Page 54 of Veil of Obsession
I hum. “And you’re very careful.”
His lips curve slightly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aren’t we all?”
I smirk, tapping my glass with my fingertip. Perhaps Daniel isn’t playing the same game my mother thinks he is. Perhaps, he’s playing his own.
And I have no interest in being his pawn. We’re finally being served our food; the smell of steak and roasted potatoes floats around the room.
I push my food around with my fork, hardly listening as conversation drifts between business, politics, and power play disguised as pleasantries. I try to appear interested but honestly, I’d rather be in my room, watching Lucio from the comfort of the dark.
My mother clears her throat. Everyone stills, the quiet command in her tone drawing attention. She lifts her wine glass, the deep red liquid swirling as she gazes at Daniel and me with thinly veiled satisfaction. Which is the first red flag that something is going to happen. Something I won’t like but will have to accept.
“We’re delighted to formally announce,” she says, her voice smooth, dripping with artificial warmth, “the engagement between my daughter and Daniel Morgan.”
The words slam into me like a bullet.
The room spins. The clinking of silverware stops. A beat of silence, stretching too long, too suffocating.
Daniel stills beside me. His smile falters—barely, but I catch it.
I stare, my fingers tightening around my fork, my pulse a violent, erratic thing in my chest.
Engaged? To Daniel?
What. The. Fuck?
I feel the weight expectant stares pressing against me, waiting for my reaction. For a delighted smile, for a demure lowering of my gaze, for some pathetic sign of gratitude.
I say nothing. Because what the fuck am I supposed to say?
Daniel, to his credit, adjusts quickly, smoothing out his features and forcing a smile, though I can see the tension in his jaw. The flicker of something uneasy behind his hazel eyes.
He lifts his glass, playing the role expected of him. Good boy. Well-trained.
“A strong alliance,” he murmurs, his voice steady, but I hear the restraint beneath it. “An honor.”
I swallow down the scream rising in my throat.
The rest of the night passes in a blur of empty conversation and the crushing weight of inevitability. I don’t speak. Not once. I sip my wine, stare blankly at my plates, nod when necessary. Because if I open my mouth…
I might shatter the entire fucking night.
The door clicks shutbehind our last guest. My mother exhales softly, pleased, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her dress.
I, on the other hand, am shaking. Not visibly. Not yet. But I feel it: the burning rage coiled beneath my ribs, the sharp edge of betrayal digging into my bones.
I wait. Wait until we’re alone. And then…I snap.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My voice is sharp, slicing through the hollow silence of the dining room.
She doesn’t even flinch. She takes her time, pouring herself a drink. The deliberate slowness of her movements only fuels my fury.
Then she lifts her gaze to mine—calm, unaffected. “I’m securing your future.”
I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’re pawning me off like a fucking trophy.”
She arches a delicate brow. “Do not use that tone with me. I’m doing you a favor. Daniel is someone who will be able to take care of you.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of!” I snap.
