Chapter 3

"Don't be ridiculous!" Aiden's brow furrowed, his tone severe. "It's an honor that the Volker family has chosen you! As a daughter of the Vance family, it is your duty to contribute to the family's future!"

"Contribute?"

I shot to my feet, pointing a trembling finger at Isabella, who was practically glowing with schadenfreude. The resentment and fury I'd been swallowing for years finally erupted. "The Vance family has more than one daughter. Why don't you send her?"

"Insolence!" Aiden slammed his hand on the table, his face contorted with rage. "Isabella is already married, how could she go? Besides, matters of strategic alliance should fall to the family's direct bloodline."

"So you do remember I'm your biological daughter."

My heart turned to ice as I stared at him. "All these years, you've showered all your love on Isabella, even letting her steal my fiancé. Now, you're going to sacrifice my entire future. I wish to God I wasn't your daughter!"

As I screamed the words, a flicker of hesitation crossed Aiden's eyes.

"Eleanor! How can you speak to Dad like that!" Isabella chimed in, her voice sharp. "Mom and Dad are just doing what's best for you. The Volkers are so powerful. Once you marry into their family, no one will ever dare to look down on you again."

Her words were like gasoline on a fire. Aiden's resolve hardened instantly. "Isabella is right. We're doing this for your own good."

"For my good?"

A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips as my gaze swept over their hypocritical faces. "Search your souls and tell me, since the day she came into this house, have any of you genuinely cared about me? My fiancé betrayed me, and you turned a blind eye. Now, for the so-called good of the family, you want to marry me off to some old man! What am I to you? Just a tool? A pawn you can sacrifice whenever you please?"

Bianca seemed momentarily moved, her lips parting as if to speak, but Aiden cut her off with a roar.

"Enough! Eleanor, look at yourself! You're bitter, sharp-tongued, with no manners whatsoever! Isabella is a hundred times more sensible than you!"

With that, Aiden stood up in a fury, yanked a pistol from a drawer, and pointed it straight at me. "I'm telling you now, you either marry him, or you die! The Vance family will act as if we never had a daughter named Eleanor!"

The threat struck me like a bolt of lightning. I trembled, staring at him in disbelief.

My own father. Not only was he forcing me to marry a man old enough to be an old man, but he was also pointing a gun at me for resisting.

In that instant, my heart didn't just break; it shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

So-called family ties, so-called blood bonds, they were utterly worthless in the face of personal gain.

Isabella watched the whole drama unfold before stepping in, her voice syrupy sweet. "Dad, don't be rash. Eleanor's just not thinking clearly right now. Once she calms down, she'll understand you have her best interests at heart."

Bianca's attitude toward me had also soured into impatience. "Eleanor, look what you've done to your father! Aren't you going to apologize?"

I looked at the three of them, a perfect little family unit. And I was the outsider.

A tidal wave of grief and despair crashed over me. Rather than being treated like unwanted trash in this house, maybe it was better to be married off. Better to pretend I no longer had a family at all.

"Fine," I said, closing my eyes. My voice was eerily calm, the sound of a soul that had given up. "I'll marry him."

Aiden flinched, surprised, then slowly lowered the gun. The rage on his face softened slightly. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Isabella, on the other hand, was beaming. "Eleanor, I'm so glad you've come to your senses. Don't worry, even after you're married into the Volker family, Mom and Dad will still love you just as much as they always have."

"I'm leaving," I cut her off, my voice flat, and turned my back on them.

Leaving the Vance estate, I wandered the streets like a ghost. I felt abandoned by the entire world, with nowhere to go.

Before I knew it, my feet had carried me to an underground bar called Inferno.

The heavy wooden door, the tarnished brass sign, the lazy jazz music drifting from within—it all had a certain vintage, world-weary vibe.

The name felt fitting. It was exactly where I was.

A bitter smile touched my lips as I pushed the door open. The scent of tobacco and aged liquor hit me first. Under the dim, moody lighting, plush red velvet chairs and a dark wood bar oozed a sultry charm.

I slid onto a high stool at the far end of the bar and ordered the strongest liquors they had.

Tequila, whiskey, and absinthe. I wanted to drown myself in them, to erase the memory of that house, to forget the miserable fate that awaited me.

Just as I was about to down another shot of absinthe, the potent anise flavor made me choke, sending me into a coughing fit. As I reached for the glass again, a hand—lean, with well-defined knuckles and a black tattoo snaking around the wrist—pressed down on it, stopping me.

My vision swam as I looked up.

There, under the flickering, dreamlike lights, was the man from last night.

He was still in a black suit, but this time without a tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He blended into the decadent, vintage atmosphere of the bar with an almost supernatural ease.

"Drinking again?" His voice was low, laced with that distinct, captivating Italian accent.

Normally, my internal alarm bells would be screaming.

But tonight, the alcohol had armed me with a reckless courage I'd never known.

I didn't pull my hand away. Instead, I let his touch guide me, leaning forward until I was almost in his lap.

"What's the matter? Want to buy me a drink?" My voice was husky from the liquor, threaded with a deliberate tease.

He just looked at me, his eyes dark and deep, swirling with an emotion I couldn't decipher.

His gaze drifted down to my collarbone, then slowly, deliberately, traveled back up to meet my eyes.

"You were drunk last night," he said, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. "But we didn't do anything."

"Is that so? What a shame," I purred, tilting my head, though a wave of relief washed over me.

Honestly, in true alpha-male fashion, he was ridiculously my type.

The thought of being shackled to a sixty-year-old man sent a fresh wave of bitterness through me. After I married that fossil, I'd probably never have a chance to see someone like him again.

A pang of regret hit me, and a wild impulse took hold.

I stood slightly, leaning in close to his ear. "Why don't we take this somewhere else?"

I always followed the rules, was propositioning a man. The same man. Twice.

But I was so tired. So tired of fighting, of hurting. I just wanted to indulge, just once. To let myself fall into a darkness so deep I wouldn't feel anything at all.

Without waiting for his reply, I hooked my arms around his neck, tilted my head back, and pressed a kiss to the pulse point on his throat. My eyes were hazy as I looked up at him. "Take me away again. Please?"

His body went rigid for a split second, the muscles in his arm flexing under my touch.

Then, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He wrapped an arm around my waist, lifting me effortlessly from the stool, and started walking us toward the exit.

In the top-floor presidential suite, the only sound was the ragged cadence of our breathing.

The man pressed me against the cold wall, his kiss a tempest, a storm I had been waiting for.

This time, I wasn't passive. I met his fire with my own.

We were like two wounded animals, tearing at each other in the dark, trying to claw out some semblance of warmth, or maybe just to prove to ourselves that we were still alive.

"Last night," I murmured between his kisses, my voice a hazy whisper. "What did you say to me?"