My father’s voice tore through my thoughts—brisk, commanding, inescapable.
“Yes, Father?”
His stare seared through me, intense and unrelenting—a gaze filled with unspoken threats and expectations woven into every glance.
A silent warning.
A reminder of my place.
The weight of it pressed down, suffocating, daring me to so much as think of speaking without permission.
And yet, despite the silent command that held me prisoner, I felt it again.
That magnetic pull toward the man across from me.
Toward Lord Hassan.
The one existence in the room who felt as if he saw me.
And I longed to be seen for the first time in my life.
I closed my eyes briefly, willing this night to dissolve into nothingness.But when I opened them, the nightmare remained.
My father was positioned at the head of the table, his glass raised high.The candlelight glinted off the crystal, casting fractured reflections against the towering walls.
“I am so glad you are all here,” he announced, his voice a proclamation, a decree that bound me tighter to my fate.“Tonight, we celebrate the union of two great families and strengthen our society.”
My heart pounded, its rhythm a warning drumbeat in my chest.
“Lord Winston is an esteemed member of our society who has brought us to our current glory.”My father’s voice rang with conviction.“Would you like to say a few words, Lord Winston?”
All eyes turned to the man who would be my husband.
But mine remained fixed on Lord Hassan.
Something was unnerving in the stillness that settled over his features.His expression remained impassive, composed, yet I felt the storm beneath his exterior—the subtle tension in his jaw, the unreadable depth in his dark eyes.
Was he truly one of them?
Or was there something more to this enigmatic visitor from Anatolia?
The scrape of a chair against the polished floor jolted me back.
With a creaking of bones that seemed to reverberate through the grand dining hall, Lord Winston heaved himself to his feet.
The flickering candlelight only accentuated his monstrosity—the waxy pallor of his skin, the folds of flesh around his neck, and the way his bloated fingers trembled slightly as he placed them against the table for support.
His voice slithered through the air, thick with unctuous pride.
“It is indeed an honor to be betrothed to Lady Alexander,” he declared, his tone dripping with self-importance.
The words left his lips like a sentence passed, a claim stamped upon me.
And then?—
“I have no doubt our union shall be most fruitful, and you shall bear the next heir for our society.”
The air in my lungs turned to ice.
