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Whatever facade I’d walked into the party with cracked. My father had never told me he was proud of me before. The words landed like an uppercut, making me gasp softly as I blinked back tears before they could betray me.

And from the corner of my eye, I caught Freddie Jr. lifting his glass in a mocking toast.

“She’s stepped into this world with a grace and determination that I can only admire,” my father went on. “She’s proven herself to be a vital part of Corvo’s future—our future.”

The applause this time was louder, more enthusiastic, and I knew part of it was for me.

I’d finally come into my own—even my father had realized it.

“And as we look ahead to the IPO,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly, pulling the room in closer, “we’re reminded of the importance of partnerships—alliances that strengthen our foundation and ensure our success.

Tonight, I’m pleased to share that Corvo Enterprise’s future is brighter than ever, thanks to a partnership that will unite two great legacies. ”

A ripple of murmurs spread, as my father turned and gestured to an older man, who stepped forward—and I realized I recognized him from the news.

“Which is why,” my father continued, his voice steady, “I am delighted to announce the engagement of my daughter, Lia Ferreo, to Senator Marcus St. Clair.”

And now I knew why his hand had been behind me.

So I couldn’t run away.

The room erupted into congratulatory applause. Phones came out immediately—to spread the news of my engagement, to capture happy pictures of this perfect moment—while I was forced to meet the man I’d been given to for the first time.

No.

Not given.

Bartered.

St. Clair had to have something my father wanted, badly.

Badly enough to sell me for it, like chattel.

“Hello, Lia,” the senator said, offering out his hand.

It was either take it or run away for good.

Lose Corvo, lose my father’s respect for me— as if he’d ever had any !—and lose Rhaim.

I fought not to let my eyes search for him in the mingling crowd.

He must have known this was coming. And Freddie Jr., too—it was clear in hindsight.

I should’ve known I wasn’t a queen yet.

I was still a pawn.

But pawns could win the board.

I gave the senator my hand, and an attentive smile.

“And of course,” he murmured, loud enough for the nearest onlookers to hear, “no engagement is complete without this.”

From his pocket, he produced a small velvet box and flipped it open to reveal a glittering diamond the size of a small moon, and just as cold. The crowd let out a collective murmur of approval as he slipped the ring onto my finger, and I fought to look delighted.

“I’ll leave you two together for a bit,” my father said, begging off, abandoning me, again.

The ring slid home and it felt like a millstone had just been tied around my neck.

“Do you like it?” Marcus asked, weighing me with his eyes.

“Do I get a choice?” I asked, through lips pursed into a smile.

I saw him laugh but didn’t hear it. “I told him not to surprise you,” he went on. He had the air of a man who rarely heard the word “no”.

I picked up a champagne glass from a passing server and then fought not to down it. “My father usually keeps his own council. I’ve grown used to it.”

“Ah, well,” Marcus said, before offering me a measured smile. “Your father and I both want what’s best for Corvo—and for you.”

It was the kind of thing a man like him thought a woman like me would find reassuring.

“Of course,” I said, letting a hint of breathlessness slip into my tone as I lowered my lashes. I needed to play the part now, and look for knives later. “I’m lucky to have two such powerful men looking out for me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I imagine this all feels sudden.”

“Sudden?” Freddie Jr.’s voice cut in before I could respond, the edge of his amusement razor-sharp. “Come on, Lia, don’t tell me you weren’t expecting it. You know how much your father values tradition.”

I turned to find him standing a little too close, his glass of scotch dangling from his fingers, and any graciousness I’d ever tried to hold for him, for family’s sake, evaporated.

Luckily, my new fiancée was just as peeved. “Freddie Jr.” He nodded curtly, but his tone was clipped. “I didn’t realize you’d joined us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss my favorite cousin’s engagement for the world.” Freddie raised his glass again, his eyes locking onto mine, while Marcus ignored him, and turned back to talk to me.

“We should take a photo, don’t you think? The press will want something official for tomorrow.”

My fingers tightened on the stem of my champagne glass. A photo. Of course.

He didn’t wait for my answer—he merely looked meaningfully over my shoulder, and a man with a large camera ran up, at the same time as Marcus settled one hand around my waist, resting his palm on top my hip—and I could see Rhaim standing at the back of the room, half-hidden in the shadows.

His gaze locked on Marcus’s hand, and though his expression remained cool, there was a sharpness in his eyes that promised consequences.

And I hoped my gaze promised them right-the-fuck-back.

I didn’t care if he was mad at Marcus or me.

I was furious with him.

“Look happy,” Marcus murmured in my ear, before the flash went off.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I drank enough to seem pleased—but not so much I would lose my tongue.

Marcus answered any questions anyone had, and I pretended to be the blushing bride-to-be, so much so I disgusted Freddie Jr—I saw him storm off after giving me half-an-hour to make a fool of myself.

Inside, however, everything was spinning out of control, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. I’d gone from being a force of nature to being the appendage of some man—and not even a man I knew, at that.

But Marcus knew me.

He’d casually mentioned what kind of car I had. Then there was a comment about my favorite color—deep green, same as the dress I had on. He brought up a bakery I frequented across from Corvo, Eumie’s, dropping it so nonchalantly that it took me a second to realize what he was saying.

He’d been given a dossier. Of course, he had.

I smiled and nodded at his charm, but my stomach twisted every time he spoke.

I had to let him take the lead, and to be honest, he was better at lying and deflecting than I was—a fact I filed away for later.

But I could feel people’s opinions of me fading. My presence in the room diminished with every passing second, eclipsed by the senator’s confident facade.

I wasn’t Lia anymore. I was his .

“That’s enough,” Marcus said, when I reached for another glass of champagne. He was right—although that didn’t stop me from hating him.

I decided to use that as my excuse to leave, standing from the table we’d been ensconced behind. “This has been quite the night. I think I need to go home and sleep it off.”

“Should I drive you?” he offered, standing too.

Me? Be alone in a car with him? “I’ve got my own driver, thank you very much.” I stepped away and he grabbed my wrist, same as Rhaim had earlier in the night.

Except Rhaim knew the scars my sleeves hid beneath them.

“We do need to talk, Lia. Soon—and in private. I want to know who I’m getting married to.”

“Hmm. Did my owner’s manual not include my social security number?” I said, my first barb of the evening—and he seemed surprised.

No one had warned him I had claws.

Because no one thought I had any.

Except for maybe Rhaim—unless he was just another fucking liar. “I need to go home,” I repeated, everything about the evening hitting me at once. I picked up the hem of my skirt, wondering if I could rip it off and run away.

“Of course,” Marcus said, but then continued to stand there, waiting for something more.

From me.

To pretend that I’d been included in all of this.

For a second I was nine again, being told to “Go kiss your uncle” when he visited, and no one else knew what he did to me those nights.

My choices in the present narrowed down to throwing up, pushing through, or breaking a champagne glass to cut his throat open.

Only the thought of carnage—and the knowledge deep down that I was capable of it, even if no one else believed I was—saved me.

I shifted back into the demure thing that everyone else wanted me to be, swallowed the surge of bile rising up my throat, and rose on my toes to plant a kiss on Marcus’s cheek.

Then I wheeled and headed for the stairs afterwards, the weight of his gaze as bad as a hand until I disappeared. Upstairs, I grabbed my coat, the heavy fabric grounding me for just a moment—until my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I fished it out, frowning at the unknown number.

A single text waited on the screen.

A time and an address.