Chapter 3

The air in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Library was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume, old paper, and the sharp, metallic tang of chilled champagne. It was a sensory overload that made my head spin, a deliberate disorientation that I hadn’t fully accounted for when I had agreed to this. I stood near the arched doorway leading to the inner rotunda, my fingers twisting the silk sash of my emerald gown. The fabric was cool against my skin, but my cheeks burned. I could feel the weight of the room’s attention, a collective gaze that had settled on me like a physical touch, though mostly it was just the hum of polite conversation and the clink of crystal. He was across the room, leaning against a marble pillar, watching me. Daddy. The word echoed in my mind, not as a label of relation, but as a title of authority, of ownership. It was a strange, twisting knot in my stomach, a mix of pride and submission that made my knees weak. He wore a tuxedo that fit him with predatory perfection, the black fabric swallowing the light, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the