Page 223 of The Obedient Lie
“Bullshit.” Luca was shaking now.
“It’s not bullshit. It’s legacy. It’s everything I was raised to do.”
“You’re not doingthat,” he spat. “You’re notauctioningyourself?—”
“I’m not,” she snapped, voice suddenly trembling. “Theyare. My name. My body. My bloodline. None of it’s ever been mine to give.”
Her chest rose and fell like she was holding in a scream.
“This iskillingme,” she whispered.
“Then marryus,” Luca said. “You want to talk about dynasty? About bloodlines? Then tie yours to ours andend it.”
Silence.
“You know we can’t,” she said, broken. “Crows aren’t allowed to take a marriage oath until twenty-one.”
She looked away.
“And even then,” she added, “your grandfather chooses the bride. Or… brides.”
Luca flinched. I went still. Because I knew exactly who the fuck she meant.
Damius Crow.
The man who’d haunted every chapter of our childhood. The man still sitting, watching the empire Vince built like it was his own personal chessboard.
The reason I had to fake a different personality every time we went fucking home.
I looked at Luca.
He was already spiraling, jaw locked, arms tense, fists at his sides like he was trying to hold something in. But it wasn’t working. I could see it in the way his chest rose too fast, the way his mouth kept twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find words sharp enough to cut through what he was feeling.
Because the thought was too loud in both our heads.
What if we’re forced to marry someone else?
What if we’re separated?
The dynasty wouldn’t allow us to share her. Not like this. Not in the open.
They’d tear the choice out of our hands and gift-wrap us for legacy deals—different wives, different houses, different lives. All under the fucking guise of tradition.
Emilia wasn’t just some beautiful thing we touched toolong and got addicted to. She wasn’t some college-year fling or rebellion or phase we’d grow out of.
She was the part that made me feelwhole.
Like I could finally breathe.
Like I could finally belong to something without having to break myself to do it.
And now?
Now she was standing in front of us withcontractsin her hands—elegant,expensive, dynasty-stamped contracts—and all of them were threats. Each one a pretty piece of parchment designed to pull her away. One inch at a time.
Not because she wanted to go.
But because her last name said she had to.
