Six months.The room tilts slightly, and I grip the arms of the chair to steady myself.
"I know this feels like it’s moving quickly," my father says, misreading my silence as acceptance rather than the scream building in my throat. "But you're nineteen now. It's time. Your mother was eighteen when we married, and she adapted beautifully. You will too."
Adapted.Like it's something you get used to, like learning to sleep on a harder mattress or adjusting to a different climate.
"Do you have a preference?" he asks, and for a moment, I think he's actually giving me a choice. "Among the three?"
"They're all..." I search for words that won't reveal the desperation clawing at my insides. "They're all very adequate."
He smiles, pleased with my diplomacy. "They are. Any of them would make a suitable husband. But I'm leaning toward Alessandro. He's shown the most consistent interest, and I believe he would fit in well as an addition to our family, without stepping out of his place.”
"I understand," I hear myself say, and I hate how calm I sound. How reasonable.
"Good." He stands, signaling the conversation is over. "I'll make the final decision by the end of the month. In the meantime, continue to be gracious with all three. We don't want to create any unnecessary tension before the announcement."
I nod and leave his office, my legs somehow carrying me down the hallway even though I feel like I'm drowning.
In less than a month, I'll be engaged to a man I don't love. In six months, I'll be married. And my wedding night—my first time—will be with a husband I didn't choose, in a bed that feels like a tomb, giving away something I desperately wanted to keep for someone who actually mattered.
The thought makes me want to scream or break something. To run until my lungs burn and my legs give out and I'm somewhere—anywhere—that isn't here.
But I don't scream. I don't run. I walk to my room with perfect posture and close the door quietly behind me, because that's what good daughters do.
And then I sit on my bed and stare at nothing, feeling the walls close in.
I've never had control over anything in my life. Every decision has been made for me. Where I went to school. What I studied. What I wore, what I ate. My entire existence has been carefully curated by other people—my father, my tutors, all to fit the expectations of a world I never asked to be part of.
Even my body isn't really mine. It's been preserved and protected, saved for a husband who will own it the way my father owns everything else in my life. I've never chosen anything that mattered.
Except this—This one thing I could choose.
If I were brave enough to seek out that place Isabelle told me about… if I took this one thing into my own hands, I could have a night. A few nights, even. Something to remember when my life has become what it was always shaped to be, a rebellion that can be all my own.
I spend the next three days researching. I use a VPN I downloaded onto my laptop, making sure to be careful so that no one can catch me doing this. The club's website is minimalist, and there's a discreet link at the bottom:Membership Inquiry.
I click it, then navigate to the tab for female applications, my heart pounding.
The application is surprisingly straightforward. Name—I use a fake one. Age—I'm honest about that, at least. A brief questionnaire about what I'm looking for, what I hope to find.
Anonymity,I type.Choice. One night when I'm not someone's daughter or future wife. One night where I'm just myself.
I click the box indicating that I would prefer to be masked at all times.
And then there's a request for photos. I stare at the screen for a long time. This is where it becomes real, where I cross a line I can't uncross.
But what's the alternative? Marry Alessandro and spend the rest of my life wondering what it would have felt like to choose? To want someone and have them want me back, not because of my last name or my father's connections, but because ofme? To have my first time be with a man who is justadequate, instead of one who makes my heart race and makes me feel real, unfettered desire?
I take the photos in my bathroom with the door locked. Nothing explicit—the instructions are clear about that. Just face shots from different angles with my hair down and my expression neutral, wearing designer clothing that shows I’m in the right income bracket for this club. I upload them before I can change my mind.
The response comes within six hours.
Your application has been reviewed. We're pleased to inform you that you've been accepted for membership. Women of your caliber are exactly what we're looking for—our male members pay premium rates for the opportunity to meet someone like you.
I read the message three times, my hands shaking. They want me. Not because of my father or my family name—they don't even know who I really am. They want me because I'm beautiful, because I'm exactly what their exclusive clientele is looking for. For the first time in my life, I've been chosen for myself.
The membership fee is surprisingly low—almost nothing compared to what I know men pay for access. The message explains:We maintain a careful ratio. Beautiful, intelligent women are our most valuable asset. Your presence is the draw.
There's a contract to sign, pages of legal language about discretion and consent, and the consequences of violating their terms. I read every word, my heart racing. If I do this, if I go through with this, I could lose everything. If anyone finds out, if I'm recognized, if this blows up in my face—my father would disown me. The marriage would be off, but not in a way that sets me free. I'd be ruined. Unmarriageable. A scandal. I truly have no idea what punishment would be in store for me, but it would destroy my life, I know that.
