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As the only daughter of John Sinclair, I have one job: take care of my looks and body, and all is well. I have done what he wants. Until I marry. Then I have to do what my husband wants–– which is whatever the hell that is because there is no room for divorce.
Before heading out, I turn on the air purifier by pressing the button on the screen to the appropriate setting. According to scientists, germs are spread by sweating, and it can alter the atmosphere by airborne pathogens. Another thing that has changed since the pandemic. The need to purify every room after exercise. Even sex.
With a towel draped around my neck, I walk into my father's study without bothering to knock. "You wanted to see me?"
He looks up, scrolling through the trackpad connected to the holographic screen. He's probably looking at his financials like he usually does on Sunday afternoons.
"Have a seat," he says curtly.
My father still looks handsome in his forties. He hardly has a wrinkle on his face. Probably from all the rich food he consumes and lack of sun. The food is organically grown, of course, and free of preservatives. Heaven forbid he eats the occasional piece of cake loaded with carbs.
I look at the modern transparent chair made from resin before his desk and meet his gaze. "I think I'll stand. I wouldn't want to contaminate the chair with my sweat."
"Very well, Lillith. I don't have time for your theatrics, so I’ll get to the point." I swallow audibly because even though my father and I don't get along very well due to our disagreements about how he raised me, the look in his eyes is different. Unfeeling. "I've been having problems."
Problems? What kind of problems? You have an assistant you fuck whenever you want and choose to bring other women into our home when you're bored. You never asked how I felt about it. You have more money than most people I know, except a handful who live on this island.
I want to tell him that, but I ask instead, "What kind of problems?"
He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, and leans back in his office chair. "The money kind."
That has my attention. The money kind means you lose things, then you have to move off the island. If you don't have enough digital currency, you're fucked. It’s how you are allowed here in the first place.But how? What did he do?
"What happened?"
"I made a mistake, but I corrected it," he rushes out. I sigh in relief, holding the ends of the white towel around my neck for dear life.
I'd like to know what mistake he could have made and what he needed to do to correct it. But what does this have to do with me? Why is he telling me this now? He never tells me anything he does. He does whatever he wants and only includes me when it has something to do with me.Wait?
I see him tap his finger on the transparent desk, his face stoic. "I made a deal to clear the debt. The deal is that you have to marry the man who got me out of that debt and give him an heir."
My chest tightens, and my vision blurs.He's marrying me off?He used me as payment for his fuckups. Why?
"Why?" I ask, my voice vibrating with anger.
"Because that’s what needed to be done, and… it's about time you do something with your life. Every time I have taken you to one of my business gatherings or a fundraiser, you look down that pretty nose at everyone. You won't go out with any man who so much as looks your way. You refuse to partake in any fundraiser. You just fuck that kid who comes here on the island to work in our house!" He yells the last part, his face flushed red and the veins on his neck bulging like he struggles for air.
Bastard.
I don't think I'm better. He had nannies raise me until I was old enough to take a bath without assistance. But he still has them pick my clothes, tell me what products are safe, what to eat, and what I can and can't do.
I look up, fighting back the tears. I can’t believe he could be that cruel.
"Oh, you didn't think I knew about your little sexcapades with the hired help? He looks at you like you’re his next meal ticket while he sneaks into your room to fuck you when I look the other way. Well, guess what, Lillith? I know all about it. I know you lost your virginity to him and all the bullshit love notes he likes to write because he is so pathetic and can't afford to call you. You have such a blatant disregard for yourself that you don't know if he's fucking someone else behind your back. He can give you a disease. Did you know that?"
That is why he had the doctor visit me every month. I thought it was because he cared if I got sick like my mother had when she was pregnant with me.
Then, a thought crosses my mind. It’s not the best one to hide the fact that Ethan does sneak in my room behind his back. The hired help allowed on the island is screened for health purposes.
My gaze meets his, and I fold my arms over my chest. "But the hired help allowed on the island is screened, so that isn't possible."
"They don't check his cock every day, Lillith," he says harshly, his face changing colors like a mood ring.
It feels like I'm breathing fire with how angry I am with him. He sold me. He fucking sold me as payment for whatever mess he got himself into, and now he wants to throw Ethan in my face. What about him?
"So I can't grow up my way, but you can screw your assistant and whoever you bring here? It's okay for you, but I have to marry some dirty man who sees me like a piece of meat?" I shake my head. "Some asshole deemed acceptable by society's standards because his pockets are thick, and I'm pretty enough to be here."
"I'm sorry I don't agree with your romantic ideals, Lillith, but this is the real world. The crap you read in those pathetic excuses you call books is nothing more than an illusion, and it doesn't exist."
