Page 145 of I'm sorry, Princess
I freeze. That word. That tone. He’s spoken to me sharply before, but never like this. Never with such disgust that it makes me want to fold in on myself.
“I thought we made ourselves clear,” my mother says, her voice clipped and precise. “You are to marry Ian. No discussions. No negotiations. We gave you a month to prepare yourself for the idea, but it was never a choice. It’s an obligation.”
Their faces are mirrors of the same emotion, disappointment laced with contempt.
Something hot and sharp sparks in my chest. My voice comes before I can stop it.
“First of all, mind your fucking language when you talk to me, Father.”
His eyes flash, but I push forward, refusing to let the tremble in my voice show.
“Lorenzo is my boyfriend. We’re together. And I am not marrying Ian.”
The silence is thick enough to choke on.
I glance between them, the fury in my blood threatening to spill over. “Now, if that’s all you wanted tosay, get out of my fucking house.” My voice cracks, but I force it to sound like steel.
He smirks. It’s worse than if he’d shouted.
“Your house?” he repeats, like the word tastes ridiculous in his mouth. “You have nothing, Serena. Every single thing you own exists because of me. And just as easily, I can take it all away.”
I stare at him, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“I’m sorry if I made it sound like you had a choice,” he goes on, voice calm and deadly. “But mark my words, you will marry Ian. Very soon.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh that tastes of salt and ash. Because I realize in this moment… they’re not here to negotiate. They never were. They came to remind me exactly where my chains are.
And it makes me want to break them so badly I could scream.
“Do you think your little boyfriend will still want you after he finds out you’re engaged?”
My mother’s voice is syrupy sweet, but her smile is pure venom.
“What?” The word barely makes it past my lips. My stomach drops so violently I feel dizzy. “What are you talking about? I’m not engaged.”
“Oh, my darling, of course you are.” She reaches for the stack of papers on the table with the grace of someone delivering a gift. “Here’s the agreement you signed to get engaged to Ian.”
I take it from her, my pulse thundering in my ears. The contract stares back at me, formal and crisp, with my signature scrawled in perfect, damning ink. And Ian’s.
My signature.
The room tilts. My vision narrows to that one mocking curve of my name.
I never signed this.
But the handwriting… it’s identical.
My chest tightens until I can barely breathe. “This is fake,” I whisper, though it comes out shaky and weak.
“Is it?” my father asks, his tone unreadable, his eyes dark.
How many times have they done this? How many papers, how many deals, have I ‘signed’ without knowing?
“It doesn’t matter,” I force out, my voice trembling but louder now. “It’s just a paper. I’m not going to marry him.” My eyes flick between them, willing them to understand, but they’re as still as stone statues. The date on the document mocks me, it’s from right before the Moretti anniversary party. The night my life began to change.
My father leans forward, voice heavy with authority. “I want you to listen to me. Even if you don’t end this, he will. I don’t want tantrums. You will marry Ian. That’s the least you can do after what we’ve done for you.” His lip curls like he’s speaking about something filthy. “The shame you’ve put me through, parading yourself around with that criminal. My partners questioning me. The endless explanations to John just to keep the wedding on track.”
He shakes his head slowly, like I’m a disappointment he saw coming all along. “You’re going to beg Ian for forgiveness, for acting like a worthless whore, and then you’re going to be a good wife to him. Is that clear?”
