When Mrs. Henderson has departed, I find a stone bench beneath a flowering magnolia and sit, finally allowing myself a moment of true reflection.
The situation is even more dire than I initially understood. The documents Gage showed me this morning confirm that my father's crimes were extensive and well-documented. If exposed, they would not only send him to prison but destroy multiple families through association—including Violet's future with the Montgomerys.
And Wildflower—my beloved shop, the business I poured my heart into—was never truly mine. The revelation cuts deeper than I expected. Every major client, every fortuitous break, every "lucky coincidence" that helped establish my reputation... all orchestrated by Gage Blackwood from a distance.
I can't even claim that I built my client list through talent alone, knowing now that his influence likely guided key accounts my way. The Morgan account was merely the most obvious example.
What remains that is truly mine? My skill with flowers? My aesthetic vision? Are even these aspects of myself somehow tainted by his invisible influence?
I press my palms against my eyes, fighting the hot sting of tears. Self-pity solves nothing. I need to think clearly, logically, if I'm to find any way through this labyrinth.
The facts, stripped of emotion, are these:
Gage Blackwood controls my fate through legal and financial means.
Refusing his marriage proposal would destroy my family, my business, and potentially my sister's future.
The estate is essentially a fortress, with no obvious means of escape.
Even if I could escape, I have nowhere truly safe to go, no resources that aren't ultimately under his control.
The rational choice, as Gage predicted, is clear: accept the arrangement, preserve what I can, and look for leverage once I understand the full scope of his operations and vulnerabilities.
But acceptance feels like surrender, like betraying the independent woman I've fought to become.
A shadow falls across me, and I look up to find Gage himself standing a few feet away. He's changed from his business attire into dark slacks and a grey sweater that softens his imposing presence without diminishing it.
"May I join you?" he asks, his tone suggesting it's an actual request rather than a command.
I shrug, moving slightly to make room on the bench. He sits beside me, leaving a respectful distance between us.
"Mrs. Henderson mentioned you've been exploring the grounds," he says, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains rather than on me. "I hope you found them satisfactory."
"The garden is beautiful," I admit. "Though I imagine the walls and security cameras somewhat diminish the sense of tranquility."
A slight smile curves his lips. "Security and beauty aren't mutually exclusive concepts, Penelope. One often enables the other."
"Is that your justification for keeping me here? That you're somehow protecting me?"
He turns to face me, his expression serious. "I am protecting you. The world contains genuine threats—not just the staged incident that brought you here, but real dangers that someone of your background and connections faces daily."
"Dangers you've conveniently defined and that only you can shield me from," I counter.
