SoldThe rain fell in sheets outside the dusty window, blurring the world beyond the glass. Amethyst clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white, heart hammering so loudly she wondered if her father could hear it over the storm.
"You can't do this to me," she whispered. "Please, Father. I'm your daughter."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Her father didn't look at her. He stood by the fire, his shoulders stiff, eyes locked on the flickering flames. The smell of whiskey clung to him, heavy and bitter.
"It's done," he said. "I gave my word."
"To him?" Her voice rose, desperate now. "You're giving me to that man? That... monster?"
"Watch your mouth," he snapped. "You don't know him."
"I know enough," she spat, taking a shaky step forward. "Everyone knows what he is. Cold. Dangerous. People vanish around him. He doesn't feel—he doesn't love."
Her father turned then, finally meeting her eyes. "It's either you or everything we have. He gave me a choice. I chose you."
The words sliced through her like a knife. Her breath caught, and for a moment she couldn't speak.
"Is that all I am to you?" she whispered. "A bargaining chip?"
Before he could answer, the sound of tires on gravel reached them. A sleek black car pulled up to the front of the house, its windows dark, its presence suffocating. Amethyst stepped back as if she could hide in the shadows, as if that would stop what was coming.
The front door creaked open.
And he stepped in.
Luciano Moretti.
Tall, dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair slicked back, sharp cheekbones like they were carved from ice. He was more beautiful than she remembered, and far more terrifying. His cold, unreadable eyes landed on her, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
A slow smile curled his lips—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Amethyst," he said, his voice deep, smooth, and utterly emotionless. "Come."
She didn't move.
Luciano's gaze flicked to her father. "We had a deal."
"Go with him," her father growled. "Don't make this worse."
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Her pride was all she had left.
She turned back to Luciano, lifting her chin. "You can force me to go with you," she said, voice shaking, "but you'll never have me."
He took a step forward, closing the space between them. His presence was overwhelming—danger wrapped in silk and ice. He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, voice like a blade wrapped in velvet. "I already do."
And just like that, he took her hand—cold, firm, final—and led her out into the rain.