Page 181 of A Vicious Love

“Because I’m not stupid.” Cosima shrugged, as if the whole thing were simple. “Dynasty wives have homes, money, staff, medicine, protection, access, influence, and enough private luxury to make freedom look like an underfunded hobby.”

Aurelia looked horrified.

“After I produce heirs, I’ll have access to the best biotech the dynasty has to offer.” Cosima took a sip of her tea. Enjoying her sister’s shocked expression. “The kind of private medicine regular women don’t even know exists unless a rich man accidentally tells his mistress.”

Aunt Celestine finally looked up. “Cosima.”

“What?” Cosima smiled. “Am I wrong?”

Daughters born to dynasties were given a choice.

That was what everyone said.

A choice.

You could be part of the bloodline or you could be cut off.

It sounded clean when spoken by lawyers. Almost generous. No one technically forced a dynasty daughter to merge. No one dragged her to an altar by her hair and called it mercy.

They simply placed the whole world on one side of the table and exile on the other.

Most daughters agreed.

Though, a lot of us agreed so early we forgot there had been a question.

Because the truth was more complicated than Aurelia wanted it to be and uglier than Cosima cared to admit. For many women, dynasty marriage was not terrible.

Some married once and built a good life inside it. Some had agreed divorce dates written into private terms before the first engagement dinner. Three children, ten years, clean public separation, two properties, trust access, continuing medical cover. Everyone smiled, got what they needed.

No one called it romantic unless the press required it.

Some women loved their husbands.

Some tolerated them.

Some treated marriage like a luxury prison and decided there were worse cages in the world.

And some of us⁠—

I looked down at my tea.

Some of us were promised to Jamison Crow.

“You’re proving my point,” Aurelia said to Cosima. “You’re making it sound like a transaction.”

“It is a transaction.” Cosima’s voice sharpened for the first time. “You think rebellion makes you free because you haven’t priced freedom yet.”

Aurelia’s face flushed deeper. “I want a life that belongs to me.”

Uncle Remy groaned. “Every daughter says that at least once.”

“No, they don’t,” Aurelia snapped. “Most daughters get trained out of saying it before sixteen.”

Julian set down his knife. “Careful.”

Aurelia turned to him. “Of what? Saying out loud what everyone knows?”

“Of confusing volume with argument.” Julian’s expression remained cool.