One week. That’s all it takes to start a war.
THIRTY-SEVEN
MARA
Ever since the last event with my dad a few nights ago, my mother has been calling me nonstop. She’s ordered me about a half a dozen dresses to try on so she can approve one for Tuesday night.
This election is just a formality—everyone in the room on both sides knows it. Even the men being dressed up like the prized pigs know it.
It doesn’t matter what they preach, what their constituents argue about on social media. When my father’s opponent loses by a certain amount of electoral votes, he will concede and my father becomes President of the United States.
The Syndicate will have yet another successfully rigged election under their belt.
It’s happened for decades—as a way to keep the narrative they want going. To keep the country in check.
And when my father sits in that Oval Office, it won’t really be his chair. It will belong to them. He’ll smile for the cameras, give speeches about the American dream, while every decision is already signed and sealed in rooms we will never be allowed to see.
That’s power.
It can move borders, topple markets, and bury bodies without ever leaving a trace.
Milo will be next. He’ll be groomed and polished until there’s not a single crack of personality left. Then, they’ll set him on the conveyor belt to D.C. like a toy soldier. He’ll inherit the kingdom if he plays their game right.
My brother, the Syndicate’s next mouthpiece.
And me?
Well, I’m not meant to rule anything; I’m meant to decorate it. The dutiful daughter turned trophy wife. Smile wide and play the perfect bride to Chase Harrington. I’ll be photographed on his arm, and our children will join the parade eventually.
It’s all a game. Rigged and bloodless on the surface, but pull back the curtain and it’s just as violent as the fights that happen in war zones.
I am their perfect pawn.
But pawns don’t win. Pawns get sacrificed.
And I’m sick of being the Syndicate’s princess.
“So, that’s why this plan has to work—it’s going to work,” I announce, my throat swallowing hard as I keep my chin steady. “I want to tear apart the perfect image of me. I want to…” My pulse skitters as I lose my train of thought.
For a moment, there’s only the hum of the fireplace inside the Omega Chi Kappa study. The three of them exchange looks, and my cheeks heat as I realize how that sounded. Embarrass my father? What I really mean is to embarrass myself, in the most public, scandalous way. A flicker of fear licks up my spine. Can I actually go through with this? The image of Father’s sneer hardens my resolve. Yes, I have to. I need to shatter this gilded cage he’s trapped me in, even if I get cut on the flying shards.
Talon breaks the silence with a low chuckle. “Careful, Princess. Once you crawl in the dirt with us, you don’t get to climb back onto that throne.”
My mouth dries as I try to think of something to say. Jasperleans forward where he sits, his eyes averting their gaze. He doesn’t think this is a good idea. I can tell just by the way he’s leaning.
“I’m sure. Iwantthem to know. I’m done being their perfect daughter. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you.”
“If you need out, the safeword is?—”
“Blackbird,” I finish. “I know. I won’t need it.”
Talon steps closer. “This isn’t us forcing you?”
“This is me forcingyou. Put the collar on me. Now.”
I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath in until I feel Dredyn’s chest press flush against my back. The feeling of cold metal slides around my throat. His fist closes at the base of my neck, pulling me back against him.
“You want to scorch Daddy’s picture of you?” His mouth is in my ear. “Then we’ll give him a new one. His perfect daughter… on a leash.”
