The Demon Alpha's Fated Seer

Chapter two

Clara's pov

"Clara."

"Just Clara?"

"Clara is what people call me."

One of the men behind him shifted, but Dane merely regarded me for another moment before crouching in front of me. His expensive suit came dangerously close to the soapy water, though he didn't appear concerned about it.

"You're a beautiful girl, Clara."

I wasn't sure what to say. Compliments were rare in my life, particularly from strangers, but something about the way he looked at me made the words feel less like praise and more like an assessment. His gaze lingered on my face as though he were deciding whether I would suit something he already had in mind.

"Thank you," I replied cautiously.

He stood and turned toward Roy. "I have a proposition for you."

Roy straightened so quickly that I wondered whether he had been waiting for those exact words.

"Anything, Mr. Dane. I'm listening."

"I will settle every cent you owe. Your creditors will have nothing left to demand from you, and you can finally stop worrying about losing this business."

Roy stared at him in disbelief. "You would be willing to do that?"

"On one condition."

Dane looked at me.

The silence that followed was brief, but it was long enough for an uncomfortable feeling to settle in my stomach. I watched his expression, trying to understand why he was looking at me as though I had suddenly become the most important person in the room.

"Give me your stepdaughter as my wife," he said. "The debt disappears tonight."

For several seconds, I couldn't make sense of what I had heard. The words were clear enough, but my mind refused to accept them. I looked at Roy, expecting him to laugh or demand an explanation, but he stood perfectly still, staring at Dane as though the man had just offered him a fortune.

Then I looked at Dane again.

"You want to marry me?"

"Yes."

"But you don't know anything about me."

"I know enough to be interested."

He spoke with such calm certainty that I struggled to understand how he could consider this a reasonable conversation. He had walked into a bakery, looked at a woman scrubbing the floor, and decided that he wanted to marry her. There had been no introduction, no courtship, and not even the courtesy of asking whether I was already involved with someone.

I pushed myself upright, leaving the brush in the bucket. My knees protested, but I barely noticed.

"Why?" I asked. "Why would you offer to pay someone else's debt just to marry a woman you've never met?"

Dane studied me, apparently considering whether I deserved an answer.

"Before you start imagining some elaborate arrangement, let me make something clear. I have no political bargain to strike through this marriage, and I don't need your family's name. I have the means to acquire whatever I want without asking your stepfather for permission. I simply like what I see, and I would like to have you in my home."

His eyes remained fixed on mine.

"I want a wife, Clara. Someone who can bring warmth into a house that has everything except that. I believe you could be that person."

For a moment, I had no response. His explanation sounded almost reasonable on the surface, which somehow made the situation more disturbing. He spoke as though wanting me was enough to settle the question, as though his ability to provide a comfortable home gave him the right to decide where I would live and whom I would marry.

I had no idea what kind of man he was. Perhaps he was lonely. Perhaps he had grown accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. Whatever his reasons, none of them changed the fact that he was discussing my future without asking me what I wanted for it.

I turned to Roy, hoping that the absurdity of the situation would finally become clear to him.

"You're not seriously considering this."

He looked at me with irritation rather than concern. "Clara, try to understand the situation. We have debts that must be paid. This opportunity could save everything."

"Everything?" I repeated. "Or everything that belongs to you?"

His face hardened. "Don't start with your attitude. You know how much trouble this family is in."

"I know how much trouble you've put us in."

The words escaped before I could stop them. Roy's expression darkened, and I immediately regretted giving him another reason to turn his anger on me. Still, I couldn't bring myself to take them back. My father had built the bakery with years of hard work, and Roy had run it into the ground. Now, instead of taking responsibility for his failures, he was prepared to hand me over to a stranger so that he could walk away from his debts.

Dane watched our exchange without interrupting. He seemed content to let Roy deal with me, as though the matter had already been settled and my objections were merely an inconvenience.

"Clara, listen to me," Roy said, lowering his voice in the way he did whenever he wanted to sound reasonable. "Mr. Dane is a wealthy man. He can provide for you in ways we never could. You'll have a comfortable home, proper clothes, and people to look after you. You won't have to spend your life working in this bakery."

"I never asked for any of that."

"You should be grateful that someone is willing to take responsibility for you."

I stared at him, struggling to believe he had said those words. Take responsibility for me. As though I were a problem to be transferred from one man to another. As though the years I had spent working in the bakery had been nothing more than an obligation that someone else was finally offering to remove.

"Please don't do this," I whispered.

For the first time since Dane had arrived, Roy looked directly at me. There was no affection in his eyes, no guilt, and no sign that he understood what he was about to do. All I saw was a man desperate to escape the consequences of his own decisions.

"Done," he said.

The word fell between us with terrible finality.

Five seconds. Yes, I'm petThat was all it had taken for Roy to decide that my life was worth less than the debt he owed. He didn't ask whether I agreed. He didn't ask what I thought about marrying a stranger. He didn't even hesitate long enough to make me believe that the decision troubled him.

I stood there, waiting for the feeling of disbelief to pass, but it only grew heavier. My hands had begun to tremble, and I curled my fingers into my palms to hide it.

"Roy, I'm standing right here," I said. "You can't simply decide that I'm going to marry someone because he has money."

"Enough, Clara."

"No. You haven't even asked me what I want."

"What you want?" He gave a humourless laugh. "And what exactly do you think you have the luxury of wanting? Look around you. This business is barely surviving. Your mother is in no condition to help, and I cannot keep carrying everyone on my back."

I looked at the empty shelves, the worn counter, and the floor I had spent the morning scrubbing. Then I looked at him.

"I've been working here every day."

"And you should be thankful you have a roof over your head."

The familiar words struck a place in me that had already been bruised too many times. I had heard them whenever I asked for money, whenever I complained about being treated unfairly, and whenever I dared to remind Roy that the bakery had once belonged to my father. Apparently, food and shelter were supposed to make up for everything else he took from me.

I turned toward the window.

"Mama."