The clothing provided is simple but expensive—dark jeans, a cream sweater, leather ankle boots. Everything fits perfectly, another reminder of how thoroughly I've been studied like a specimen under glass.
At precisely 9:55, I leave the guest suite. The door is unlocked now, though I suspect that's more about Gage's confidence in the security of his estate than any real freedom on my part. A staff member waits in the hallway, ready to escort me.
"This way, Miss Everett."
I follow in silence, taking mental notes of the layout. The mansion is enormous—modern architecture blending seamlessly with classic elements, floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of manicured grounds and distant forest. Security cameras are discreetly placed at regular intervals. No obvious escape routes present themselves.
The staff member stops at a set of double doors, knocks once, then opens them without waiting for a response.
"Miss Everett, sir."
Gage's study is exactly what I would expect—a vast space dominated by a wall of windows overlooking the estate grounds,bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes, and a massive desk of polished wood. He sits behind it, reviewing documents, but rises when I enter.
"Penelope. Thank you for coming." As if I had a choice. "Please, sit."
I remain standing just inside the doorway. "You mentioned my family."
His lips quirk in what might be amusement at my defiance. "I did. Your father will be joining us shortly."
"My father?" The news catches me off guard. "He's coming here?"
"He's already here." Gage gestures to the seating area near the windows. "He arrived an hour ago. I thought it best if we spoke privately first."
I reluctantly move to the indicated chair, perching on its edge. "What is there to discuss that wasn't covered last night?"
"Your father believes you require... convincing about our arrangement." Gage sits across from me, his posture relaxed but alert. "I disagree. I think you simply need complete information to make a rational decision."
"There is no rational decision to be made about forced marriage."
"Again, no one is forcing you." His tone remains conversational, as if we're discussing a business merger rather than my life. "You have options, limited though they may be."
"Limited by your design," I counter.
He inclines his head, acknowledging the point. "Life is defined by constraints, Penelope. True freedom is an illusion—we're all bound by circumstances of birth, social conventions, legal frameworks, economic realities. The difference is whether we recognize those constraints and work within them, or waste energy fighting against immovable objects."
"Philosophy doesn't change the fact that you're holding me here against my will."
"I'm providing sanctuary after a traumatic event." That smooth correction again, reframing my captivity as protection. "And offering you a future with considerably more autonomy than most women in your position would receive."
Before I can respond, the door opens again. My father strides in, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, his expression a mixture of impatience and disapproval when his eyes land on me.
"Penelope." No warmth, just acknowledgment. "I see you're being difficult, as usual."
I stand, facing him directly. "Difficult? That's what you call objecting to being sold like property?"
"Don't be dramatic." He moves to the bar cart, pouring himself a measure of scotch despite the early hour. "This arrangement has been in place for a decade. Your... escapade these past five years was merely a delay of the inevitable."
"William." Gage's voice carries a subtle warning. "Perhaps we should focus on explaining the situation fully, rather than assigning blame."
My father waves his hand dismissively. "She knows the situation. She's just being stubborn."
"Actually," I interject, "I know very little beyond what Mr. Blackwood told me last night—that you traded me to cover up your crimes."
My father's face darkens. "Watch your tone, young lady. This 'trade,' as you so crudely put it, preserved our family name, your sister's future, and your own standard of living."
"At the cost of my autonomy and choice."
"Your choice," he sneers, "would have been to run away at the first opportunity—oh wait, that's exactly what you did, without a thought for the consequences to anyone but yourself."
