She stared at the crystal tumbler in his other hand as if it might somehow explain how a father could speak about his own child as if she were another shipment of weapons. He told everyone that whoever ended up with her would have “direct access to my organization” as though that made her a prize. Maybe to someone there, she would be a prize, but the thought of anyone using her to gain leverage against her family made her sick. The words echoed through her skull, making bile rise to her mouth as she tried to choke back her fear.
Conversations carried on around the room as though her father hadn’t just offered to sell her off to the highest bidder. No one questioned the fact that she was standing there while men negotiated her future. No one except Dante. She didn't dare lookat him immediately, but she could feel him. His anger filled the room like a thunderstorm waiting to break, but her father didn't notice. He never noticed anything that didn't directly affect him.
Instead, he was promising one of the men standing in the corner of the room that "the marriage would naturally strengthen both organizations.” Lark's vision tunneled as she thought about having to marry any one of those men—not because she'd expected love. She'd stopped believing in fairy tales years ago. But because she hadn't expected to hear her life sold like cattle while she stood three feet away.
"You'll excuse me,” she breathed. Every head turned toward her, and her father's expression darkened.
"What did you say?" her father growled.
Lark forced herself to lift her chin. "I said—" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Will you excuse me?"
"You weren't dismissed,” he demanded.
"No,” she breathed, “I wasn’t.” She met his eyes for the first time all evening as silence settled over the room. The businessmen shifted uncomfortably, and one of them suddenly found the label on his whiskey fascinating. Even they knew she was walking a razor's edge.
"You embarrass me," Rafael Santos said quietly.
"I embarrass you?" she said under her breath. A bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. "I'm not the one trying to auction off my child." The crack of his hand across her face echoed through the office, and pain exploded through her cheek. The force of the slap knocked her sideways. Before she hit the floor, strong hands caught her—Dante. His grip was firm around her arms, steadying her, and for one impossible second, she leaned into him. Not because she wanted comfort, but because she couldn't stand on her own.
"Stand down.” Her father's voice sliced through the moment, and Dante slowly released her. Every muscle in his body hadgone rigid. Lark touched her burning cheek, and the room was silent. No one moved, and no one spoke, because apparently even psychopaths had limits.
"You forget your place," Rafael said. She laughed again, only this time it sounded broken.
"My place?" She looked around the room. "My place is wherever you tell me to stand, so men can inspect me?"
His eyes narrowed. "Enough."
"No,” she breathed. Even she was surprised she'd said it. "No,” she said again. She looked at every man in the room, one by one. "You should all be ashamed."
The businessman from earlier smirked. "Sweetheart?—"
"I'm not your sweetheart,” she spat. Her voice cracked like a whip. "I'm a human being." No one answered, not even her father.
Rafael finally sighed. "Take her upstairs." Dante didn't move. "I gave you an order." Slowly, Dante stepped beside her, letting his hand settle lightly against the small of her back as though protecting her. It was subtle enough that no one else noticed, but she did. Without another word, he guided her toward the door. The instant they stepped into the hallway, she heard the office doors close behind them, and she knew that the meeting was going to continue as if nothing had happened, and she wasn’t about to be sold off to the highest bidder.
They walked in silence, and neither of them spoke until they reached the second floor. The moment they rounded the corner where no cameras could see, Lark stopped walking. "So that's it."
Dante closed his eyes briefly. "Lark?—"
"No,” she whispered, stepping back from him. "You knew what my father was going to do, didn’t you?" His silence answered for him. "You knew."
"I suspected,” he corrected.
"When did you begin to suspect that my father was going to auction me off?” she asked.
"I wasn't sure until yesterday,” he admitted.
Tears blurred her vision. "And you still brought me downstairs to face those men, knowing what my father had planned for me."
His face twisted with self-loathing. "I had no choice."
"There's always a choice,” she countered.
"I have a sister,” he said. The words stopped her cold because he looked like he'd said something he could never take back.
"What does your sister have to do with any of this?” she asked.
Dante sighed. “Her name is Sophia,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your father has her."
