Silence descends, thick and oppressive, pressing down on my throat like a suffocating weight. I always knew West’s dad was greedy, but this? This is absurd.
“I know this sounds strange,” he continues, as if he just read my thoughts. “But I was a state representative exactly a year ago. Remember that, West?”
The mention ofhisname feels like a slap to my cheek. “Yes, I remember,” he replies, his raspy voice sending a jolt straight to my core. Why does he sound like he just ran a marathon?
“There’s a lot of work to do, of course. And that’s when I’m going to need you both.” A bead of sweat forms on my forehead as my fingers instinctively reach for the skin around my nails. “Venetia. West.”
“Venetia, I need you to show respect and look up when Lucas is talking to you,” my father says, his voice laced with parental strictness. I can sense the effort it takes for him to restrain himself from lashing out at me.
Summoning what little willpower I have left, I raise my eyes and focus my attention on him. West is still glaring at me, but Itry to ignore him. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the bandage pressed against his cheek, and for a second, a zing of electric dread shoots through me. It’s only now that I truly realize what I’ve done.
“Together, our families are indestructible. People already appreciate what we do for them, but they’ll love the campaign you help me create even more. I need a better image—a solid foundation—before I announce my candidacy. Achieving a higher position requires a mix of experience, public visibility, and political acumen. While I handle the main issues, you, our young heirs, will assist me with the public. And that means—” Lucas trails off, making my stomach flip.
There’s no way.
“You will marry each other. Adrian and I discussed this and concluded it’s the best decision. People need to see me as a leader who cares about them and their families. You kids understand how to navigate social media and all that. A few public speeches here and there, some business trips to meet my allies and secure their support,” he explains, each word tightening the invisible collar around my neck. My mouth feels dry as I try to swallow, a barely audible whimper catching in my throat.
“We can work together, sure,” West begins, his voice only adding to my rising unease. “But marrying each other? Isn’t that a bit?—”
“Why us?” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intended, betraying the emotions I’m fighting to hide. “I don’t want to be rude, but isn’t marriage a better option for you? Shouldn’t the leader’s personal life take priority in the bigger picture?”
“Venetia!”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Lucas interrupts smoothly, his grin as unshakable as ever despite the tension crackling in the room. He meets my dad’s anger with calm confidence. “It’s a fair question.In my position, though, it’s not about happiness—it’s about responsibility. Sacrifices have to be made to secure the future of this business and the people who depend on it. Marrying now would make things too personal, too messy. My heir needs a partner who not only supports this cause but is seen as the ideal choice to help build the empire we’re striving for.”
Yeah, figures. Fancy words that fall apart under scrutiny. He gets to ‘focus on the job,’ but West and I? We’re supposed to forget our beliefs and marry each other, all because it’s convenient for him.
“People will sympathize with your story,” my father says. “As Lucas mentioned, we need the perfect image for him—including for his son.” He shifts his attention to the main asshole in the room. “At twenty-nine, you still don’t have a partner or kids. Having a wife to share your business with will earn you and your father even more sympathy.”
Dozens of icy needles prick my eyes, and the room blurs into a barely recognizable haze. Sharp wire seems to wrap around my lungs, constricting them painfully. That’s what I’m going to be—a wife to a man who doesn’t respect me, someone who will wipe his feet on me at every opportunity. I’ll have no voice, no ability to make choices—nothing.
And the worst part? This isn’t the first time I’ve been forced into this role. I still remember how my mother coerced me into marrying a man I didn’t even know, all because she needed money for her treatment and to cover my father’s debts. I had hoped that my father would stand up to her, that he’d realize how wrong it was. But I was sorely mistaken.
Now, the story is repeating itself, only this time, my dad is the one selling me off to a man I fucking hate.
“When we succeed in making people believe how much we care, that their comfort is our top priority, each of you will find your place beside me in politics after the marriage,” Lucascontinues. “Your task is to attend meetings and present a united front—a brush of fingers here, a soft glance there. Don’t rush things. Make them believe in your story. Charm them. Get them tolovethe idea of you and our cause.”
He keeps talking, his steady voice and the confidence radiating from him making me sick. I can taste bile rising in my throat, my simmering anger muted by the weight of my loss.
I feel West’s icy stare, a gleam of animalistic victory lurking deep within it. The ringing in my ears drowns out the voices of his father and mine, but I know they’re busy outlining the brilliant plan they’ve discussed long before this meeting.
Betrayal slices through my already bleeding heart, and my lips tremble as I realize that after all these years, my dad still sees me as nothing more than a product—a tool for profit, a toy for someone else to use.
I’ve done everything I could to prove him wrong. After my ex-husband died, my dad took over the business, and I helped him improve it, assisting in building his path to where he is today. Lucas’s real estate company doesn’t just hire anyone; you need to be the best to work with them. I’ve busted my ass to get us here—through blood, sweat, tears, and an overwhelming amount of self-loathing.
And now, it all feels like it was for nothing.
Darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, pulling me into its vortex. I inhale, my chest shaking as I take in precious oxygen, only to feel something sticky running down my fingers. I glance down, realizing I’ve just torn off a piece of skin around my thumb. A crimson trail circles my black nail polish, thickening with each passing second.
“Venetia.” A firm squeeze on my shoulder is followed by a sharp demand whispered in my ear. I raise my head to meet Lucas’s gaze. “What do you think?”
It’s a rhetorical question—an illusion of choice, a pretense that the men in this room care about my feelings or thoughts. My expression remains blank, directed at them but not truly seeing them. I force a smile, my dry lips cracking with the effort, knowing exactly what I’m going to say.
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
Flashback
Age 12
