I look around the table and notice everyone staring at me.
"...What? Never seen a shocked person before?" I murmur under my breath.
I step back slightly, and the next thing I know, Mr. Houston's son is beside me, a worried look etched across his face.
Instinctively, I glance down at the broken glass someone is cleaning up, but something about him feels… different. Off.
I don't notice his cologne anymore.
And then it hits me—deep down, I want him to wipe these people out. And honestly? I wouldn't mind if he adds my people to the list too.
All I want is silence.
And this Houston guy… he's staring at me like he cares. Like he's in love with me. Like he isn't just another mummy's boy waiting for his mother to seal a deal and use me however they want. Some psycho in a well-polished disguise.
A sudden idea forms in my mind.
I grip his arm, clutching onto him like someone who's about to fall from a tower, holding onto her savior.
If these people are going to be wiped out quickly, then I need to make him uncomfortable. Agitate him. And what better way than to threaten him—suggest that I might choose someone else over him?
Maybe I'm crazy for thinking this way… or maybe I'm even more insane for believing the servant who just walked in through that wide door is watching me.
I force a startled expression.
"My hand slipped."
"It's alright," he replies calmly. "Just a mistake. I'm sure everyone understands."
I study him carefully, trying to figure out if he's genuinely kind—or if that's just a hidden warning.
"Thank you, Mr. Houston," I say finally.
"Please," he says, meeting my gaze, "call me Luke."
I stare at him, unable to read him. He feels two-faced. And I'm completely allergic to two-faced bastards.
I smile anyway and return to my seat as he walks back to his.
"Looks like they're already falling," my mum giggles softly.
I shoot her a sharp glare.
"Your daughter is indeed a rare beauty," Luke says smoothly. "Any man would fall for her. And I believe I'm the lucky one to have her."
I mentally roll my eyes.
My father hums in approval, while Senior Mr. Houston gives a brief, tight smile.
There's something—no, everything—about this arrangement that feels wrong. Like I'm missing a crucial piece.
I glance at Luke. The only son of the Houstons.
I know he won't survive this. He's the main threat… but I need to understand why. What does my family gain from using me as a bargaining chip?
I place my utensils down and sit quietly, like a doll waiting to be picked.
My gaze shifts back to Luke.
"Urgh…" I mutter mentally as our eyes lock.
Why is he so predictable? The classic "fox in sheep's clothing" type. Basic. Boring. And honestly… cringeworthy.
I smile at him anyway.
Then, he stands and walks toward me again.
He stretches out his hand.
"Want to get out of here?"
Perfect.
The opportunity I need.
I feign a smile and slide my hand into his. His grip is firm, rough, intentional.
He excuses us from the table, saying we want to take a stroll to get to know each other better.
Who does this guy think he is?
I follow him like a lamb being led by her shepherd.
He guides me to a wide balcony overlooking a darkening sky, the night slowly swallowing the green forest below.
I lean against the golden railing, steadying myself as I watch the view. The moon glows above, almost teasing me as it hides behind drifting clouds.
This place… it's grand. Almost royal.
I glance at Luke again, studying him.
Tall. Composed. And—
"I know your type," he says suddenly, cutting into my thoughts. "Girls like you are… too basic."
I pause.
Then something in me shifts.
Ah.
There it is.
I see him clearly now.
A smirk curls at my lips.
I walk to a golden couch and sit, picking up a glass from the ice bucket. I pour myself a drink and take a slow sip, letting out an annoyed breath.
Then I look at him.
This arrogant fool… probably still receiving an allowance from his parents.
I can't even tell who's worse—the boys who think too highly of themselves, or the girls who throw themselves at them for attention.
A laugh escapes me.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
I see his expression darken.
Good.
I want him to feel it.
He moves toward me, crouching beside me, his gaze intense—almost burning.
He runs a hand through his hair.
And unlike those silly girls who would swoon at the sight, I see something different.
Weakness.
"What was funny?" he asks sharply.
I stand abruptly and walk away.
But before I can get far, he grabs my wrist and spins me around, tightening his grip.
"Let me go," I say quietly, locking eyes with him. "Now."
He doesn't.
"Let me go," I repeat, firmer this time.
His grip tightens instead.
His eyes darken.
"You know," he says, stepping closer, "all of this… will fade once you're married to me. And trust me—we both know that's inevitable."
He leans in slightly.
"And then we'll see how brave you are when you're beneath me."
Disgust coils in my stomach.
Before I can stop myself, I raise my hand—
—but voices interrupt us.
Our parents.
I force a smile as he finally lets go.
Then—
he lifts my hand and presses a light kiss to it.
I stare at him.
My hand still burns from how tightly he was gripping me.
I smile anyway.
And I walk back to my parents as if nothing happened.
We get into the car.
Silence fills the space.
I turn to look at them.
They don't even look at each other.
I'm used to it.
And deep down… I know exactly whose fault that is.