Page 22 of Marriage of Revenge

Now, I’m on the edge. Standing in front of the deep chestnut mahogany door. On the precipice of the biggest performance of my life. One that will define a “before” and “after”.

“Come on,” my father seethes, and the icy hands of his men push me forward. I want to whirl around and rush away, but on my unsteady feet? I won’t make it far. And it would be even more humiliating to be hauled back inside that room, kicking and screaming. They might enjoy it more. He might enjoy it more.

Straightening my spine, I muster the grace of the prima ballerina I once was and lock the image of Antonio … now the Beast, into a vault deep inside. And while I don’t force a smile onto my face, I school my features to not show how panicked and disgusted I am.

I run my hands on the tutu-like skirt, hoping that the texture and memories will give me strength as the corset seems to dig even more into my skin.

Don’t stumble. Don’t falter. They’re all watching. They’re all waiting.

The lights are blinding. But not blinding enough. Because my eyes seem to be teetered to him.

And he’s staring.

His dark eyes roam over me, searing through the thin fabric of my dress, as though he's touching me with just his eyes.

And that heat spreading like wildfire across my skin? It screams danger.

He continues staring with a half-grin.

Staring like he’s peeling back layers. Like he knows me. His smirk grates more than it should. Because he’s wrong. He doesn’t know me.

He’s oblivious to my unsteady breaths, to the many scars hidden under this caked-on foundation that Paola (ugh) put on me, that makes me want to rip my skin, to my heart leaping and crashing against my ribcage.

Everything blurs around me: the loud, boisterous laughter of the men who have decided what my life should be, that my opinion doesn’t matter, that this is my role to play.

Henrik is there. Whistling at me. And did I hear someone saying that I have changed?

My father seems to be guiding me to a table in the middle. But he does it so slowly that it’s taking forever.

So, they can all stare at me as they bid? What is that even achieving?

Each step towards the table feels heavier than the last. The dizzying effects of dehydration, a side effect of too many treatments, threaten to make me stumble. My heart races, an erratic dance that my beta-blockers usually tame.

Not now, I silently plead, clenching my hands into fists.

The stench of cigars mingles with the too-rich scent of expensive cologne, the combination enough to make my stomach churn. I swallow back the nausea, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other.

My father's grip on my arm tightens, lending me a necessary support, even if its intent is more control than care.

Antonio's gaze finds mine again, and for a fleeting moment, there's an unmistakable flash of concern. Perhaps he notices the subtle pallor on my cheeks or the way I blink rapidly, trying to fend off the dizziness. Or the almost imperceptible pause in my stride as I navigate this treacherous auction floor.

Deep down, I want to reach for the crystal pitcher of water gleaming on a side table, but I'm steered resolutely forward.

Forcing myself to concentrate, I shift my attention to the dancers in the room's dark corners. Their rhythmic movements become a focal point, grounding me in this surreal setting. And when my father's voice booms, introducing me to the crowd, it's the discipline ingrained from years of ballet that keeps me standing tall, despite the thirst, the rapid heartbeat, and the shadows that threaten my vision.

“Gentlemen,” my father’s voice booms, grabbing attention as I finally sit and down a glass of cold water sitting on the table. “My Isabella is the key to an invaluable alliance. The fortunate man who marries her secures unparalleled power. She’s more than a prize; she’s an advantage. She comes with not only access to more routes thanks to centuries of hard work from our family. She also comes with business ties that will be invaluable. And… she comes with the allegiance of many.” He clears his throat. “She’s also the key to a contract. One forged in blood by her grandmother. My mother.”

I frown. What is he talking about? I remember my grandmother. Her kind words to me. Telling to always remember my worth. Is that what she meant? Some kind of contract that makes me a prized possession, a thing?

But I can’t ask questions. Not now.

My father leans down, his lips near my ear, voice pitched for me alone. "Look at those girls on the stage, Isabella," my fathermurmurs, his grip on my shoulder tightening just enough to make me wince. "They'll be sold to whoever has the highest bid, treated like party favors until they break." His voice drops lower, silky and insidious. "But you? You’ll belong to a powerful man, one who understands the value of keeping something precious alive." His lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. "That's the difference between being my daughter and being... nothing."

His fingers dig into my skin. "And remember—your nurses at the hospital? Your old ballet friends? Mrs. Romano? Their safety depends on our power. On this alliance. On you not fighting this." The threat slides between my ribs like a blade. Mrs. Romano told me to only thing about myself. That there was more at stake. That I was more powerful than I thought. But… what does that mean? "The man who wins you will need to keep you alive. It's part of the deal. Part of my mother’s contract for you."

I scan the room, really seeing these men for the first time. Henrik's cold smile. The Russian's dead eyes. The Irish man's calculating gaze. Even Antonio's burning stare. Suddenly "keeping me alive" sounds less like a reassurance and more like another threat. How many ways can you keep someone alive while breaking them?

His voice softens, and that scares me more than his threats. "You're more precious than you realize, Isabella. Your bloodline... it’s my bloodline. My mother was feared and your mother's bloodline... it's bigger than you know. For that, I'm grateful to them. To you." The words feel like another collar around my throat, another chain to bind me.

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