Chapter Three: Taken By Force
1271 Words
Ivy
I dried my hands and followed him to the study. My heart was pounding against my chest.
Inside, he closed the door behind us and locked it.
That was never a good sign.
I stood in the corner of his office with my hands clasped in front of me, and my head down.
“Get dressed,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “You’re coming with me.”
I said nothing.
“Did you hear me, girl?”
“Yes, Uncle Richard.” I whispered.
He turned to look at me. “Put on something decent. You’re representing this family tonight.”
Representing this family?
Where? As what?
“Be ready in ten minutes. I won’t wait.” He said.
I fled from the room.
In the hallway, I pressed my back against the wall and tried to catch my breath. Where was he taking me? He had never taken me out.
“Oh my God, Ivy. You look even more pathetic than usual.”
I looked up to find Celeste standing at the top of the stairs. Why hasn’t she gone to bed already?
My cousin was beautiful in the way magazine covers were beautiful. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect clothes. All of it paid for with money that should have been mine.
She descended the stairs slowly, like a queen approaching a beggar. Her designer heels clicked against the marble floor with each step.
“Where are you going dressed like that?” She tilted her head, examining my face. “Actually, I don’t care. Just try not to embarrass us.”
I said nothing.
She reached out and grabbed my chin, turning my face toward the light. “You really should do something about your skin. It’s practically transparent.” She released me with a little shove and continued past me toward the kitchen. “Not that it matters. It’s not like anyone’s looking at you anyway.”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It was a trick I’d learned years ago. One. Two. Three. The urge to scream would pass. Four. Five. Six. The urge to run would fade. Seven. Eight. Nine. By ten, I would be invisible again.
Ten.
I opened my eyes and made my way to my room.
I pulled on the blue dress. It had been my mother’s. I had hidden it for years, wearing it only when I needed to remember who I was before this place swallowed me whole. The fabric was faded now, the hem frayed, but it still fit.
When I came downstairs, Uncle Richard was waiting by the door. His eyes traveled over me with something that looked like satisfaction.
“Good. Let’s go.”
A black car waited outside. I climbed into the back seat and pressed myself against the door, as far from him as possible. He didn’t speak during the drive. He simply stared out the window, swirling whiskey in a crystal glass that used to belong to my mother.
I watched the city pass by. Lights. Buildings. People living lives I couldn’t imagine. The car pulled up to a tall building that seemed to scrape the sky. The Obsidian Casino. I had heard the name whispered in Uncle Richard’s house.
“Out,” he said.
I climbed out on trembling legs. My heels were too small, handed down from Celeste months ago. They pinched with every step.
Inside, the lobby glittered with gold and marble. Men in expensive suits watched us pass. Women in diamonds barely glanced in my direction. We were escorted to a private elevator by a man whose suit cost more than an average man’s salary.
The elevator rose without a sound.
The doors opened onto a penthouse office that was bigger than our entire house. Floor to ceiling windows. A desk the size of a car. Expensive art on the walls.
And there, standing with his back to us, was a man who radiated power without even turning around.
Uncle Richard shoved me forward. I stumbled, catching myself on a leather chair.
“Mr. Vale,” Uncle Richard said, and his voice had changed. It was smaller now. “I brought her as promised.”
The man turned.
He looked young. Maybe thirty. His suit was dark, perfectly tailored, and his eyes were the color of winter storms. His face was beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful. Sharp. Precise. And deadly.
His eyes landed on me and did not move.
“This is her?” His voice was low and calm.
“Ivy,” Uncle Richard said. “My late brother’s daughter. As agreed.”
Agreed. The word echoed in my skull. What agreement? What had he done?
Mr. Vale walked toward me slowly. Each step was measured and controlled. He stopped when he was close enough to touch me, close enough that I could smell leather and something like smoke.
He reached out and took my chin between his fingers. His grip was firm but not rough. He tilted my face toward the light, examining me the way a man might examine a purchase.
“She’ll do,” he said quietly.
Uncle Richard exhaled. “Then the debt is settled?”
“The debt is settled.” Dorian Vale released my chin but did not step back. His eyes held mine. “The contract is signed. She belongs to me now.”
The words didn’t make sense. Belong to him? Contract?
“Uncle Richard,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “What… what is he talking about?”
But Uncle Richard was already backing toward the elevator. His face was flushed with relief. He looked at me the way he had looked at me every day for thirteen years. Like I was nothing.
“You should have been grateful for what I gave you,” he said. “Now you’ll get what you deserve.”
The elevator doors closed behind him.
I was alone with Mr. Vale.
He walked to his desk and picked up a folder. He opened it, and I saw papers. Legal documents. My name printed in clean black ink.
“Do you know what this is?” He asked.
I shook my head. My throat was too tight for words.
“Your uncle owed me three million dollars. He couldn’t pay. So he offered something else.” He closed the folder and set it down. “A marriage contract. You are now my wife.”
The room tilted. My knees buckled. I grabbed the back of a chair to keep myself standing.
“I can’t,” I breathed. “I don’t even know you.”
“You don’t need to know me.” His voice was flat. “You only need to belong to me.”
He walked toward me again, and I realized with dawning horror that there was nowhere to run. No door I could reach before he caught me. No one would help me if I screamed.
“Your uncle told me about you,” he said, stopping inches away. “Orphaned. Penniless. No one who would miss you if you disappeared.”
“Please,” I whispered. “Please let me go.”
He smiled. It was not a kind smile.
“Let you go?” He reached out and traced a finger down my cheek. His touch was cold. “I don’t think you understand your situation. You are not a guest here. You are not a bride. You are payment for a debt.”
He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing my ear.
“And I always collect what I am owed.”
- Writer
