I don’t argue—there’d be no point. “I apologize.”
Quickly, without so much as turning my head, I scan the room for anyone else. Finding only my father, I relax, just a fraction. Maybe he’s finally seeing my worth after all.
“Sit.” He closes his computer to stare at me. I try not to wither beneath his glare, but I fail, the small girl in my chest still cowering at the sight of my father’s ire. It’s pathetic really, but I can’t stop it.
I sink into the chair, folding my hands in my lap. “What can I do?”
“It’s time you got married.”
I open my mouth and instantly close it. What can I even say to that? I knew this would likely come, but not now.Not yet.
He flicks his hand, pulling out a folder like we’re discussing some kind of business deal. Which, to him, I suppose we are. “I’ve arranged for you to meet Philip over dinner tonight. Wear something that shows off your assets.” He extends the folder to me.
I take it, opening it in my lap to peer at the contents. It’s filled with various documents—bank statements, asset holdings, newspaper articles. “What is this?” I flip through the papers to find something telling.
“Everything you need to know about him is in there. His age, background, business potential. He’ll be a real strength to our family and is a suitable match for you.”
I’ve come to realize my father’s much more methodical and conniving than anyone gives him credit for—if there’s a business strategy to be won, he’ll win it regardless of the costs. But this seems too far, even for him.
What about love? Happiness?What about family and wanting the best for your daughter?
“I can’t marry him.” I bite my tongue in surprise. I’ve never disobeyed my father. His eyes narrow in irritation, but he doesn’t even speak, like he knows my words aren’t worth the argument. It destroys something inside me—lighting the part that wants to please my father on fire—and I watch the life I’ve clung to burn to ashes before my eyes.
With more determination filling my voice, I toss the folder onto the desk. “I won’t marry him.”
My father’s jaw ticks, and he finally opens his mouth. “You will. And you’ll produce children—as many as he wants. You’ll be a dutiful wife and daughter, and you’ll do it without complaint.”
“Or what?” My voice doesn’t waver, and with each rebellious comment, I’m filled with more rage. “What could you possibly do to me now?”
“I’ve never done a thing to you but shower you with wealth and opportunity. Everything else is your fault. You’re a sick girl, and I’ve done my best to help you. Philip is a fair and wise man. You can’t possibly expect more.”
“I’m your daughter.” My chest cracks.
His face reddens. “A daughter who has done nothing but disappoint me at every turn. You will do this, or you’ll no longer be a Reyes.”
Memories burn through me—each more grotesque than the next, all done in the name of ‘being a Reyes’. It’s all I am, all I’ve ever wanted to be.
“But I?—”
“You will!” His voice booms, rattling the container of pens on the desk. I stare at him, fear creeping into my subconscious as easily as oxygen in my lungs. I’m filled with it—never without it.
“Father—”
“Enough! You’ll—” He pauses, his mouth hanging open, face turning purple.
“Father?” I fidget in my seat, concern for him outweighing my frustration or fear.
He slumps back into the chair, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he gasps, clawing at his chest. Suddenly, the chair beneath him crashes to the side, and his body crumples to the floor.
“Father!” I shout, jumping out of the chair to race around the desk. His eyes remain open, staring at the ceiling, as his chest barely rises. “Help!” Dropping to my knees, I place shaky fingers on his pulse at his neck. He stiffens, as if I’m the thing causing him pain, his eyes rolling to look at me. “Help me!”
“You’re my greatest—” he sputters, spittle clinging to the corners of his mouth as he falls into a fit of coughing. His breathing becomes wheezes, and I watch in horror as his face begins to pale.
“Father, stay with me.” I grab his enormous hand, pulling it to my chest. “Please. I’ll be the dutiful daughter you’ve always wanted. I promise.”
With dying strength, he pulls his hand from my grip, the weight of his arm thudding against the ground. He turns his gaze away, like he can’t stand to look at me a second longer.
“My greatest regret.” He whispers the words and then takes his final, heaving breath. The ground shudders as his heart stops, his soul ripping from his flesh. I feel a chill sweep over my body.
