I picture a wedding with a contract instead of vows, a marriage sealed in strategy and blood. I picture myself at his side, not as a wife, but as an asset—useful, clever, expendable. I picture the cage he would build for me, one made of silk and steel, and the slow, careful suffocation that would follow. I think about what it would mean to wake beside him every morning, to match wits and wounds, to live every day on the edge of war and want.
I let myself grieve for the life I’ll never have—the one where I choose who I love, where I am more than a means to someone else’s end. The tears keep coming, unstoppable, wracking my body with silent sobs. I don’t bother to wipe them away. There’s no one left to see.
I think about saying no. I think about running, about disappearing, about burning it all to the ground rather than letting myself be bartered one last time.
My father’s voice rings in my head—cold, logical, final. This is how things work. This is what it means to be a White, to be a daughter, to be smart enough to matter, but never smart enough to escape.
Chapter Twelve - Leon
I lean back in my office chair, feet braced against the polished wood, phone pressed to my ear. The skyline glitters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a thousand city lights like prizes yet to be claimed.
Marcus’s voice is clipped, businesslike—no warmth, just the weight of generations negotiating through clenched teeth and bloodstained ledgers. There’s a satisfaction in that, a sense of history shifting under my hand.
Every word between us is precise, cool, measured. A truce, a merger, a surrender, and a coronation, all at once.
He says, “We accept the proposal.”
Just four words, but they land with the force of a gunshot. The years of rivalry, of territory claimed and retaken, of whispered threats and backroom wars… all of it is swept aside, replaced by the certainty of a contract.
This alliance is more than business; it’s a stake in the ground, a flag planted in new soil. For a moment—a rare, golden moment—I allow myself to enjoy it. The war is over. I have won. Or at least, I believe I have.
Marcus drones on about timelines and contingencies, but my mind is already racing ahead. I see the maps, the routes, the deals stacking up in neat columns. Peace, profit, power. It’s all mine, now—ours. I savor the taste of victory, let it settle in my bones.
The door swings open. Not a knock, not a warning—just the hard, clean sound of force, and there she is.
Suzy fills the doorway, the storm in her eyes threatening to level the city. Her hair’s wild, lips pressed together, jaw set in a challenge that’s as old as we are. Her hands are balled to fists at her sides. Even angry, she’s incandescent.
I arch an eyebrow, smirking, letting Marcus’s voice drone on in my ear. My gaze doesn’t leave her.
“No issues?” I ask Marcus, but the words are for her. I want her to know I expected this. I want her to know I relish it.
Marcus hesitates, as if weighing whether to remind me whose daughter I’m about to take. “None,” he says and hangs up.
I lower the phone to the desk just as Suzy storms forward, palms slamming down on the glass hard enough to scatter papers and rattle my nerves. The force of her fury fills the room, charging the air with static.
“Why did you do this?” she spits. Her voice is tight with rage and something rawer, something closer to heartbreak.
For a second, my heart kicks in my chest. I want to reach for her, to tame that fire, but I force myself to stay still.
I rise, smoothing my suit, letting cold logic settle over me like armor.
“It’s good for both families. Peace. Profit. Security.” I meet her eyes, steady and unflinching. “This is how things work. This is the only way.”
But Suzy’s not here to be mollified. Her glare sharpens, the line of her jaw daring me to keep lying. “You’re a liar,” she hisses. “This isn’t just business for you. There’s something else. You don’t care about peace—you care about control. You want to own me, the way you own everything else.”
The accusation lands harder than I expect. She’s always been good at finding the fault line. Suddenly I’m aware of her in every sense—her scent, the heat coming off her skin, the wild pulse in her throat. She’s chaos, and I’m addicted. She makes me want things I’ve never admitted, even to myself.
I step around the desk, moving into her orbit, not stopping until the distance between us disappears.
Suzy holds her ground at first, chin lifted in defiance, but when I keep coming, she backs up. She bumps into the wall, trapped by the nearness of me and her own stubborn pride. I can feel the energy crackling between us—rage and longing, all tangled up and impossible to separate.
I lower my voice, softer, meant only for her. “Maybe I just want you,” I admit. It’s a confession that costs me nothing and everything. Her eyes go wide, a flush rising to her cheeks.
For a moment, the fight drains from her, and I catch a glimpse of something unguarded—surprise, maybe, or fear. Vulnerability, bright and unexpected.
She looks away, finding her voice only when the moment’s nearly slipped away. “You’ll regret it, Leon,” she mutters, her bravado too quick, voice just the slightest bit breathless. “I’ll make your life hell if you marry me. I promise you that.”
The threat is music, and I can’t help the quiet chuckle that escapes me. “I expect nothing less,” I say, letting her see the truth in my eyes—that her fire doesn’t scare me; it draws me in.
