“I want to finish college first,” I say simply. “I want to have a normal life for a little while. Maybe even fall in love the way people do in real life. Not through contracts and cocktail parties.”
Chase lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s naive.”
I snap my gaze back to him. “Excuse me?”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I just mean… love? Normal? You really think that’s in the cards for people like us?”
My mother’s grip tightens on my wrist. My father shifts, just barely.
They agree with him.
That’s the worst part.
“Some of us still believe in those things,” I say coolly, draining the rest of my champagne.
Chase studies me for a moment, then smirks. “Then I guess I’ll have to bring you back to reality.”
The sheer arrogance of it almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
But instead, I step closer, just enough to let my voice drop to something only he can hear. “You could offer me the world on a silver platter, Chase, and I still wouldn’t believe you’d do a damn thing for me.”
His smirk falters. Just a fraction.
I don’t give him a chance to recover. I set my empty glass on a tray as a waiter passes by and walk away, leaving my mother’s carefully laid plans in ruins behind me.
I don’t get far before I hear the sharp click of heels against marble, each step carrying the weight of barely restrained fury.
“Mara!” My mother’s voice is sweet venom—honey laced with poison.
I don’t stop. Not until her hand clamps around my arm, nails digging in just enough to hurt. She whirls me around, her expression a mask of pristine elegance, except for her eyes. They burn with rage.
“What in God’s name was that?” she hisses, her voice lowenough that no one else can hear, but sharp enough to slice through me.
I yank my arm free, my own anger surging. “It was me making it clear that I’m not some pawn for you to barter off in a political merger.”
Her nostrils flare. “You humiliated me. You humiliated your father.”
“I don’t care.” The moment the words leave my lips, I know I’ve crossed an invisible line.
Her hand cracks across my face before I can even register that she’s moved.
The force of it snaps my head to the side, a stinging heat blooming across my cheek. I taste copper, the sharp tang of blood where my teeth caught the inside of my lip.
The room doesn’t notice. No one ever does.
We’re too well-trained for that.
I slowly turn my head back to face her, my expression unreadable. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me react. Her face is as poised as ever, but her chest rises and falls just a little too quickly. She’s furious. And worse, she’s desperate. “You don’t have a choice in this, Mara,” she whispers harshly. “You never did.”
A sick sort of amusement curls through me, drowning out the lingering pain. “Funny. I was just about to tell you the same thing.”
For the first time in my life, I see uncertainty flicker in her perfect, controlled mask. I step back, smoothing my hair as if nothing happened. As if my mother—the ever-composed, ever-perfect mother—didn’t just strike me like a petulant child.
“I suggest you go back to playing hostess,” I say, my voice light, mocking. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think the perfect Eleanor Black is losing her grip, would we?”
Her fingers twitch at her side. I see the war inside her—she wants to slap me again, but she won’t. Not here. Not wherepeople might notice. Instead, she straightens, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her gown, and when she speaks, her voice is laced with frost. “You’re making a mistake,” she says.
