Page 56 of Made for Vengeance (Dark Dynasties #3)

Because in that moment of clarity, in that instant when my father's hand had connected with my face, when the mask had slipped to reveal the monster beneath, I had understood something fundamental about my situation, about my options, about the path forward in a life that had become a series of captivities, of cages, of choices made for me rather than by me.

I had never been safe in my father's house. Had never been valued for myself, for my mind, for my spirit. Had never been anything but a resource to be used, a pawn to be played, a piece in a game whose rules I hadn't understood until now.

And I had never been in more danger than I was at this moment—being prepared for a marriage to a cartel leader, a man who would expect obedience, submission, compliance from the wife provided to him as part of a business arrangement.

A man who would see me as property, as a possession, as something to be controlled and used rather than respected and cherished.

The realization was both terrifying and strangely liberating.

If I had never been safe, had never been valued, had never been anything but a pawn—then I had nothing to lose.

No security to sacrifice, no love to forfeit, no connection to sever by fighting back, by refusing to comply, by finding a way out of this latest and most dangerous cage.

As Mrs. Reynolds led me through the house, as she spoke of dresses and flowers and guest lists as if this were a celebration rather than a sentence, a joyful occasion rather than a transaction between men who saw me as currency rather than person, I felt something shift inside me—a hardening, a focusing, a transformation from victim to.

.. something else. Something I didn't yet have a name for but could feel taking shape with every beat of my heart, every throb of pain from my injured cheek, every step that took me deeper into this familiar prison that had never been home, had never been safe, had never been anything but the first of many cages designed to contain and control me.

And in that moment of clarity, of transformation, of resolve hardening into something unbreakable, I thought of Rafe.

Of the darkness in him that had both terrified and fascinated me.

Of the control he had exerted over me, the possession he had claimed, the obsession that had driven him to take me, to keep me, to make me his in ways I had both resisted and, eventually, embraced.

I had never been safe with him either. Had never been truly free, truly autonomous, truly my own person rather than an extension of his desires, his needs, his vision of who I should be and what place I should occupy in his world.

But I had been seen. Had been valued for myself rather than for what I represented or what I could provide. Had been looked at and recognized as something worth fighting for, worth risking everything for, worth whatever consequences came with claiming me.

And I had had power with him—power I hadn't fully recognized or embraced at the time, but power nonetheless.

The power of his desire for me, his need for me, his obsession with me.

The power to influence him, to challenge him, to make him question himself and his methods in ways no one else ever had.

I had never been safer in the gold cage than I was in Rafe's darkness.

At least there, I had power.

And power, I was beginning to understand, was the only currency that mattered in the world I inhabited.

The only protection against men who saw me as property, as a resource, as something to be used rather than someone to be valued.

The only way to transform from pawn to player in a game I hadn't chosen but could no longer avoid.

As Mrs. Reynolds continued her monologue about wedding preparations, as she led me back to my room—my prison—as she outlined the schedule for fittings and tastings and all the trappings of a celebration that was anything but, I felt that resolve harden further, crystallize into something sharp and dangerous and unbreakable.

I would not marry Alejandro Vega. Would not be traded like property, used as a bargaining chip, forced into a life of submission and compliance to secure my father's business interests, to expand his empire, to increase his power at the expense of my own freedom, my own future, my own humanity.

I would find a way out of this cage, this trap, this fate that had been decided for me without my knowledge or consent. Would use whatever resources were available to me, whatever advantages I could identify, whatever weaknesses I could exploit in the system designed to contain and control me.

And if that meant aligning myself with Rafe Conti—the man who had taken me against my will, who had kept me captive for months, who had claimed to love me even as he controlled every aspect of my existence—then so be it.

Better the devil I knew, the darkness I understood, the cage where I had some measure of power, than this new horror my father had planned for me, this fate worse than any I had yet faced.

As Mrs. Reynolds finally left me alone in my room, as the door closed behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence, I moved to the window, staring out at the grounds that had once been both playground and prison, at the world beyond that seemed so close yet so impossibly distant.

I would find a way out. Would create an opportunity where none existed. Would transform from pawn to player in a game that had always been rigged against me but that I could no longer avoid participating in.

And when I did—when I escaped this latest and most dangerous cage, when I reclaimed some measure of control over my own life, my own future, my own fate—I would make them all pay for what they had done to me. For the ways they had used me, controlled me, treated me as property rather than person.

My father. The cartel leader he planned to sell me to.

And yes, even Rafe—though his reckoning would be different, more complex, shaped by the contradictory feelings I still harbored for the man who had both imprisoned me and, in his way, freed me from illusions I might otherwise have clung to forever.

I touched my cheek, feeling the heat of the bruise forming beneath my fingers, the physical evidence of my father's true nature, of the monster beneath the mask of paternal authority and concern.

It was a reminder. A warning. A promise.

Never again would I be caught unprepared, unaware, vulnerable to the machinations of men who saw me as means to ends I couldn't even imagine.

Never again would I trust in protection that didn't exist, in care that was only ever conditional, in a safety that had always been illusion rather than reality.

From now on, I would protect myself. Would care for myself.

Would create my own safety in a world that had never offered it freely, had never valued me enough to provide it without conditions, without expectations, without the constant threat of withdrawal if I failed to comply, to conform, to be what others wanted rather than what I chose for myself.

The sun was setting over the grounds, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns, the formal gardens, the world that had been my entire existence for days but that I now saw clearly as what it was: not home, not safety, not sanctuary.

Just another cage. Another prison. Another trap designed to contain and control me until I could be transferred to yet another man who would see me as property rather than person, as a possession to be used rather than a partner to be respected.

But cages could be escaped. Prisons