Princess
Saturday | 7:30pm
The Montgomery housewas the biggest and most perfect-looking home in all of Havencrest. It was wrapped in tall white columns and had grass so well-maintained it looked fake.
People saw it as a beacon of grace. A godly home. The kind of place where Bible verses were etched into the stone above the doorway, where folks bowed their heads to pray before meals, and where my father’s booming voice rang out while preparing to give a sermon over the pulpit every Sunday morning. But I knew better. This house was a damn stage.
My father craved respect and power, using religion to control the narrative. He wanted the world to see perfection, no matter the cost. A place where sinners wore silk robes and smiled through communion, hiding real motives behind rituals.
I sat at the far end of the long, polished mahogany dining room table under a chandelier that cost more than a year’s tuition at Havencrest University. Everything gleamed.Everything was expensive. Everything was cold and calculated, just like this fucking dinner.
At the table’s head, my father, Ezekiel “Zeke” Montgomery, sat with his Bible beside his plate like a silent threat. In a three-piece suit as always, his salt-and-pepper beard was immaculate. His dark eyes cut across the table all calm on the outside, already sizing me up.
To his left sat Councilman Brandon “Don” Lancaster with his well-manicured fingers steepled over the table like he was some kind of boss. He was dressed well in a dark, tailored suit, gold cufflinks, and a watch that probably cost more than someone’s yearly rent. The smirk on the forty-something-year-old’s light-skinned face tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked at me like I was already his. The fuck I was.
Was he attractive? Sure. Don was tall, maybe six feet even, with a solid build and a clean, low beard. His lips were full, brows thick, and eyes sharp as hell. But his looks were never the problem. It was everything else, like the way corruption clung to him like cologne and the way his charm came off too practiced, too strategic. He was crooked as hell and too damn old for me. He wasn’t the man I dreamed about, and I wasn’t about to play pretend like he ever could be.
I kept my face still, unreadable. One thing my father taught me was how to play the role. How to sit pretty and poised. Meanwhile, I was planning my rebellion. My gold slip dress shimmered under the candlelight, my long, jet black hair curled over my shoulders, and my oversized eyeglasses framed mybrown eyes. On the outside, I looked like the perfect preacher’s daughter, but inside, I was simmering.
My father skipped small talk. He folded his hands and gave me that measured tone that made my skin crawl. “Princess,” he said, as if delivering a sermon. “I assume you know why we’re here tonight.”
I took a sip of my wine, letting it stain my lips red like blood before I smiled. “I do, Daddy,” I said. “I’m just waiting to hear the part where my opinionactuallymatters.”
Don chuckled like I’d told a joke. I turned my eyes on him without blinking. “That wit of yours,” he said, leaning in like he wanted to offer me a deal I couldn’t refuse. “It’ll make you a strong first lady, Princess. I could use a woman of grace and intelligence by my side.”
I tilted my head, just slightly. Letting the gold strap of my dress slide down my shoulder a little, I bared my teeth in a polite, empty smile. “And I assume my uterus is part of the package, too?” I asked. “Pop out a few heirs, pose for pictures at your fundraisers, and nod when you fucking speak?”
My father inhaled as if the devil were knocking at the front door. His jaw clenched, but his voice remained smooth and controlled. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”
I laughed, low and sharp. “Why? Am I embarrassing you in front of yourbusiness partner?” I set the wine glass down, hard enough for it to clink against the china but not enough to break it. “Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with me,” I said. “This is about your empire. About keeping the church’s finances just clean enough that the IRS doesn’t come sniffing. Betteryet, this is about this political puppet here paying off whomever to continue turning a blind eye to whatever dirty shit you got running behind the pulpit.”
Don let out a long-suffering sigh. “Princess, Princess... such a harsh view of us and the world. Your father is a man of God. Practically an angel.”
“Sure,” I said with a bitter smile. “And so was the devil until he got kicked out of Heaven.”
That did it. My father’s patience snapped clean. His voice sliced through the air, low but sharp enough to bleed. “Enough.” He pointed to Don as if he were reading from a script. “Don is a good man. Apowerfulman. He can give you a lovely future and security. Youwillbe his wife.”
His wife.
The words tasted like ash in my mouth. I pushed my chair back, the legs groaning against the hardwood floor, and stood. My palms were clenched at my sides, whole body was tight with fury and disbelief that they really thought I was about to fall in line.
“I’m not some chess piece for you to move across the damn board, Daddy. We’rethirteenyears apart!”
His eyes went dark. That old-school Black daddy kind of rage hiding behind Sunday manners. “You are my daughter,” he said slowly. “I’ve provided for you, given you the best of everything, sent you to the best schools in thefuckingcountry, and made sure you are the picture of perfection.Idid that shit.Me.Now, you will repay me by marrying Don, and that’s all there is to it.”
There it was. The truth behind the preacher. The father. The controller. The manipulator. The room fell silent, the air thick, as if something was dying in it. Maybe my patience. Maybe the last shred of love for the man who raised me to be anything but free.
I stared at my father, who saw me as property, and the councilman, who thought marrying me would boost his public image for reelection and give him ties to the church. They wanted to use me for their own gain. And I knew at that moment... I was done being part of their plans.
“If you think I’m gonna waste my life playing the perfect political wife while you launder dirty money in Jesus’s name,” I said, my voice low but steady, “you’re outta your damn mind.” I turned to Don, who still had that smug look like he didn’t believe I had it in me. “Find another dummy to play dress-up with.”
I made it two steps toward the door before my father’s voice cracked behind me like a whip. “You walk out that door, Princess, and youwillregret it. Trust me.”
I stopped, my spine locked, fists clenched. Then I turned, every inch of me shaking not from fear, but from freedom clawing out. “I don’t regret much, Daddy,” I said. “But trusting you? That’salwaysat the top.”
And I walked out. No tears. No second-guessing. Just my heels striking polished floors, carrying me away from everything he built from my obedience. Behind me, Don exhaled like he’d dodged a bullet.
“Fiery one, isn’t she?”
And my father, cold and confident as ever, replied without missing a beat. “She’ll fall in line. Just have faith.”
