Ellen's Point of View
The moment I step into the living room, I can already feel the shift in the atmosphere.
I don't remember the last time I ever felt at ease at this home. Without feeling choked up.
My father stands near the window, hands tucked behind him, looking out at the fountain like it
offended him. His posture is controlled. When his head turns toward me, I know something is
coming.
And I know I will hate it.
"Sit,
" he orders.
Just that single command and I move without hesitation. The leather couch feels cold beneath
me.
His jaw flexes.
"In regards to always embarrassing me,
"
When have I never not been an embarrassment to him?
Not a surprise.
"You will start acting like the daughter of Professor Dumas. And that begins with accountability
and responsibility.
"
He pauses, then drops the bomb.
"You're getting married.
"
My heart stops, then shatters. I can feel the floor tilting beneath me.
"Wh— what?" My voice comes out broken.
He speaks like he's discussing in a board meeting.
"Paulo DeLuca is a powerful businessman. He is recently divorced and willing to take you as his
wife.
"
More like he's adopting a stray animal.
"I never agreed to this.
" My voice shakes terribly.
"You don't have the luxury of agreeing. You owe this family more than you can ever imagine
Ellen.
"
The words suffocate me.
"He will be here this evening. I don't have to tell you twice what to do.
"
At that, he makes a half turn then speaks again.
"Try and put effort in your look. No more
embarrassments.
"
He leaves the room without waiting for a response.
The moment he disappears up the stairs, the tight control I'm holding snaps.
My knees buckle. I slide off the couch, falling on the cold marble floor helplessly.
I choke on a sob.
I thought I was hearing things in the hospital when he brought this silly idea up. But saying it to
my face brought cold reality to my heart.
Marriage?
To a stranger?
A soft voice pulls me from the spiral.
"Miss Ellen?"
I whip my head, tears streaming down my face, as I stare at Nana blankly. She kneels beside
me, hands warm on my shoulders.
"Oh you poor child, don't cry like this. You will swell your eyes.
"
"It's too late.
" My voice breaks.
"He's… giving me away, Nana. Like a thrash.
"
Her brow tightens with pain.
"You are not thrash. Don't ever say that.
"
I fall into her arms.
For once, someone holds me without wanting something.
"You'll be fine,
" she whispers, rubbing my back.
"Just breathe.
"
I try. I really do.
But my tears spill anyway.
Hours Later.
The dinner table is a battlefield dressed in silverware and polished china.
My eyes are swollen, but I let my hair fall forward to hide them. The chandelier lights seem to all
be oppressive to my eyes.
Nana places roasted lamb on the table, followed by the butler pouring a red wine. As the table is
being set, the front door opens.
Footsteps flood the home heavily.
I lift my gaze, setting my eyes on a tall man. Paulo DeLuca. He is dressed exactly like his name
and he didn't exceed my imagination at all.
Behind him, four men in black suits sweep into position, silently guarding corners of the house.
My stomach churns.
"Ellen,
" my father announces, smiling like a proud salesman.
"This is Paulo.
"
Paulo sits without waiting for permission.
"So, you are the girl.
" His eyes rake over me in pure assessment.
"Pretty enough.
"
Pretty… enough?
My father beams like he's presenting a piece of art at auction.
"I believe she will make a fine wife.
"
Paulo swirls his wine.
"I prefer them younger. Easier to keep in check.
"
My fork freezes mid-air.
My father laughs, pleased.
"I assure you she will be obedient. Right, Ellen?" I swallow bile.
Obedient.
I don't answer. My silence is the only rebellion I have left in front of them.
Paulo leans closer. His cologne suffocates me.
"Once we're married, you will leave school. A wife should stay home.
"
My father nods in agreement, as if Paulo has poetic wisdom.
I grip my knees under the table so tight my nails dig into my skin. I can feel my body shaking in
resentment.
"After marriage,
" Paulo continues,
"you will move into my villa in Monaco. I prefer isolation.
"
Isolation.
Away from Sophia. Away from Marlon. Away from civility and everything I've managed to grasp
on.
"And children,
" he adds casually, cutting his steak.
"Soon.
"
I choke on air.
He turns to my father again.
"I already sent over the prenup. You'll find it… generous.
"
My father lifts his wine, smug.
"I have reviewed it.
"
Of course he has.
I stare at the tablecloth, every fiber of me collapsing inward.
This cannot be my life.
This cannot be my future.
A tremor runs through me.
No. No. No.
In the fog of voices, laughter, and negotiation over my life, one image burns into my head.
Dark eyes.
Bits and pieces of our conversation in the basement archive float in my head.
My pulse races as I reach under the table, sliding my hand into my pocket. My fingers wrap
around my phone.
My father and Paulo continue discussing my fate. They don't even notice me anymore.
Good.
With shaky hands, I unlock my phone under the tablecloth.
I scroll through recent contacts, stopping on the unknown number that deleted my messages.
I inhale.
My thumb hovers.
What am I doing?
I don't trust him. He terrifies me. He is cold and unpredictable.
But he is the only person offering me a choice. The only person who doesn't treat me like an
object.
So I type.
Ellen:
I want our alliance to hold.
Only if you agree to marry me.
Before I can lose courage, I hit send with a shaky thumb.
The message delivers.
I slip my phone facedown and take a slow, trembling breath.