“That’s really unnecessary. I’m agreeing to this as a partner, Mr. Stavros,” I reply. “I am the Council’s daughter. I earned my place at this table. Uncle Nico, Angel, Adrik, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can handle this. Besides, it’s the only way we can close this deal in the time we need. I’ll be fine.”
These men protected me, trained me, trusted me—raised me like one of their own soldiers.
But they also forget something important.
I’m not a kid anymore.
I’m not a little princess to be tucked away and patted on the head.
I’m a Batiste.
A Princeton educated lawyer. And I’m not a kid, I’m a woman.
No man gets to shush me, silence me, or decide my fate behind closed doors.
Not my father.
Not my uncles.
Not Atlas fucking Stavros.
If they want a bride for this stupid political circus?
Fine.
They’ll get one.
I’ll play the perfect wife.
I’ll close the deal.
I’ll keep my family’s empire intact.
And when it’s done, when the ink is dry, when the mine is ours and the warlord is defanged—I’ll walk away whole, untouched, and still mine.
Not bought or sold.
Not owned or thrown away.
Definitely not used.
“Cecilia, I don’t think you understand,” my father begins.
But I have heard enough.
“I understand fine perfectly. My answer is yes, I’ll marry the little prince,” I say sweetly, stepping back from the table.
Every eye widens.
Oh, they didn’t expect that.
They didn’t expect me to volunteer for my own cage.
I turn toward the door, heels clicking like gunshots across marble.
“Have the temporary marriage contract drawn up tonight,” I say. “I’ll sign it, and someone can deliver it to Mr. Stavros’ hotel in the morning.”
And then I smile.
