The Deal That Made Me His

Ebony (6)

I keep my head bowed long after the door closes behind him. I hear when his father tells his brothers to go after him but don't react to it.

The sound of the slap still lingers against my skin, a dull warmth beneath my cheek. I barely register it anymore. That isn’t what unsettles me.

It’s him leaving. It’s the way the room shifted when he stood.

I shouldn’t have floated. I know better.

The signs are always there—the way the noise dulls, the way the edges of the room blur, the way my thoughts begin to drift somewhere far from my body. I should have grounded myself. Pressed my nails into my palm. Focused on the chandelier. Counted the breaths in my lungs.

Instead, I disappeared. And I paid for it.

My chin dips lower. Stupid.

Be better.

Honey is talking again. Father sounds irritated. Stepmother sounds offended. Melody and Harper are quiet.

I fold my hands in my lap and breathe carefully through my nose.

But there’s something else inside my chest. Something unfamiliar.

Alessio.

I hadn’t meant to look at him much tonight. It felt dangerous to look too long. He’s handsome beyond the need to be—sharp features, controlled posture, silver eyes that feel like they see everything even when he isn’t speaking. And his brothers… they look carved from the same stone. Beautiful. Composed. Untouchable.

Men like that don’t intervene.

They observe.

They judge.

They assume.

Every time someone has seen my family correct me, they always decide I must have done something wrong. That I’m difficult. Disrespectful. A problem to be managed.

I’ve grown used to the looks.

The subtle nods.

The silent agreement.

Well, what did you do?

But he didn’t ask.

He didn’t speak at all tonight.

Not once.

Until he did.

And when he did, it was to say he wouldn’t stand for me being disrespected.

Disrespected.

Not disciplined.

Not corrected.

Disrespected.

The word replays in my mind.

I press my fingers lightly against my jaw. It aches, but that’s not what makes my chest tighten.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t threaten.

He didn’t look embarrassed by me.

He just stood, folded his napkin, apologized to his father, and refused to remain.

No one has ever left because of me before.

People stay.

They watch.

They excuse it.

They decide I deserve it.

But he looked angry.

Not at me.

For me.

The feeling in my chest shifts again—warm and frightening all at once.

It's different.

That’s the only word I have for it.

Different.

I lower my head further so no one sees the change in my face.

Hope is dangerous.

And I have survived this long by not hoping for anything at all.

I don’t realize he’s speaking to me at first. It’s his tone that pulls me up.

“Ebony.” Adonis Stavrakis’ voice is firm but soft. There’s something grounding about it. It doesn’t demand. It invites.

It reminds me of Uncle Alexios.

The similarity hits me so abruptly I almost gasp. The same striking grey eyes—mercury, molten silver, swirling when the light catches them. The same sharp structure to the face. But Alexios had been more rugged. Rougher around the edges. A nasty scar slashed across the bridge of his nose that he once told me he earned in a fight.

Adonis doesn’t have the scar. He looks more refined. Less muscular than Alexios had been—but that means nothing. I can sense his strength. It hums beneath his composure.

He is a beast. Actually—all four Stavrakis men are. Predators in tailored suits.

I want to ask Adonis about Alexios. The question rises in me so sharply it almost hurts.

But my voice—it’s down there. Deep in that dark, cold well that has a massive stone rolled over it. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to move that stone.

Arnold snarls beside me. “Answer him.”

Contempt drips from Vittoria like poison. I’ve felt her judging me since I stepped into this room, the weight of her emerald eyes cutting into my skin all evening.

How does no one else feel it?

Her stare reminds me too much of my stepmother and my mother.

It's sharp and assessive, and the slight scrunch of her nose tells me she's displeased.

I shift in my seat. I hear movement behind me. Footsteps.

They’re back.

Adonis’ tone remains polite as he addresses Father. “May I ask why Ms. Vale does not respond?”

“It’s an inherent habit of hers,” Father hisses.

A lie.

Stepmother is out of her chair before I can brace myself. “She’s an embarrassment!” she shrieks. She lunges and the hit lands squarely in my shoulder.

Harper screams and Melody moves instinctively, shielding her.

Stepmother grabs at my arm. “Stand up!”

I rise slowly. And then it becomes awkward because I tower over her.

She falters and takes a small step back.

Suddenly, a dark shadow falls over us.

I look up.

Alessio is standing there.

I have never seen that kind of expression on a man’s face before.

It's murderous.

Stepmother takes several steps back, then another, until she’s cowering behind Father.

Andros’ voice cuts cleanly through the room. “She’s mute.”

A bitter silence envelopes the room.

Adonis’ expression morphs from surprise, to anger, to horror.

The heaviness in the room becomes suffocating.

Adonis turns slowly to Father. “And you did not think to inform me that your daughter cannot speak?”

Father stammers. Actually stammers. “She—she was able to speak before. She simply decided to stop.”

Decided.

Adonis looks at Melody.

“Ms. Vale,” he says carefully. “Is your sister truly able to speak?”

Melody looks at me and I give her a small nod. "She can't."

When I notice Andros, I lift my hands.

My fingers move steadily despite the tremor in my chest.

I was able to speak until an unfortunate accident occurred. I apologize if I have caused discomfort or embarrassment to your family this evening but I truly cannot speak. My father hopes that one day I may regain the ability.

Andros translates.

The room feels fragile.

Adonis exhales slowly. “I understand sign language,” he says.

That feeling again. It's strange and unfamiliar.

This is a father who prepared himself for every possible flaw his sons might have.

Mine chose to deny the ones already carved into his daughters.

Adonis’ eyes return to me. “Do you have any objections to this alliance?”

Alliance.

Not sale.

Not transaction.

Alliance.

I think about it.

That feeling again.

Father had told me he’d sold me.

But these people are asking me.

No one has ever asked my opinion before.

I lift my hands again. Then, at the end, I point to Alessio.

What does your son want?

A low chuckle leaves Adonis. “He has already agreed.”

Already agreed?

I look up at Alessio.

He avoids my eyes but he does not move away from me.

He had walked out. Said he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect.

And yet—he agreed.

I look back at Adonis.

My fingers move once more.

If he has no objection, then neither do I.

Adonis smiles. “Then that settles it.”

The word echoes.

Marriage.

I only learned today that this was a marriage.

Marriage simply dresses the word differently, because I am still being given away.

My chest tightens—not because of Alessio.

But because of Melody and Harper.

If I leave—who becomes the new target? Who absorbs the beatings and the insults? Who bears the scars? The torment? The nightmares.

Melody is strong, but she is still just a girl. Harper still laughs too loudly.

What happens when I am no longer there to stand between them and the storm?

The alliance may be settled.

But something inside me is anything but.