How dare he take my face, my name, and reduce it to a headline. A spectacle. A lie.
A scream tears from my throat, raw and shaking the walls. I want every goddamn person in this house to hear me. To know I’m not going quietly. I’m not the broken girl they think they’ve buried behind silk curtains and guarded doors.
The door swings open with a violent snap. My father strides in, flanked by two of his men. His expression is cold, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. He’s furious.
“What the hell is this?” he snaps, surveying the wreckage.
“What does it look like?” I hiss, breathing hard. “Your circus just made the morning edition.”
He crosses the room in three strides and stops in front of me, his presence casting a shadow over everything. “You’re acting like a child.”
“And you’re acting like a coward,” I spit back. “Selling your daughter to save your throne.”
His hand twitches at his side. He doesn’t hit me. Not yet. But the threat is there, simmering.
“I did what had to be done,” he says through clenched teeth. “We don’t have the numbers. Not anymore. The Marchettis have taken too much. This alliance with Falco?—”
“Is a leash,” I snap. “And you’re handing him the collar.”
“You think I care what you want?” he growls, stepping closer. “This family has survived by blood and fear. Not sentiment. Not rebellion.”
“This family died when you killed Declan,” I whisper. His face tightens. A crack in the armor.
“He made his choice,” he says, voice colder now. “You will make yours.”
I laugh—sharp and cruel. “You think this marriage will make you powerful? You’re not building an empire. You’re bargaining with vultures.”
“You’re wrong,” he says, stepping forward. “This will restore our name. Our legacy. And you, Zara, will play your part.”
“You can put me in the dress. Parade me down the aisle. But you’ll never make me one of them.”
“You will smile,” he spits. “You will stand beside Anthony Falco, and you will bear the weight of this alliance. Because if you don’t—if you so much as trip—I will carve that smile onto your face myself.”
I stare into his eyes, chest heaving, and for the first time, I see it. Desperation.
The great Lachlan Kavanagh is losing.
And I am the only chip he has left to bet.
His fingers wrap around my arm with bruising force, yanking me toward him. “Get her under control,” he barks to the guards. “Sedate her if you have to. I won’t have a blushing bride with cuts or bruises in the photos.”
I try to fight, but it’s useless. One of the men produces a syringe from his coat pocket. The other grabs my wrists.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I scream, struggling against them.
My father watches, unmoved. “This is your destiny, Zara. Dead or alive, you will serve your family.”
The needle sinks into my skin.
The world blurs.
As the room spins and my legs give way, the last thing I see is my father’s face.
The morning skyis grey and dark, like it knows something I don’t yet. The silence in my office is shattered when Lars pushes through the door, a folded newspaper in hand and a look on his face I don’t like. He’s not alone—Rossi, Cormac, and Stefano follow close behind. All of them carry tension in their shoulders, the kind of tension that doesn’t come without chaos.
Lars drops the paper on my desk without a word. It’s already opened to the page he wants me to see.
“A Union of Legacy and Loyalty: Falco and Kavanagh to Marry Saturday.”
