Chapter 76: A Tool Worth Trading
Lady Alice keeps walking toward us.
Every step she takes feels like a heavy hammer hitting against my chest. The smell of dark orchid flowers and rare spices gets thicker, wrapping around my throat like an invisible rope.
It’s the exact same scent from that night. The same scent I’ve smelled almost all my life.
The night the world ended for me. The night my mother’s blood stained the white sheets of her bed.
My legs feel like stone. My lungs completely lock up.
Just look away, I tell myself. Look at the ground. Look at the sky. Look at anything else.
But I can’t. My eyes are glued to her wild, mean smile. She knows exactly what she is doing to me. She thrives on it. She wants to see me break right here on the courtyard floor in front of all these fancy, lying guests.
She’s only a few feet away now. She extends a gloved hand, ready to inject her venom directly into my ear.
"Oh, Lady Alice! What an absolute vision you are tonight!"
A loud, booming voice suddenly cuts through the heavy air.
A heavy-set man in a ridiculously expensive velvet suit steps right into Alice’s path. I recognize him instantly—it is Monsieur Vane, as he likes to be addressed— a high-ranking politician who has spent the last ten years trying to get into the Dubois family’s good graces.
He doesn’t even notice the sharp, murderous look that flashes across Alice’s face for a split second before she covers it up.
"Monsieur Vane," Alice says, her voice smooth and sweet like honeyed poison. She stops walking, forced to turn her attention to the man. "How delightful of you to join us. I trust you are enjoying the champagne?"
"It’s exquisite! But nothing compared to the beautiful arrangement you’ve put together for your daughter," Vane gushes, completely oblivious to the fact that he just saved my life. He keeps talking, waving his hands around as he tries to secure a meeting with her for the upcoming week.
I let out a long, ragged sigh.
"You can breathe now, duckling," Oriok whispers, his voice a low, dark rumble right against my ear.
I blink, suddenly realizing that my chest is burning. I didn’t even notice that I was holding my breath. I take in a sharp, greedy gulp of air, my shoulders dropping slightly.
"I was breathing," I lie through my teeth, refusing to look up at him.
"Is that what you call it?" Orion murmurs. His long fingers tighten around my waist, his thumb pressing firmly into my side through the fabric of my suit jacket. "You were as still as a corpse, Adrien. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to die right here in my arms."
"Maybe I am," I whisper back bitterly. "It would certainly get me away from you."
Orion lets out a soft, dark chuckle. It’s a sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Too bad for you, then. Even if you die, I’ll just drag your pretty ghost right back down to hell with me. You aren’t escaping that easily."
Before I can snap back with an insult, a loud chime echoes through the entire courtyard.
The crowd immediately stops talking. The fake laughter dies down, replaced by a tense, expectant silence. Everyone turns their bodies toward the grand stone steps where the two mothers are now standing.
Lady Dimitra Vassilis steps forward, her walking stick making a sharp clacking sound against the stone ground.
"Welcome, everyone," she says.
Her voice isn’t loud, but it has a strange, freezing power that carries across the entire yard. Nobody dares to make a sound.
"We are here tonight to celebrate the union of two great families. The Dubois and the Vassilis. My nephew, Leon, and the beautiful Louise Dubois."
A polite, perfectly rehearsed murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd.
"Let the ring exchange begin," Dimitra announces.
Louise and Leon step forward into the center of the courtyard. A servant appears beside them, holding a small velvet pillow with two massive, glittering diamond rings resting on top.
I watch my stepsister closely. From afar, she looks like a perfect ice queen in her complicated, ice-blue dress. Her posture is straight, her head held high.
But because I know her, I can see the tiny tremors in her hands. I can see the way her jaw is clenched so hard that the muscles are twitching.
She’s practically dying inside.
Leon looks just as miserable. He looks like a soldier standing before a firing squad. His usually-glittering eyes are fixed straight ahead, completely avoiding Louise’s face.
This is supposed to be the happiest day of their lives, I think to myself, a bitter taste filling my mouth. But it looks like a corporate execution.
Leon picks up the women’s ring, his movements stiff and robotic. He takes Louise’s cold hand and slides the giant diamond onto her finger. Louise doesn’t even blink. Then, she takes the men’s ring and slides it onto Leon’s finger.
The moment the rings are on, the entire courtyard erupts into loud, polite applause. People are cheering, smiling, and nodding their heads as if they just witnessed the ending of a beautiful fairy tale instead of a forced business transaction.
"How touching," Orion whispers into my hair, his voice dripping with pure sarcasm. "A match made in heaven. Or rather, a match made for anyone’s personal amusement."
"Don’t act like you’re any different," I mutter, glaring at the happy couple. "Our setup is exactly the same."
"Oh, no, duckling," Orion corrects me, his voice dropping into that deep, dangerous tone that always makes my heart beat too fast. "Our setup is much worse. They are marrying for power, but you are my fiancé because I chose to trap you. There is a big difference."
I bite my lip so hard, the taste of blood floods my mouth. I want to punch him. I want to tear that smug, arrogant look right off his face. But I can’t move. His arm is like an iron bar around my waist.
The formal ceremony is officially over, and the guests immediately begin to mingle again. The classical music starts playing louder, and servers move through the crowd carrying trays of expensive wine and food.
But nobody is actually here to celebrate a marriage. They’re all here for business.
Within minutes, the courtyard transforms into a chaotic marketplace for the ultra-rich. I watch the elites shift into their true forms. They move around the yard like hungry sharks, looking for their next meal.
Right to our left, a group of older men in tailored suits are leaning in close, their voices hushed.
"If we finalize the shipping routes by next Tuesday, the Lané family will take a twenty percent cut," one of them says, swirling his champagne glass.
"Make it fifteen, and we have a deal," another responds, shaking his hand firmly.
To our right, two wealthy mothers are looking at a young girl standing across the yard. The girl looks no older than eighteen, wearing a pink dress and looking incredibly uncomfortable under their sharp gazes.
"She would make a perfect match for my eldest son," one mother says, her eyes narrowing like a predator assessing prey. "Her family’s tech stocks rose by thirty percent last quarter. The dowry would be substantial."
"I heard her father is looking for a banking partner," the other mother replies thoughtfully. "Perhaps we can arrange a dinner next week to finalize the terms."
They are literally creating, finalizing, and breaking business deals right here over expensive champagne.
Some families are trading their own children like cattle, setting up marriage alliances on the spot just to secure a better position in the market. If a more attractive deal comes along, they drop the old one without a single shred of remorse.
I watch all of this happen, and a profound, heavy tiredness washes over me.
I’m too jaded to even be surprised anymore. This is the only world I have ever known. A world where human beings are nothing more than numbers on a balance sheet.
My mind suddenly drifts back to a memory from three years ago.
I can still picture my father sitting behind his massive, dark mahogany desk in his private study. The room smelled of expensive cigars and old leather. He didn’t even look up at me when I walked in. He just slid a thick stack of glossy photographs across the polished wood.
"Pick one," his cold, uncaring voice had commanded.
I had looked down at the pictures. They were photos of my female classmates from my elite private school. Young, rich girls with forced smiles. And mixed in with them were photos of numerous older women—wealthy heiresses and powerful widows who were old enough to be my mother.
"It doesn’t matter who you like, Adrien," my father had said, his voice completely flat. "You will marry whoever I choose. Your purpose is to bring value to the Dubois name, nothing more, nothing less. So start looking at them."
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