"The invitations are your responsibility, Viv." Father's voice comes from behind his phone now, already scrolling through messages. Not even watching. "You'll make time."
"And you'll be gracious about it." Prescott's thumb finds the spot where my pulse hammers against skin. "Won't you?"
The pressure increases. Just slightly. Just enough.
I meet his eyes. Mistake. There's something eager there, something waiting to see if I'll push back again. Hoping I will.
"Of course." My voice comes out steady. Small victory.
"Good girl." He releases my arm, but his hand trails down to capture my fingers. Brings them to his lips. The kiss is brief. Proprietary. His eyes never leave mine, and there's a promise there that makes ice flood my veins. "We want this to be perfect for you. Don't we?"
"Your mother would have wanted this." Father's voice cuts across whatever Prescott was about to say. "A proper ceremony. Your grandmother certainly did, before she passed."
The invocation of my grandmother hits exactly as he intended. She would've been relieved that I'd be taken care of, that the family legacy would continue. She would roll in hergrave if she knew what her son was willing to do to secure a business alliance.
"Of course." I force the words through numb lips. "I'm sorry. I'm just... overwhelmed."
"Overwhelmed." Prescott's breath ghosts across my ear. His hand stays locked on my waist. "That's one word for it."
Father checks his watch again. "The two of you can discuss the details. I have a conference call in ten minutes. Viv, those invitations need to start today."
He's halfway to the door before pausing. "And Viv? The servants have been gossiping about your... mood. I won't have it. Whatever personal feelings you may have, you'll keep them private. This family's reputation depends on it."
The door closes behind him with a decisive click.
I count the beats of silence that follow. One. Two. Three. Four.
Prescott's hand slides from my waist to the small of my back. "Alone at last."
I try to step away. His hand becomes a bar.
"We should discuss the wedding night." His voice is conversational. Pleasant, even. "I want to make sure we understand each other."
"There's nothing to discuss." My voice barely works.
"Oh, I disagree." He turns me to face him. Both hands on my waist now. Heavy. Inescapable. "See, I've been very patient. Very... restrained. Your father insisted. No intimacy before the wedding. No... marks."
The way he saysmarksmakes my skin crawl.
"But after?" He leans closer. "After, you're mine. Legally. Completely. I intend to make full use of my rights as your husband."
"Rights." The word tastes like ash.
"God-given rights." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "A husband's authority over his wife. Her body. Her obedience."
Submission. Duty. Honor.
The words sound so different in Prescott's mouth. Twisted. Weaponized. He says them like they're chains he's owed, shackles he has every right to lock around my wrists.
Paul uses the same words, but they come wrapped in protection, in devotion, in the kind of reverence that makes me want to give it. He earns every ounce of my surrender with the way he looks at me—like I'm something precious he's been entrusted to guard. Like my willingness is a gift he'll spend his whole life being worthy of.
Prescott demands. Paul cherishes.
Prescott takes. Paul receives.
One wants to break me. The other would bleed himself dry before letting me crack.
"You're a monster." The words come out as a whisper.
