Lord Alexander wore his cruelty like a second skin, and the longer our hands remained clasped, the more it felt like holding a blade by the edge.I released him, the gesture brittle and brief—enough for appearances, nothing more.Whatever goodwill his title implied, I felt none of it.Nothing good could come from this man.
“I see you’ve encountered my daughter,” he said at last.His tone was cold, indifferent, as if she were little more than an afterthought.
His lips curled into something that barely passed for a smile as he offered a perfunctory apology.“I must apologize, Lord Hassan.My daughter has no manners.Forgive her rude behavior.”
There was no concern in his voice.No fatherly irritation or disappointment.Nothing.
His eyes flicked past me, scanning the corridor where she had fled.And when he finally looked at me, his gaze was like a frozen abyss.
Empty.Inescapable.
“Please, join me in my study.”
A command disguised as an invitation.
With one last glance toward the young woman’s path, I acquiesced, falling into step beside him.His stride was assured, purposeful—but it couldn’t hide the malicious air that clung to him.
Much like the faint scent of tobacco that lingered in the air.
So did the promise of something worse to come.
As I entered his study, a guttural disgust clawed up my throat.
Standing in the center of the room was a man whose reputation for cruelty was second only to Alexander himself.The sight of him—the vile, corpulent figure surveying his surroundings with the self-satisfied air of a man who owned everything he touched—ignited a slow, smoldering wrath in my chest.
“Meet Lord Phineas Winston,” Alexander announced, a glint of something unreadable in his cold gaze.“This is my second in line.”
Winston.
The name alone was enough to curdle my blood.
Swathed in layers of velvet and lace, the old brute looked more like an overindulged peacock than a man of power.But beneath the pretense of finery, his gluttonous appetite for dominance seeped through, coiling in the way he stood, in the smug curve of his lips, in the possessive way his beady eyes flicked toward me.
“Charmed,” I bit out, my voice a careful blend of civility and restraint.
Across the room, Alexander poured the brandy, the rich amber liquid swirling in crystal glasses.I took the offered drink, though the company of Lord Winston soured any appeal it might have held.
“Please forgive Elizabeth’s earlier behavior,” Alexander continued, his words smoothed with feigned apology.“There is no excuse for such behavior.She is to be betrothed to Lord Winston, and I believe the reality of it… took her by surprise.”
His words settled into the space between us, thick with unspoken transactions.
My grip tightened around the cool glass as realization dawned.
The reason for the young woman’s fear, her frantic escape, and the silent plea in her pale-blue eyes became painfully clear.
Elizabeth.
The ethereal creature who had collided with me, a fleeting breath of light in this decaying house, was to be bound to this twisted ruin of a man.
It was an abomination of a match.
A cage for a bird meant to soar.
And yet, to the men in this room, it was nothing more than a profitable arrangement.
“To a fruitful union between Elizabeth and Lord Winston,” Alexander declared, lifting his glass into the dim light.The crystal caught the glow of the lanterns, casting fractured reflections onto the walls—like the shattered future they had decided for her.
I raised my glass in reluctant mimicry, the brandy’s rich aroma doing nothing to mask my disgust.With each sip, I committed her name to memory—Elizabeth.
