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Evil. That’s what they are. Powerful rich men who will stop at nothing to get what they want. More money, more networks, more, more, more. My thoughts spiral with every throb of pain running through me… If I never meant anything to either of them, then maybe I really have probably been a pawn for them since the beginning. Since I graduated from med school, or even earlier. No wonder Daniel never took to Ivy, and no wonder my dad never showed Maggie or I any affection. I always thought he changed after mom died, but If I really think back, he was never home before then either. The love in our house all came from our mother. My dad was never the caring, loving type. We were always a nuisance to him.
I shake myself out of it.
“He will kill you. Both of you.” And I hope he does. Because now I know that if and when it comes down to it, if we become a liability, they’ll kill me and Ivy. There’s no question about that.
“Ha, I don’t think so. Daniel will win the senator role, and the city will be ours. Your little soldier and his boss, Sebastian, will run back to Italy with their tails between their legs while the big boys come to own the city,” my father says as Brian Cole, Daniel’s father, walks in. A tall chubby man, his chest puffs out, and he commands all the attention in the room. One of the wealthiest men in New York, he runs a logistics business, I think, although he has his fingers in so many things these days, I really have no idea what he does for a living.
Like my mother, his wife died in a car accident years ago, and now he has a scantily clad woman half his age gripping onto his forearm with her red-polished fingers. I look at him, then Daniel and back again. They look alike, their mannerisms similar, and I can only hope that his daughter and Daniel’s sister, Emilia, is far, far away from them because like me, she deserves so much better.
“Gents,” he greets as he leaves the woman with my father and comes to stand beside Daniel, looking down at me like I’m a piece of rubbish.
“Are we all sorted for tonight, then? Will she get into line?” He talks about me like I am not even in the room, and I can’t believe this is the man who expects me to be his daughter-in-law.
“She will because we have the girl, and she won't see the girl again unless she does,” my father says, eyeing me, and I can’t believe he is calling Ivy “the girl.” She is his goddamn granddaughter!
“Ahhh… yes, my granddaughter, pretty little thing she is,” Brian Cole says, walking back toward my father, no longer interested in me.
“You have a role to play, Daniel. Don’t fuck it up.” Daniel nods to him, tight-lipped and serious.
“Who’s this?” my father asks, looking at the blonde woman who now stands between the two of them, again talking like she isn’t in the room, and I notice that she is looking everywhere except at me.
“She took the edge off. You can have her later,” Brian says, as if she’s a possession. But that is all they want—possessions. They want people to do as they say, not as they do. They want ownership of everything and everyone.
And now they have me and Ivy, and I will do anything for my little girl. So as the three men tower above me, I know there is no escape for me.
I need to do what they tell me to.
I need to do it for Ivy.
39
Catherine
My feet are squished into sparkling strappy high heels, my hair blow dried within an inch of its life, and as the makeup artist finishes applying the gloss to my lips, I begin to feel woozy.
“Darling, you look so beautiful,” Daniel says to me in front of the team doing my hair, makeup, and styling, that he hired to get me ready for the gala tonight. He walks up to me, placing a kiss on my cheek, giving me a knowing look before I take a deep breath in.
“Thank you,” I say graciously, when all I really want to do is rip his eyes out of their sockets so he never looks at me again.
“Awe, you two are such a cute couple,” the makeup artist comments innocently as he starts packing up his kit, and I want to vomit all over again.
I look at my appearance in the large mirror and although my insides are full of turmoil, on the outside, I look like the perfect fiancée to an upcoming senator. Impeccable makeup that hides any minute flaw, sleek hair flowing over my shoulders, sparkling jewels coating my neck, wrists, and now finger, the large 6-carat emerald cut weighing me down into the pits of despair. A gorgeous red gown sticking to my body, showing off my shape and falling to the floor. I am a real-life pretty woman.
I haven’t seen Ivy since they ripped her from my arms this afternoon. They have locked her up in a room on the opposite side of my father’s large penthouse, with the promise that I can see her as soon as we get home, provided that I play the part and don’t do anything to jeopardize the evening.
So even though I want to run, want to scream and fight, I can't. I will not do anything that may harm Ivy, and I will do everything they ask. I have no other choice.
“It’s time to go, sweetheart. Here is your bag,” Daniel prompts me, and my eyes leave the mirror and look at him, his lips tight, and shoulders stiff. I nod my head slowly, taking the bag, and I grip onto his elbow that he offers. We walk out of the room like a beautiful, happily in love couple.
I try to keep it together as we make our way down the hall into the front foyer, and as we step into the elevator, I can’t help but glance down the hall, hoping to see my daughter, to hear her or get any type of signal that she is all right.
“She is fine, but won’t be if you do anything stupid,” Daniel mumbles to me, as he pulls me into the elevator.
Tonight is a big night for Daniel and my father. The stakes are high, a perfect image needs to be presented, and I am part of that arrangement. If I act properly in public, then Ivy and I can be together in private. That is the deal.
Once the voting public love us and Daniel becomes senator, I hope the pressure can ease off me a little, but the more I think about it, I wonder if I will be relieved of my duties some other way. No longer needed, a widowed senator would be well regarded, especially if his wife and daughter are killed in an “accident.” Perhaps a car accident, just like my mother. It would be very poetic.
The drive is short, and as the limo pulls up, I look out the window and see crowds of people, journalists, paparazzi, and I have to take a deep breath.
