“You couldn’t have picked a black dress, could you?” I retort, rolling my eyes. Glancing around the ballroom, all the other women are dressed in elegant black gowns, while the men are in sharp tuxedos—my stepfather included. Evidently there’s a dress code, a fact that Mark was well aware of when he sent me awhitedress. I stand out, well, to be blunt, like a dog’s balls. His disapproving gaze flickers to me before he shakes hands with a passing gentleman. My arm is looped through his elbow, and I’m thankful the champagne has been freely flowing as he leads me around the gala. The air is heavy with expensive perfumes and colognes, and the ballroom is alive with the sounds of soft music and lively chatter. Small tables are draped in crisp white linen and adorned with elaborate floral arrangements. Above, soaring stained-glass domes add a dramatic flair, while chandeliers twinkle like stars in the night sky. In my revealing white dress I feel even more like an outsider in this world of wealth and privilege.
As Mark weaves through the crowded ballroom, it becomes abundantly obvious that he’s a man in demand. Every few steps, he stops to introduce me to yet another person, each interaction accompanied by a flurry of handshakes, nods, and polite smiles. People clamor for a slice of his time, eager to be noticed and acknowledged. We’ve only been here thirty minutes, and I’m already over this pony show.
“This dress is more my mother’s style than mine,” I grumble under my breath.
“Stop your pouting and smile,” he chides. “Men want to see what they’re getting before committing. Try before you buy, if you will.” He smiles as if the most sexist words didn’t just roll off his tongue. My lips purse and I swallow a harsh retort.Whatever. I’m used to being objectified at Eden. This is no different. Instead of being on stage naked and kneeling with my head bowed, I’m parading around in a dress that leaves little to the imagination. Actually, I would prefer to be naked at Eden, where I’m the one in control, comfortable in my own skin as I perform on stage. There, I am empowered, confident in my ability to command attention. But here, in this gilded ballroom, the control firmly rests in the palm of my stepfather’s hand. I am little more than a pawn in his game, forced to play by his rules and conform to his expectations.
“I want to talk about my conditions.” I come to an abrupt halt, unhooking my arm from his.
He nods, scanning the bustling ballroom for a quiet spot to talk. Lightly grasping my elbow, he steers me toward the edge of the room.
“Of course, honey, please proceed.”
“First, we will not be moving back to New York. I will live wherever my husband wants to live, and Beth will stay with me. That is not negotiable.” My gaze locks onto his, unwavering and self-assured. Silence stretches between us for a few tense moments as I hold his stare, refusing to yield to his attempt at intimidation. His eyes bore into mine, a silent challenge hanging in the air. Just as my false bravado starts to crumble, he presses his lips together in a firm line, conceding. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.
“Fine. Your next condition?”
I clear my throat. “After I have a child, I reserve the right to leave and divorce the father if I wish. I will not be stuck in a marriage with an abusive asshole and put my child at risk.”
He shakes his head. “No. Divorce will not be an option within the first ten years. This will be written into the contract with your prospective husband and something that I have no doubt he will insist upon. It’s to protect him, so you don’t get knocked up and do a runner.” He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. He knows that’s exactly what I would have done. Ten years feels like an eternity, but I can sense from the resolve in his eyes that there’s no room for negotiation on this point.
I swallow roughly.
“Hailee, I won’t choose someone who could be a danger to you,” he sighs.
“But you can’t guarantee that. You don’t know how someone behaves behind closed doors.”
He lets out an exasperated breath, his patience wearing thin. “Anything else?”
“What happens if I can’t get pregnant?” I worry my lip between my teeth.
“As long as there is medical evidence to support your infertility from a doctor of my choosing, and every option has been exhausted, including IVF, then I will consider your end of the deal upheld,” he says carefully. “I don’t need to remind you of what will happen if you try to pull the wool over my eyes. I can and will destroy both of your lives.”
I stiffen.
“Are we done now?”
My throat has closed over, so I simply nod instead.
“Great, let me introduce you to the lead candidate. There are two you’ll meet tonight.” He beams, and my head spins at how quickly his demeanor has changed. My stepfather is a grade-A psycho. It’s a chilling display of his unsettling ability to switch between charm and manipulation with ease.
Leading me across the ballroom with his hand lingering on the small of my exposed back sends a chill down my spine. Every nerve in my body protests his contact, recoiling from the unwanted intimacy. In a feeble attempt to create some distance, I hook my arm through his elbow once more.
“Hello, Douglas, how are you?” Mark’s smile is warm as we approach an elderly gentleman, extending his hand in a friendly greeting. My jaw nearly hits the floor in shock.
This is the lead candidate? THIS guy?
“I would like to introduce you to my beautiful stepdaughter, Hailee Mann. She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Mark’s voice is filled with pride as he presents me.
I lightly grip Douglas’s outstretched hand, careful not to apply too much pressure, unlike the bone-crushing handshake Mark just gave him. What was he thinking? He could have seriously hurt the old man. Douglas, who appears to be pushing eighty with thinning white hair on his head but an incredible amount of hair sprouting from his nostrils and ears, leers at me with unsettling focus. His gaze roams up and down my body, settling on my breasts that are threatening to burst out of my dress.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I manage, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.
“The pleasure is all mine, sweetness.” He doesn’t raise his eyes from my chest.
Gross.
I shoot a glance at my stepfather, but he only narrows his eyes in warning. What’s his problem? It’s not like Douglas even noticed; his eyes are still glued to my tits. Can this guy even get it up without a little blue pill? Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the ten-year clause now. He looks like he’s ready to drop dead at any given moment. But then again, that’s the thing with these old bastards. You always think they’re going to die, then they end up outliving you.
