."

"And why didn't you?" I challenge. "If I'm merely an investment, why bother with my consent at all?"

Gage is silent for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reflective. "Because a marriage built entirely on coercion creates a prisoner, not a partner. And contrary to what you may believe, Penelope, I don't want a prisoner."

"What do you want, then?"

"A wife who understands her position. Who recognizes the benefits of our arrangement as well as its constraints. Who brings her intelligence and strength to our partnership rather than wasting it on futile resistance."

"That's not going to happen," I say firmly.

He smiles slightly. "We'll see. You have two weeks to consider your options before I expect an answer."

"And in the meantime? Am I a prisoner here?"

"You're a protected guest." That careful reframing again. "You're welcome to explore the grounds, use the facilities. There's a garden I think you might appreciate—the previous owner was something of a botanist."

"But I can't leave."

"Not at present, no. The situation with your attacker requires caution. We need to ensure no further threats exist."

The convenient fiction of the staged attack continues to serve his purpose. I don't bother challenging it.

"What about my shop? My employees?"

"Sandra has been informed that you're taking a personal leave due to a family emergency. The Morgan account has increased its orders to offset any financial impact of your absence."

Of course. The Morgan account—his shell company. Another strand in the web he's woven around my life.

"You've thought of everything," I say bitterly.

"Planning is essential in any significant venture." He moves back to his desk, a subtle dismissal. "Mrs. Henderson will show you the grounds whenever you're ready. I have meetings for most of the day, but we'll dine together this evening."

"And if I refuse dinner?"

His expression remains neutral. "That would be your choice. Though isolation rarely improves difficult situations."

I walk to the door, pausing with my hand on the handle. "You think you know me, Mr. Blackwood. You've studied me like a specimen, tracked my movements, compiled data points. But you don't know me at all."

"Perhaps not entirely," he concedes. "But I know enough to recognize that you're practical beneath your passionate exterior. You'll make the rational choice, Penelope. In time."

I leave without responding, finding Mrs. Henderson waiting discreetly in the hallway.

"Would you care to see the grounds now, Miss Everett?" she asks politely.

"No." My voice cracks slightly. "I'd like to return to my room."

"Of course." She leads the way without comment, her professional demeanor giving no hint of judgment or pity.

Back in my luxurious cage, I sink onto the edge of the bed. The morning's revelations swirl in my mind—my father's callous disregard, the extent of Gage's manipulation, the impossible choice before me.

The door isn't locked this time. A small concession that changes nothing about my fundamental situation. I'm trapped not by physical barriers but by the elaborate web of consequences Gage has constructed around me.

I cross to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass. In the distance, beyond the pristine lawns and security fencing, lies the city—my shop, my apartment, my friends. The life I built that was never truly mine.

I had believed I'd escaped that control, built something that was truly mine. Now I know better. I've simply exchanged one controller for another, more subtle one.

The tears come without warning—hot, angry tears that blur my vision and burn my cheeks. I don't try to stop them.