I stood frozen, the sudden silence deafening as the faucet's stream died away. My sister lived in a world where escape seemed possible. I'd learned long ago that hope was the cruelest prison of all.
I hadn’t searched for any news yet, hadn’t allowed myself to because I didn’t want to see what any sources said about me. None of that would change a thing. I hadn’t heard from Alaric since he’d handed me the phone, and I’d never go out of my way to reach out first.
I wondered what he was doing at this exact moment. Was he thinking about me? Or was he simply going about his business, secure in the knowledge that I was now an inevitability in his life?
The thought should have chilled me. Instead, it kindled something warm and dangerous in my chest.
CHAPTER NINE
I was already waiting, dressed in pale silk and my mother’s necklace. My father stood beside me, irritation coiled tight beneath the veneer of civility.
The meeting hadn't been arranged through proper channels. My phone had lit up with Alaric's text that morning.11:30. I'll pick you up. Wear something light, it's only lunch.
My father's jaw had tightened when I showed him. For years, all communication passed through his hands first.
Not anymore, I thought happily.
The doors swung open. Alaric entered, and the air in the room seemed to recalibrate around him. Dark suit tailored to his frame, collar open against tanned skin, no tie.
He moved with the quiet assurance of someone who had never needed to demand attention to receive it.
“Selene,” he greeted me first, his light accent turning the familiar into something exotic. He then acknowledged my father with a brief nod.
My father smiled without warmth. "Alaric. Earlier than expected."
"Punctuality is a virtue," he replied, then turned to me. "Shall we?"
My father's fingers found my elbow before I could respond, applying just enough pressure to remind me he of my place. Alaric's eyes tracked the movement of my father's hand.
"You're quite bold," Alaric remarked, his voice deceptively soft as his gaze fixed on my father's fingers still pressed into my elbow. "Did I not make it clear the last time I was here you aren’t allowed to touch her?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. My father's grip loosened but didn't release entirely, his smile tightening at the corners.
"Old habits," my father replied with a hollow chuckle. "A father's instinct to protect his daughter."
"Is that what you call it?" Alaric stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until I could smell his cologne. It was different than before, something woody and dark. "Let me be clear since you misunderstood or maybe your old age has made you forgetful. The next time your hands touch her without her explicit permission, you'll lose them."
My breath caught in my throat. The threat wasn't delivered with rage or dramatics—just calm certainty that made it infinitely more promising. My father's fingers fell away from my arm as though burned. I fought to keep my expression neutral even as something warm unfurled in my chest. No one had ever challenged my father's authority over me, not once in my entire life.
"You misunderstand," my father began, but Alaric cut him off with nothing more than a slight tilt of his head.
"No, I don't think I do." Alaric's hand settled at the small of my back, warm through the thin silk of my dress, and he gently pulled me to his side. "Selene is going to be my wife. Her safety, her comfort, her boundaries—all mine to determine. Not yours." His thumb traced a small circle against my spine. "Isn't that right?"
The question was directed at me, and I realized with a start that he actually expected an answer. Not my father's rehearsed script, but my own words.
"Yes," I replied, the single syllable falling from my lips before I could second-guess it despite being caught off guard.
Alaric's eyes warmed with approval, his hand pressing more firmly against my back as he lowered his mouth to speak next to my ear. "Good girl."
Heat bloomed across my skin at his words, a traitorous warmth I hadn't expected. Those two words shouldn't have affected me the way they did. I hated that I craved his approval already, but I couldn't deny the power in being claimed so decisively by someone essentially untouchable to my father. The sensation was foreign— being defended rather than controlled.
Not for the first time, I wondered what it was exactly Alaric gained from this marriage arrangement, and my father too that he’d allow himself to be belittled and dominated. I was under no illusions and knew that Alaric was doing it sheerly for me. That wasn’t how unions worked in the Dominion. Marriages were business, bloodlines, and power. Nothing more. It was natural for a husband to protect his wife, or in my case wife-to-be.
My father never surrendered control without calculating the advantage down to the last drop of blood. Between these two men, I was simultaneously the trophy and the bargaining chip—a living, breathing currency in their war. The knowledge wasn’t comforting, but I already knew who I would be siding with. Not to the monster who'd raised me, but the one currently holding me close.
My father's face had gone rigid, the muscle in his jaw jumping. I'd never seen him so thoroughly outmaneuvered, and the sight was intoxicating.
"We should get going," Alaric prompted, turning me toward the door without waiting for my father's response
