"Practical," he finally said. "But practicality is often what we call fear when we want to sleep at night."
I met his gaze directly. "Are these little insights something you rehearse, or do they just occur to you in the moment?"
He grinned fully, and I noticed he had a dimple. "Neither. They're earned."
My father's voice and footsteps echoed down the back hallway.
Alaric leaned closer. "I find very few things genuinely repulsive in this world, Selene," he murmured, voice dropping to a dangerous register that vibrated through my bones, "but people who refuse to stand their ground rank highest among the damned."
"You sit there dissecting me with your little bullshit observations, but you practically said it yourself that silence isn’t always surrender. Some of us learned that keeping quiet was the only weapon we were ever allowed to sharpen,” I countered quietly.
Something electric ignited in the space between us. His expression stayed rigid as sculpture, except for those eyes that burned with recognition.
"There you are," he murmured, causing me to frown at him.
The heavy tread of my father's returning footsteps put an end to whatever might have followed. In one fluid motion, Alaric sat taller in his chair, his features rearranging into perfect, polite interest. My father bustled through the doorway mid-sentence, his voice immediately filling every corner of the room like smoke, radiating self-satisfaction.
"Finding everything agreeable?" he asked, straightening his cuffs.
Alaric nodded. "I am, unsurprisingly.”
The meal stretched endlessly on, each course marking another round in this veiled combat. My father commandeered the conversation like territory, laying claim to partnerships and resources I knew weren't truly his. Across the table, Alaric listened with the patient stillness of a hunter who knows his quarry will eventually make a fatal mistake, just like said he would.
It quickly became clear he was heading my father off anytime he tried to drag me into the conversation and use me to show his authority.
I performed my role flawlessly after that. A demure nod, the practiced smile—while counting heartbeats until release. which came what felt like hours later.
"Selene, I believe Mr. Kostas and I require privacy. Keep yourself available. When we’re done you two might enjoy some time on the terrace."
Translation: He wanted us alone together, wanted Alaric to see the merchandise up close before finalizing the deal.
"I'd like that," Alaric agreed, his voice revealing nothing of what he might actually want.
"I’ll be close," I murmured, folding my napkin as I’d been taught to.
As I rose, Alaric's gaze tracked me with something else beneath the surface I couldn't afford to analyze. I glided away, each step carrying me further from their suffocating power play until the dining room's oppressive heat gave way to cooler air. The glass doors to the enclosed rear porch sealed behind me with a whisper of finality.
I'd once loved this space, the arched windows framing the night sky, stone floors cool against my bare feet, heavy curtainscarrying whispers of sea salt from beyond our walls. Now I could barely breathe here. Not since he'd destroyed her roses.
My mother's garden had flourished just beyond that glass, a labyrinth of white and crimson blooms, each one touched by her hands alone. The only corner of our estate where anything truly lived. My father had excavated it before the funeral flowers wilted, installing geometric hedges and hideous statues imported from countries he'd never visited.
I pressed my fingers against the cold glass, marking the surface with temporary evidence of my existence.
Through the doors came the low rumble of their conversation—my father's voice swelling with practiced authority, then receding, while Alaric's remained steady. The outcome of all this posturing was already written. I was going to marry this man, a stranger with far more standing than my father who clearly had his own motives for choosing me of all people to be his wife.
But that had to be better than remaining trapped here.
Right?
CHAPTER SEVEN
When she left, the air in the room felt suddenly thinner, as if she’d taken something vital with her.
I watched Selene Darzi’s retreat, the careful placement of each foot, the measured rise and fall of her chest. But in that moment she thought no one was looking, her shoulders dropped a fraction, her fingers uncurled. A glimpse of wildfire beneath ice.
Darius saw a daughter who knew her place.
I saw a woman waiting for her moment.
