The palace felt colder the next morning. Not because of the weather, but because of the silence — the kind that follows after something breaks but no one dares admit it.
Breakfast was served in the east hall, a place that smelled faintly of polished silver and dread. I sat at the long table, hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on the empty plate before me. Father sat across from me, reading the day's paper as though the world were perfectly ordinary. Damon stood by the door, silent and composed, though his jaw flexed once — a twitch only I would notice.
"Eat," Father said finally, without looking up.
"I'm not hungry."
He folded the paper, placed it neatly beside his plate, and met my eyes. "That's not a request."
The weight of his tone pressed me down. I picked up the fork, pushing food around until it no longer looked edible. Damon's gaze flickered toward me once — just once — before Father spoke again.
"I spoke with the minister last night," he began. "And with Mr. Sterling."
The fork slipped from my hand, clattering against the porcelain. My chest went still. "Sterling?"
"Edward Sterling. You've met him."
"I was a child," I whispered. "He's—he's twice my age."
Father's expression didn't shift. "He's powerful. Stable. His family's reputation will restore ours after your… indiscretions."
My mouth went dry. "You're selling me."
His eyes hardened. "I'm protecting you."
"By handing me to a man old enough to be my father?" My voice cracked, but he didn't even flinch.
"You'll thank me one day. When your name is spoken with respect again."
"Respect?" I pushed the chair back, rising so fast it scraped the marble. "You mean control. You mean obedience. That's all you've ever wanted."
His tone dropped to something sharp and low. "Careful, Aria."
Damon shifted slightly by the door, his posture taut — soldier-like. His eyes flicked between us, and for a fleeting second, I thought he might speak. But he didn't. He couldn't.
I turned to him anyway. "You knew, didn't you?"
His jaw tightened. "I—"
"Enough," Father cut in. "Damon will remain silent on family matters."
Family. The word burned. "You don't get to decide who I marry," I said. "Not anymore."
Father rose slowly, each movement deliberate, like a predator preparing to strike. "I decide everything that happens in this house."
I took a step back, but he followed. "Mother thought she had choices too," he murmured.
The air froze. I felt the blood drain from my face. "What do you mean?"
His eyes gleamed. "Ask her, if you ever see her again."
He brushed past me, leaving the scent of expensive cologne and something darker — something that smelled like finality.
When the door closed, I sank into the nearest chair, trembling. Damon was beside me in seconds, his hand hovering but not touching. "Aria—"
"Don't." My voice cracked. "You heard him. You heard what he said."
He crouched beside me anyway, his voice low. "He can't force you into this. We'll find a way out—"
"There's no way out," I whispered, tears burning my throat. "He owns everything. My name, my reputation, even you."
He caught my chin, forcing me to look at him. "He doesn't own me."
I stared at him — at the fire in his eyes, the promise that had always both saved and destroyed me. "If he suspects us, you'll lose everything," I said. "Your job. Your life."
"I'd lose more if I let him take you."
Something in me cracked then. I wanted to believe him — wanted it more than breath — but the reality pressed harder. "He'll destroy you, Damon. You don't understand what he's capable of."
"I understand enough," he said, his tone darkening. "He wants control. But so do I."
Before I could answer, there was a knock. Lina stepped in quietly, her eyes darting from me to Damon. "Sir Richard asks that Miss Kingsley begin dress fittings immediately. The designers are waiting."
The world spun. "Dress fittings?"
Damon straightened, his fists clenched at his sides. "Already?"
Lina's voice trembled. "The wedding is set for next month."
The tears came before I could stop them. I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to hold back the sob that broke through anyway. Damon turned away sharply, jaw tight, as if watching me fall apart would break something inside him too.
Father's voice echoed from the hall. "Aria."
I froze. He appeared at the doorway, calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back. "Stop crying. You're to be married, not buried."
My lips trembled. "There's no difference."
His eyes narrowed — and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw something flicker behind them. Regret? Pain? No. Just calculation.
"Finish your fittings," he said. "And remember, Aria — obedience isn't weakness. It's survival."
He left without waiting for an answer.
When the door clicked shut, I collapsed against Damon's chest, sobbing. He held me, wordless, his hand stroking my hair in trembling motions.
"We'll find a way," he whispered again. "I swear to you."
But even as he said it, I felt the walls of my father's empire closing in — gilded, unbreakable, suffocating.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the pain and rage, another truth began to whisper:
If no one could save me… maybe I'd have to save myself.