I scan the room again. The Syndicate is everywhere, woven into the fabric of this gathering. Quiet sentinels of power.
My mother’s delicate fingers wrap around my wrist, her grip deceptively light but firm enough to drag me from my quiet corner.
“Mara, darling,” she murmurs, the smile on her face fixed, as if painted on. “Come meet someone.”
I already know where this is going.
She guides me across the room, weaving through the crowd of elites and politicians until we stop in front of James Harrington again and—oh, of course—his son.
“Mr. Harrington, always a pleasure,” my mother purrs, radiating the charm of a woman who has spent her entire life perfecting the art of being admired. Then, with a practiced flick of her wrist, she gestures to me. “You remember my daughter, Mara.”
James nods, his cool gaze sliding over me like I’m an asset being appraised. “Indeed. She’s grown up beautifully.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrington.”
His son steps forward, offering a smile that probably works on other girls.
Not me.
“Chase,” he introduces himself smoothly, extending a hand. “Chase Harrington.”
I take in the man before me. He’s tall, of course. They always are. Broad shoulders, perfectly-tailored navy suit, dark blond hair styled with a precision that suggests he either has a personal barber, or an obsessive grooming habit. He has the clean-cut handsomeness of a man bred for this world—sharp jawline, straight nose, piercing blue eyes that probably make women weak in the knees.
But I see nothing behind them.
Just emptiness dressed up in power.
“Chase is working closely with his father now,” my mother says, her voice laced with approval. “He’s very involved inpolitical strategy.”
“Really?” I say, taking a sip of champagne. “That sounds… suffocating.”
Chase chuckles, as if I’ve made a charming joke, but I see the flicker of amusement at my audacity. “Some might see it that way,” he says. “But I like to think of it as being in the room where things actually happen.”
I arch a brow. “And what is it that actually happens, Chase?”
His lips curve into a slow smirk, and for the first time, I realize he has dimples. A detail that would have been endearing if I believed for a second that he was capable of doing something purely out of affection.
But I don’t.
My mother laughs lightly. “Mara is so passionate about politics. She has such strong opinions.”
“She always has,” my father adds, appearing beside us, his presence a subtle warning.Don’t embarrass me. Play nice.
Chase’s gaze lingers on me a beat too long before he turns to my father. “It’s an honor to support your campaign, sir. My father and I are fully committed.”
I swear I see my father’s shoulders relax. There it is—loyalty, devotion, submission. Exactly what he wants in a son-in-law.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and turn to my mother instead. “Mother, you’re not seriously trying to set me up at a campaign event, are you?”
She tilts her head, her smile never wavering. “Mara, sweetheart, you’re at the age where you should start considering your future. Yourrealfuture.”
“My real future,” I echo, unimpressed. “You mean marriage.”
Her expression softens in the way that means she’s about to say something that’s supposed to be gentle but is actually suffocating. “You deserve a strong match. Someone who understands this world. Someone who can take care of you.”
I glance at Chase, who’s watching this exchange with detached amusement, as if he already knows how this conversation ends.
I hate that he’s probably right.
