Daniel's POV
The silence in the house was loud. The same I'd grown used to over the years, but tonight it pressed differently against the walls. She was here now.
I hadn't planned on taking her this soon. My original intent had been simpler: her father would repay his debt in property, stock, or whatever scraps he had left. But the man was more desperate than I expected. Pathetic. Offering me his daughter as though she were nothing. He thought I'd laugh, maybe refuse. Instead, I accepted. Not because I needed another complication in my life, but because I saw the perfect opportunity for my revenge staring back at me.
His daughter, Mara.
I poured myself a drink, the crystal clinking against the decanter. Scotch. The same brand my father favored before his empire was ripped from him. I remembered being fourteen, watching everything collapse. Most of our properties sold off, my mother slowly losing herself. When my father became ill, my sister, Rhea ran to our extended family members for help and was sent away like a beggar.
We were deserted by everyone. Eventually my father died. All because men like Richard Kensington played with power like a game of cards. Mara's father wasn't the only one, but he was part of it. He climbed higher while we fell.
Now his daughter sat upstairs, under my roof, under my control. I had thought he would be completely shattered but instead, he offered her to me like he had been searching for a way to get rid of her a long time ago.
She looked fragile when I first saw her, seated at that glossy table, her family's disdain thick enough to taste. I'd seen her at that dinner table, surrounded by people who should have protected her and instead tore her down.
Pathetic.
Marriage crossed my mind all afternoon. Not because I need a wife. Not because I believe in it. But because a contract that strong leaves no loopholes. Her father can't buy her back, can't manipulate her from the sidelines. But the thought unsettled me. Marriage is permanence, and permanence is dangerous. It means admitting she matters.
But she doesn't matter. She's payment. That's all this is. Mara Kensington is the one thing her father can never have back. The satisfaction of that is enough for my revenge.
By the time the clock struck eight, my nerves were strung tight. The scotch burned down my throat. Enough thinking. Time to act.
I went downstairs to the dining room. Selene had already set the table: long, gleaming under the chandelier, silverware neatly arranged. Two place settings. I sat at the head, one hand around a glass of red wine, the other tapping against polished wood. My pulse was steady, but I could feel the edge of anticipation under my skin.
She appeared in the doorway, fingers curling against the frame.She looked smaller against the expanse of marble and glass.
"Sit," I said.
She slipped into the chair opposite me. Food wasn't served yet, just water, wine, and silence. Her eyes darted to mine, then away.
Finally, I spoke. "Your father owes me more than he can ever repay. Money, influence, favors. His name is practically dust in my hands."
She swallowed. "Then why… why me?"
"Because he offered you," I said without hesitation. "And because I accepted."
Her lips parted. "You could've said no."
"Refusing a gift would have been… impolite."
"I'm not a gift. I'm not property."
"No." My lips curved. "You're just here as payment. But things will change."
Her pulse jumped. I could see it in the way her hands tightened around the chair. "Change?" she asked, cautious.
I leaned back, swirling the wine in my glass. "Marriage."
The word hung between us like a blade.
She blinked. "Marriage?"
"Yes." I set the glass down, eyes fixed on hers.
Her breath hitched. "You can't be serious---"
"I am always serious." My tone stayed calm, even, but I saw her protest falter. "It will formalize everything, make it binding. I'll speak with your father about it."
"No. You can't. He has no right to decide that for me."
"He already decided to hand you over. You belong to me now. The marriage is just a way to make things seem less complicated."
"That's insane. I don't even know you."
"You will."
I watched her stare at me, her green eyes scanning my face. The staff arrived then, setting down plates before us without a word. She didn't touch hers. She probably felt too uncomfortable to eat.
Across the table, she sat frozen, eyes wide. I caught a flicker of something in her face. Disbelief, anger, fear and for a split second, beneath it all, a kind of heartbreak.
The rest of dinner passed in silence, my knife scraping softly against porcelain. In here, it was just us. Her father's debt. My revenge.