Ivory’s voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper. “But… I…” She trails off, voice lost to nothing.
Ashford’s jaw ticks.
“Enough! I don’t want to hear any excuses. This is for our family. You’ll do as you’re told. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” She sounds on the verge of tears.
Rage surges up my spine, so hot and sudden I nearly black out. Every muscle in my body wants to grab Ashford by the collar and shake him until he understands what it means to be afraid,to lose something precious. I want to drag Ivory out of here, promise her I’ll never let anyone hurt her, never hand her off to a stranger for a fucking business deal.
But this isn’t my world.
I’m just the hired help, meant to be invisible, silent, reliable. So I shove it all down, let my face go blank, and nod once. Remaining professional and detached, the way I’m supposed to act.
Ashford dismisses us with a wave of his hand, like we’re nothing…again. Like his daughter is nothing. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
My hands shake as I reach for the elevator button, trying to keep my anger in check. On the inside, I’m screaming. But on the outside, I give away nothing.
When the doors slide closed, the silence is nothing but grief, fury, and longing. All of it knotted together so tight I can barely breathe.
I jab the elevator button so hard I nearly crack it.
Ivory stands next to me, eyes shiny with unshed tears, lips trembling. I want to wrap my arms around her, shield her from the world, tell her it won’t always be like this.
But I can’t.
Not here. Not yet.
I don’t know how much longer I can pretend Ivory’s just a paycheck.
6
IVORY
We faceeach other across the dinner table like soldiers in a standoff, the silence between us loaded and dangerous.
The clink of forks and glass, the echo of the day’s disaster still ringing in my ears. Hudson sits across from me, forearms resting on the table, shoulders hunched and jaw set, staring at his plate like he could burn a hole through the china if he tried hard enough. He hasn’t said a word since we left my parents. I haven’t, either.
I push food around my plate, my appetite nonexistent strangled by anger. Everything inside me feels wild, hot rage, dread, humiliation, shame, and something rawer underneath, something I can’t name. This was always supposed to happen.
Wasn’t it?
I think I was hoping, in some small, stupid way, that my father, at least, cared a tiny bit about how I felt. Either letting me marry for love or pick someone younger than Damian Crest. Someone less… gross. Someone who didn’t look at me as a cut of meat he’s been admiring in some butcher shop window. Someone who saw me for me, and not just another piece of property to own or trade.
Someone like Hudson.
How could I be so naive to think my father loved me enough to actually consider my feelings.
I’ll never be that fortunate.
My stomach twists, and I feel nauseous.
I take another sip of wine. It’s sweet and crisp and goes straight to my head, making everything fuzzy and distant. I’ve never drunk this much before or had alcohol ever.
Wait.
I take that back; I had a sip of champagne at a wedding once.
Legally, I’m not supposed to be drinking at all. But I’m an Ashford, so we do whatever the fuck we want. Right?
