Page 12 of Inside the Wicked

“He won’t,” he says, far too lax in his confidence. My skin prickles in anticipation. “I’m confident Damien will be interested in an alliance between his eldest son and the First Daughter of the United States.”

I straighten in my seat and ice douses me.

He can’t mean . . .

He wouldn’t . . .

“You promised I wouldn’t be sold for my body.” My composure is crumbling. My hand reaches for the door, but the lock clicks down as I do and ice spears my gut. “Let me out.” Images of Matthew slam into me. I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t face another son of Damien.

“Let me explain, Anastasia.”

“It seems pretty fucking clear what you want,” I hiss. “And I’m notyours.”

“I thought you understood what you signed up for when I came for you. This doesn’t have to be a resistance.”

“You’re not giving me a choice.”

“Your choice is this: you go into that club tonight and begin to charm Silas. You won’t win him over in a day—it will take weeks, perhaps months—but eventually, he’ll fall for you. In truth, your happiness does mean something to me, and I hope you might fall for him too. After you’re married, Damien will become my ally. It’s the most amicable way.”

Married.

My throat tightens as though he’s wrapped his hand around it.

“You want to sell me.”

“Only if you choose to see it that way.”

He’s a sick, twisted bastard. I’m not surprised, but at the same time, I could never have seen this coming. Did he know about Silas’s possible move here all those months ago? And I was right there, desperate and vulnerable enough, naïve enough, to take his hand and thinkIwas the only one with a hidden motive.

It takes everything in me to keep my composure. “What if he doesn’t fall for me?” I ask bitterly.

“I don’t operate by what-ifs. You get the job done, or I’ll find another use for you that won’t be so kind.”

My teeth grind.

He says, bored now, “Off you go. Kenna will see to it you’re appropriately dressed for his venue.”

Our doors are opened then, and I linger one last look of simmering hatred on Alistair Lanshall.

I follow Kenna, flanked by two security. We slip into an elevator, and she towers over me in those heels while I wear flat boots. We don’t speak, and I find her silence tense, as if she could snap at me at any moment.

We get to a penthouse hotel room.A bit much to spend on a changing room.

“I don’t know why Alistair thinks someone who barely speaks can pull this off,” Kenna says. Her voice is silky and seductive.I don’t think I’ve ever admired another woman for her voice before. Kenna plants her hand on my shoulder, forcing me to sit in front of a vanity.

I scowl through the reflection. “You haven’t spoken either,” I counter.

“We are not even close to the same. My job requires silence, stillness. Yours, as the president’s daughter, and what you naively signed up for with Alistair, requires the opposite. I don’t know why he’s allowed you to waste all your time fighting when that will never be your role.”

“You’ve been watching me?” I blanch at the thought.For how long?Best spy indeed, as I don’t recall seeing even a glimpse of her at Alistair’s manor.

Kenna doesn’t answer. She folds her arms as two women approach me. One fusses over what to do with my hair; another lays out a box of makeup products. I internally groan as I sit there like a doll for them to dress.

When my hair is freshly curled, my lips a bright red, and my eyes more seductive than I’ve ever seen them, I sigh and stand, led over to the outfit on the bed.

“I’m not wearing that,” I say immediately.

The short slip dress is a deep silk red with a waterfall neckline.

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