The drive back from the Winterland estate was wrapped in an unusually heavy silence that filled the vehicle's rear compartment. Zeraida sat quietly beside Xaviere, her gaze fixed entirely upon the passing city lights blurring through the tinted window.
Her father's bitter confession continued replaying continuously through her mind, each word stinging like an open wound.
Protection, she thought, her fingers tightening into a pale fist against her knee. It was always disguised as protection.
The word had become almost entirely unbearable to her ears. For three long years, she had fought with every ounce of her strength to escape a family that firmly believed their immense wealth gave them the absolute right to determine her future.
Then she had walked straight into a high-society marriage that, completely unbeknownst to her, had been meticulously constructed by those exact same families for an even greater, hidden purpose.
