Page 131 of The Colour of Revenge
When the car slows, and I see the crowd—cameras flashing, reporters shouting—the bloom of hope withers.
"What is this?" I ask, my voice sharp, cutting through the chaos outside.
My father's cold smile turns my stomach. "We're announcing your engagement."
The air leaves my lungs.
"What engagement?" I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
Lucian's hand clamps onto my thigh. Not hard. Not painful. Just a warning.
"You will not embarrass me today," he murmurs, his voice silk-smooth but edged with steel.
The rage is instant, searing. I could scream. I could claw his hand off my body. Instead, I press my nails into my palms, holding the fury in.
"And if I do?" I whisper, my voice razor thin.
My father doesn't flinch. Instead, he pulls out his phone, tilting the screen toward me. A folder labelled Nate.
My veins turn to ice.
"What's that?" I reach for it, but he pulls it back with smug satisfaction.
"That," he says smoothly, "is my assurance that you won't step out of line. Photos. Videos. Evidence that would put your little boyfriend in prison for a very, very long time."
My body locks up. My pulse roars in my ears.
"You wouldn't," I whisper, but the certainty in his gaze tells me otherwise.
"Try me."
I want to tear his smirk off his face. But Nate's safety is heavier than my rage.
Lucian doesn't give me time to think. His grip tightens on my back—a possessive, suffocating reminder of his control—and then, we're stepping into the blinding lights.
Words like kidnapped, reunited, and whirlwind romance claw at my ears. The crowd believes the lies. I smile when I should, nod when required, but inside, I am screaming.
I could speak. One word and the world would know the truth.
But then I see it—the folder. The ghost of it, burning behind my eyelids. Nate. His life is in their hands.
My lips stay shut.
Then the police are asking me questions.
“Where have you been for the past sixteen years?” they ask.
Sixteen years.
I’m twenty-nine now.
Another thing robbed from me.
My birthday.
I don’t know exactly when it was. But I know I’ve been held long enough to have missed it. I missed Christmas too.
Fury tries to coil around my gut, but I force it down. Now isn’t the time.
