The clink of crystal echoed through the dining room, but no one looked at me. My father's eyes were fixed on his wine glass, tracing the rim as if it held the world's answers. My stepmother nodded along to some conversation I didn't care about, lips tight and polite. My stepbrother, of course, was glued to his phone, smirking like I wasn't even in the room.
I gripped the edge of the polished table, forcing myself to remain seated. Words were dangerous in this house. I had learned long ago that speaking too much earned only ridicule or worse, contempt. Silence, though bitter, was safer.
"Do you ever plan to be useful, Mara?" my father asked suddenly, his tone flat and cutting. Not the gentle chiding a parent might give a child, but the same voice he used with waiters. Patronizing and cold.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I had nothing to say that wouldn't make him angrier.
"You don't," my stepbrother interjected, leaning back in his chair, smirk widening. "That's the problem."
Heat crawled up my neck. My pulse raced. I wanted to shout, to argue, to throw something, anything but the polished marble floor reflected my weakness back at me. I was trapped and powerless.
My father sighed, a low, deliberate sound. "Your brother will inherit my business. You are just a reminder of your mother's mistakes." His lip curled, the words slicing through the air.
I swallowed hard. My mother had been gone nearly ten years, taken by an illness that still haunted me in sudden flashes. And now, I was a living reproach, a shadow of the
woman my father had never truly wanted.
My stepmother's faint smile offered no warmth. "Don't take it to heart, Mara. You've always been…sensitive."
Sensitive. Fragile. Useless.
Their words stuck to my ribs, heavy and unwelcome. I felt every ounce of their judgment pressing down on me, and a familiar, bitter anger bubbled up. Yet what could I do? I was a daughter, not a business heir. I was nothing but an inconvenience in their world of wealth and power.
A sudden sound drew my attention: footsteps in the hall. Polished, deliberate, unlike the careful, measured steps of the staff. Someone was coming.
My father set down his glass with a clink that sounded sharper than usual. "Right on time," he said, voice calm as ever.
I frowned. "Who---?"
"You'll see," he replied, dismissing me completely. "It's time you were of some use to this family."
My stomach twisted. My pulse thumped in my ears. Fear coiled in my stomach, sharp and cold. My stepbrother chuckled, leaning back like he had front-row seats to my terror, and my stepmother's hands rested neatly on her lap, calm and unbothered.
The footsteps grew closer, echoing off the marble. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I was trapped in a room full of people who didn't care whether I lived or died.
Then he stepped into the doorway.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Sharp, tailored suit. Dark hair slightly tousled, framing a face carved with precision. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes so dark they seemed to strip everything away. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He simply stood there, and the air seemed to shift around him, heavy, charged, and unyielding.
I froze. Every instinct screamed at me to flee, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. There was something in the way he looked at me. Calculating, assessing, powerful. It made my chest tighten. I had never felt so small, so exposed.
My father waved lazily toward me. "She's all yours."
I blinked. "All…yours?" My voice cracked. "You can't---"
The man's gaze didn't waver. His presence alone silenced the room, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn't escape. He moved slightly closer, and I could smell leather, faint cologne, and something sharp, commanding. Every nerve in my body screamed danger.
"You'll find it easier if you don't fight," he said, voice low, calm, with an edge that made my knees go weak.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to vanish from this room and never see any of them again. My father didn't glance at me. My stepbrother's soft chuckle was mocking. My stepmother sat like a statue, serene and untouchable.
And there I stood, heart hammering, stomach twisted, utterly powerless, staring into the eyes of the man who had just claimed me.
I didn't know who he was, or what he wanted but I knew this: I was trapped. Completely. And there was no escaping what was coming.