“You’re close to her,” Blaise states, but it seems like a genuine statement, not a threat. I recall he’d infiltrated the family, so he’d probably seen me with her.
“I am.”
“The things she must have seen,” Phoenix quips, shoving a piece of steak in his mouth. I wish he’d choke on it.
“She hasn’t seen anything.” I look at Phoenix, wanting him to do this one thing for me. Keep her out of his plans. "She deserves a childhood untainted by…" I gesture vaguely around the table. "All of this."
Phoenix studies me, his blue eyes searching mine, for what, I’m not sure. Deception, maybe. For a moment, I see a flicker of the boy I once loved, thoughtful, perceptive.
"I noticed the household was highly compartmentalized," Blaise offers unexpectedly. "Jenna worked here for years and didn't know half of what was happening."
Jenna nods. "It's true. I was blissfully… or perhaps ignorantly… unaware."
I give her a grateful look, though I know her support won't sway Phoenix. He's determined to see me as complicit in everything my family has done.
But for the first time since he stormed back into my life, I see uncertainty in Phoenix's eyes.
The evening drags on, each minute stretching like hours. Phoenix and his brothers share celebratory stories with Rileys, Donovans, and the other families who helped them bring my father down.
When dinner is finished, I don’t want to leave the table as I’m able to hide much of my body in this ridiculous dress under the table. As we move from dinner to drinks in the parlor, I feel eyesfollowing me, assessing, judging. The red dress Phoenix forced me to wear has achieved exactly what he intended. I've become a spectacle to ogle and sneer at.
"Phoenix, you lucky bastard," a man with a thick Boston accent calls out, raising his glass. "You have excellent taste in women."
Another chimes in, "Kean's daughter in your bed? That's the sweetest revenge I can imagine."
I stand perfectly still as they discuss me as if I'm not present. My cheeks burn but I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.
"Tell us, Phoenix," a third man asks, leaning forward with a leer, "does she fight you or has she learned to submit already?"
Phoenix's laugh is dark and cruel. "I don’t fuck and tell." He slides his arm around my waist, fingers pressing into my hip. "But I will say that Keira knows exactly who's in charge now."
The men roar with approval while across the room, I notice a cluster of women whispering behind their hands, shooting glances my way. Their expressions range from pity to disgust to smug satisfaction at my fall from grace. Only Lucy and Jenna avoid participating in my public humiliation. They actually look horrified. But what can they do? Nothing.
"I need some air," I murmur, attempting to step away from Phoenix's grip.
His fingers tighten. "Stay," he commands softly, for my ears alone. "You're exactly where you belong."
I meet his eyes, searching for any hint of the boy who once looked at me with tenderness, who whispered promises under moonlight. I find nothing but cold calculation.
Phoenix raises his glass. "To new beginnings," he announces to the room. "And to my beautiful fiancée, who looks absolutely ravishing tonight."
The guests cheer and drink, but their eyes tell a different story. To them, I'm not a fiancée. I'm a trophy, a spoil of war, physical proof that the Ifrinns have reclaimed their throne.
I smile because I must, laugh when expected, and let Phoenix display me like a prized possession. Each moment chips away at something vital inside me, but I endure. For Brigit. For survival.
The evening seems never-ending, but I’m finally able to excuse myself to get another drink, desperate for just a moment away from Phoenix’s possessive grip.
As I reach for a glass of champagne, a hand brushes against my exposed lower back. I stiffen, turning to find one of Phoenix's associates, a heavyset man with thinning hair and alcohol-flushed cheeks.
"The boss is a lucky man," he slurs, his eyes roving over my body. "But maybe you'd like to try something different before you settle down?" His hand slides lower, cupping my backside through the thin fabric.
I step away, revulsion crawling up my spine. "Remove your hand before I remove it for you."
He laughs, crowding me against the bar. "Feisty. I like that. Come on, sweetheart. Why would Phoenix whore you out like this if it wasn’t to reward men like me who helped him claim you?”
"I believe my fiancée made herself clear." Phoenix materializes beside us, his expression murderous.
The man withdraws his hand immediately, a nervous smile replacing his leer. "No harm intended, Boss. Just admiring the merchandise."
