Page 3 of A Twisted Arrangement

What my family did was unforgivable, and even though Damon appeared to have forgiven me, I can’t help but think there’s hidden resentment there.

I’m lost in my thoughts when an eerie hush falls over the room, making my hair stand up on end as the crowd gasps in unison, all eyes pointed behind me. I spin in place, hands fisted at my sides and my heart racing in my chest, ready for whatever I’ll find.

At least, I thought I was.

Adrenaline shifts to annoyance at the sight of Liam kneeling in front of me, a giant diamond ring held out between us. We’d barely gone out a handful of times, and his transparency of wanting my family’s seat in the Order makes me sick. I should have known better after meeting him through an Order contact. All they ever wanted was to get my family’s seat in the Order of Saints.

Which won’t be this asshole.

Unfortunately, I can’t just turn him down in front of all of these people. That’s not how things are done in this world. No, it’s whispers and secrets. Closed-door conversations.

No doubt why he chose this as the perfect opportunity to pop the question.

Too bad for him I have no problem turning him down the second we’re in private.

“Of course.” I put on my fakest bright smile and take the ring box from his hand, not letting him put it on me. I’m seriously starting to regret moving back here. Life was so much easier when I’d been three thousand miles away.

Liam pulls me into a one-armed hug while I comfort myself with all the countless ways I’m going to humiliate him in the future.

Not yet though. Not here.

This man has some audacity. We haven’t even kissed yet! The only reason I’d dated him in the first place is he appeared to be an easy lay, and as a nearly twenty-five-year-old virgin, I’ve become desperate to get it over with.

Of course, every man that approaches me is looking for marriage, not a one-night stand. My life would be so much easier if they’d stripped the Laurent name of their spot. Instead, they’re holding it for whoever I’m unfortunate enough to marry. Of course, that doesn’t explain why I couldn’t find anyone to date while I was at school. No one knew my ties to the Order of Saints, and I made sure to keep it that way.

I smile and accept congratulations from the people who hate me. I nod and laugh at their fakeness, just like they do for me.

No one wants me here. The feeling is entirely mutual.

This bullshit is all because the ruling families insisted if I’m going to live, they’re going to keep a close eye on me. Of course, they hide it under the facade of kindness, letting me bounce between their homes until my family’s money switched to me when I turned eighteen and I disappeared to college. My dead father’s money felt dirty, but after everything they’d done to me, I figured it was my right to spend it.

I’d gotten out of here the second the money hit my account like I was being chased by the devil himself, holding the secret of which college I enrolled in under lock and key.

I’ve been told I should be grateful. That I’m lucky, but what is luck?

Was it lucky to have my entire family killed if it meant escaping them?

A sane person would say no. That nothing could justify the cruel bloodshed that happened all those years ago.

But I never claimed to be sane.

I helped free the Everette brothers, and in exchange, they freed me.

Just like I wanted.

Needed.

I’d spent my entire childhood with the invisible collar around my neck and bidding wars behind closed doors.

Everyone wanted their shot at marrying the little helpless Laurent daughter and to take advantage of my family’s place in the Order of Saints. Although my older brother, Christopher, would have taken the head seat as the Saint representative for the Laurent family—that is, if Damon hadn’t blown his face off—whoever I marry would still become a Saint.

The appeal to marry me is even higher since whoever does will control the seat. Which is no doubt why Liam took the risk to publicly propose.

I killed my father to escape, and Liam better watch out because I’m more than happy to do it again.

As if sensing my thoughts drifting, my fiancé turns to me. “Smile. You saidyes, remember.”

Oh, too bad for him that’s not binding.

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