Bound By Contract, Claimed By Fate

The Forgotten Daughter

Katherine

The ride home was wrapped in silence. The kind of silence that pressed against my chest until breathing felt like a task. No words were spoken—just fleeting glances that carried more weight than I could bear. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the moment he collapsed, the way his body hit the ground like life itself had slipped through his fingers. My heart had pounded so hard it felt like I’d stared death in the face—and it terrified me.

When the car finally slowed to a stop in front of the house, the butler hurried forward to open the door for him. I was already on edge, moving faster than I thought possible. The second Dominic shifted to stand, I was at his side, slipping a hand around his arm, steadying him as though one wrong move would send him crumbling again.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, brushing my hand off gently but firmly. His tone carried that same infuriating arrogance, as if collapsing hours ago was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

“No, you’re not,” I shot back, refusing to retreat. “I was there. I saw you on that floor, pale and lifeless. You don’t get to tell me you’re fine when I know you’re not.” My grip tightened slightly, more from desperation than strength. “You don’t always have to act like the weight of the world can’t touch you, Dominic. You’re not made of stone.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. He glanced down at me, his lips twitching into a subtle smirk that didn’t match the weakness in his body. That infuriating, guarded smile—the one he always used like a shield.

I led him up the stairs, my hand gripping his as though letting go might make him crumble again. He didn’t protest this time, but halfway up, he stopped, forcing me to pause too.

“You know,” he said slowly, that familiar glint sliding into his eyes, “I don’t think you hate me.”

I blinked at him, startled. “What are you even talking about?”

He tilted his head, a small, smug smile curving his lips. “You seem to care too much. That tells me you might have a small crush on me.” His voice dripped with arrogance, the kind of tone that used to make me roll my eyes but now just made my blood boil.

“Oh, goodness—don’t flatter yourself,” I snapped, pulling my hand back. “Maybe I should have left you lying on that floor. I’m doing myself a favour here, Dominic. I have my father’s business on my shoulders, and I’m not about to let our biggest ally die on my watch.”

He let out a short, low scoff, his smirk deepening. “Daddy really did teach you business, didn’t he?”

My chest tightened. Always. Always with the cheap shots. Must he turn everything into a weapon? God, he could be such an asshole.

I exhaled sharply, my patience finally cracking. “You know what? I can’t do this right now,” I said, my voice rising with anger. “Not when you can’t even be decent after what just happened.”

Before he could reply, I let go of his hand and stormed down the hall, my heels clicking like gunshots against the floor.

I slammed the door shut the moment I got into my room, leaning my back against it as if I could somehow shut out not just Dominic, but the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up inside me. My chest heaved, my pulse still racing from our argument. God, he infuriated me. The way he twisted everything into some smug remark, as if life was one giant game he could charm or scoff his way through.

I pressed my palms to my face, groaning. Why did I even care? Why did it bother me so much when he made fun of me? He had no idea what it was like to carry the kind of weight I did. No idea how heavy it felt to have every decision of your life measured against the family name, against an empire I didn’t even truly belong to.

Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? I’m not even a Fontaine by blood. Just the adopted daughter who was expected to act like the real one.

I dropped onto the edge of my bed, my eyes drifting to the ceiling as the memories pushed in. I was barely ten when I first overheard my parents—no, not my parents—arguing in hushed voices about me. About how grateful I should be. About how I’d been given a better life than I ever would’ve had otherwise.

Bianca never had that problem. Bianca was the golden one. The true Fontaine daughter. The one who could sit around all day painting her nails, throwing tantrums, and playing the part of the spoiled heiress while I picked up the slack. I was the one in the office with Father, memorising contracts, learning negotiations, being moulded into something useful. A tool. A shield.

And the cruellest part? No one ever thanked me for it. Not once.

I curled my knees up against my chest, hugging them tightly as a wave of bitterness burned through me. Sometimes I wanted to scream it at them—I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be your convenient little pawn while your perfect princess does nothing.

But I never did. Because I couldn’t. Because deep down, no matter how much it tore at me, I knew the Fontaine name was all I had. Without it, I was… nothing.

And then there was Dominic.

I scoffed out loud, pressing my forehead against my knees. He walked into my life like a storm—loud, unpredictable, infuriating. And yet, even when I wanted to hate him, some part of me couldn’t. That moment when he collapsed, when I caught him before he hit the ground—my heart had nearly stopped. The panic had been raw, unfiltered, like something buried inside me was clawing to the surface.

I didn’t understand it, and I hated myself for even feeling it. I had too much to think about, too much to carry, to be distracted by a man who thrived on getting under my skin.

A soft knock on my door broke me out of my spiral. My head jerked up, my heart hammering.

Before I could even answer, the door opened.

Dominic stepped inside, his presence filling the room instantly. His shirt was half undone, his usual arrogance replaced by something calmer, quieter—but no less intense. His eyes locked onto mine, and the air between us shifted.

“Come to my room,” he said, his voice low, steady.

I froze, staring at him, my throat suddenly dry