I have to say, I didn’t think that Dallas would pull off being King. So far, I’ve been pleasantly surprised. Someone needed to be on the figurative throne—and in the literal office in the Fortress—and Dallas has stepped up, taking on the role, even though Connor confides in me that he absolutely hates it.
He also hated how, as the King, he was expected to finally Claim an Offering and make her his bride—until, shocking all of us, he announced that he was married to Lucy Wright.
Lucy… you couldn’t be part of the Order of the Owed some years back andnotknow who Lucy was. Even I was tapped into the rumors, hearing how Dallas was seeing a woman whose family ranked so low in the Order, she wasn’t an Offering or a future Used; she wasnothing. And that’s what Dallas’s father went after her. He put an end to the relationship somehow, shipping Lucy off to be married to an Owed a decade her senior while torturing Dallas, making him watch as the woman he loved walked away.
Now she’s back, and though she wears a wedding ring, I know that Dallas isn’t her husband. That title belongs to a man named Julian Fairchild, but hell if Dallas didn’t show up at my home earlier with the quiet blonde, introducing her as his wife.
Like me, Lucy lived through her own trauma. I can’t say what happened to her while she was married to an Owed, but once I heard that she had an accident… an ‘accident’... warning bells went off in my head. In Harmony Heights, when you’re marriedto an Owed, the only way out is death. Divorce doesn’t exist. For the marriage to truly end, one of the couple has to die, and way too many women commit ‘suicide’ by jumping from great heights while the whole fucking town pretends they weren’t pushed.
Like Dallas’s mother, Therese Collins.
Like poor Lucy…
It’s not that she’s pretending that Dallas is her husband. She honestly has no clue that he isn’t. After she…fell… she developed a case of trauma-induced amnesia. She doesn’t rememberanything, let alone who she married, and maybe that’s a blessing. After spending a few hours with Lucy while Dallas was busy doing something I don’t want to think about, I decided three things.
I liked Lucy.
Dallas was treating her right.
Dallas was lying to her for her own good… but hewaslying to her.
I tried my best. Knowing damn well that my paranoid stalker of a husband keeps cameras everywhere in our home, it was obvious that he would be watching the screens and listening in after I kicked him out of the living room where I was sitting with Lucy. My speech is better than ever these days, but I still have pens and paper everywhere for when I just don’t feel like talking.
That’s how I communicated for the most part with Lucy. I’m sure she had questions, too. I don’t know what exactly Dallas told her about me, about my past, about my… unique marriage and relationship with my husband, but she was kind to me, and I returned the favor.
As simply as I could, I warned her about her ‘husband’. I warned her about the Order. Out of respect for Connor and his kinship with Dallas, I didn’t tell her any of the newKing’s secrets, though I gave her enough to start asking some questions.
By the time Dallas returned to retrieve her—a pinched look on his face, visibly bruised knuckles, and stray droplets of blood spattering over the tattoo on the side of his neck—I've promised Lucy that, if she needs help, she can ask me. I gave her my phone number, hoping she understands that, if she needs support as the ‘wife’ of one of these secret society men, she has it. If she needs someone who understands what it's like to feel trapped, she has that, too.
If she wants to escape, I cantryto give her a hand, but considering my track record, maybe it’s better if I cheer her on from the sidelines…
Connor knows exactly what I've done.
Of course he does. I might know about the cameras, but he stopped pretending they weren’t there a long time ago. Acting as though I have privacy? That lasted… days? Yeah.Daysinto my captivity in this house. I’d be more surprised if he didn’t know everything that happened while I was ‘alone’ with Lucy in the living room.
Two years ago, that would've felt suffocating. Now it's just one of my husband’s quirks, and I just accept it when he points out, “You gave her your number. Dallas’s Lucy. You talked to her.” His eyes go bright. “You made a new friend, sweetheart.”
In answer, I flip him my middle finger.
He laughs. “Just making an observation. I mean, the two of you were whispering for a while.” There’s a mischievous twitch to his lips. “Not giving her pointers on how to escape Dallas, are you?”
“Nothing like that.” At Connor’s exaggerated look of disbelief, I shrug. “What? I just gave her my phone number in case she needs help.”
“It’s been two years, Mrs. Heyward. Do you still dream of poisoning me with foxglove?”
To say ‘no’ would make him beam at me as though everything he put me through when he first brought me here was worth it. Since I can’t have that… since I feel better keeping him on his guard… I just tell him, “Only when you come inside of me while I’m asleep and forget to clean me up and I’m all sticky in the morning.”
“I can’t help it. You look so peaceful, passed out while I fuck you. Sometimes I just like to keep my cock where it belongs and fall asleep with you. But I’ll be better, sweetheart. Promise. And, besides, where else would I finish? Your pussy belongs to me just like every other part of you, and thanks to that implant in your arm, it’s not like I can knock you up.” Connor pauses, a wicked grin tugging on his lips. “Yet.”
I snort. Not this again.
He hooks his arm around me, tugging me against his side. “I’m gonna eventually, but don’t worry. We have plenty of time, and that shit in your arm’s only got another year on it before we can seriously start trying.”
I glance up at him. “Really?”
“Yup.”
“I’m broken. You’re fucking nuts, babe. And you want us to procreate?”
