My stomach twists painfully. I’m caught between what Ihaveto do and what my heart screams to reject.
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath because there’s no going back now. No turning away from this darkness because I signed my name to an agreement, and going back on it now only results in death.
Death to my father.
I can’t go back now, I know that. But it’s like a war council downstairs, and I’m trapped upstairs, an outsider in this family battlefield, like it’s another day in the neighborhood.
I can’t help but replay last night over and over in my mind. How I let Ben touch me like that. How, despite everything, I felt something like safety, like maybe I wasn’t just a pawn in his game but something…more.
And yet, the cold fact remains.
He forced me into this, into carrying a child for him one day, for his legacy, and the thought makes my throat tighten.
I wonder if he feels any of the weight I’m carrying.
Probably not.
The past and the future are all tangled and dark. And somehow, I have to find a way through, but I don’t know how.
“Everyone clear on what’s next?” Ben suddenly asks, sounding closer as a chorus of yes, sirs, and clearly answers him.
No hesitation. No doubt.
I hear footsteps file out of the house through the foyer before a pair heads up the stairs.
Benedikt.
I sprint toward my room, ducking inside and shutting the door softly before I begin nervously pacing.
However, I’m not alone long when three firm raps sound on the other side of my door.
“Princess.” I stay quiet, my breath shallow as I stare at the barrier between the two of us. “I know you were listening.”
What?
How?
That’s the first thing that enters my immediate mind.
Not, crap, or darn.
“Why do you want to make this harder on yourself?” he asks, from the other side, not barging in my space like I expected him to.
Why won’t you leave me alone?
“I’m coming in,” he conveys evenly. “If you have a heavy object in your hands, don’t miss.”
I scoff because that would’ve been a good idea, when the door opens and Ben steps into my prison.
His blue eyes immediately lock onto me, assessing what kind of weapon I may have before he seems satisfied.
“Get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
“I’ll pass,” I say without needing to think or stop myself from saying it out loud.
He arches a brow but doesn’t argue.
“Fine,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ll order carryout. We’ll eat at the table here. But I’m not going to listen to any more of thisI don’t want to play your gamecrap.”
