The morning of the Hart gala felt like the dawn of a trial. I woke up before the sun had even managed to pierce the thick, gray London fog, my skin still feeling the ghost of Jalen's touch from the library. My room in the Harry mansion was a masterpiece of cold, sterile elegance—white marble, pale blue silk, and antiques that were too fragile to actually use. It was a room designed for a doll, not a woman with a monster's mark on her soul.
I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection. I looked the same—the same pale skin, the same wide, innocent eyes—but I felt like a stranger to myself. Underneath the lace of my nightgown, tucked into the hidden pocket of my silk robe, was the emerald green ribbon. It was my secret talisman, a piece of the man who was currently the most dangerous variable in my life.
"Fiona?" My father's voice barked through the door before he pushed it open. He didn't believe in privacy; to him, I was an asset, and he was the manager.
"I'm awake, Father," I said, smoothing my hair.
He walked into the room, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of the "distraction" Jude had mentioned. "Tonight is the most important social engagement of the quarter. Marian Hart is a woman of immense influence. Her family's ties to the university and the shipping industry are the pillars we need to secure our next move."
"I understand," I replied, the familiar script rolling off my tongue.
"I have had the stylist send over three options," he continued, gesturing toward the garment bags my maid had just brought in. "Choose the gold. It speaks of wealth and restraint. We are there to show Jalen our support, but more importantly, we are there to remind Marian that the Harry family is a force of stability."
Stability. The word felt like a joke. If my father knew that the man he viewed as a pillar of stability had pinned me against a library table and promised to consume me, he would burn the city down just to hide the shame.
After he left, I unzipped the bag containing the gold dress. It was beautiful, but it was a cage. High-collared, long-sleeved, and stiff. It was designed to hide everything—my collarbone, my back, my pulse.
I reached into my drawer and pulled out the green ribbon. My fingers brushed the soft silk, and a sudden, rebellious thought took hold. If I had to wear my father's "gold cage," I would wear Jalen's mark beneath it.
I spent the next hour in a meticulous ritual of preparation. I bathed in oils that smelled of vanilla and sea salt, a scent Jalen had once mentioned he found "disturbing in its sweetness." I applied my makeup with surgical precision, making my eyes look wider and more vulnerable, a mask of innocence that would act as my greatest weapon.
As the maid zipped me into the gold dress, I felt the familiar weight of the Harry legacy settling over me. But as she turned to fetch my jewelry, I quickly tied the emerald green ribbon around my thigh, high enough that the heavy silk of the skirt would hide it completely. The silk felt like a brand, a secret fire burning against my skin. Every time I moved, the friction would remind me of who I truly belonged to.
"You look perfect, Miss Fiona," the maid whispered, pinning a diamond brooch to my shoulder.
"Perfect," I repeated, the word sounding like a sentence.
I walked down the grand staircase to meet my father. He looked me over, nodding in approval. To him, I was the perfect "Purchasing and Supply" success story—a high-quality product ready for delivery.
The drive to the Hart estate was a blur of rain and anxiety. The estate was located in the heart of Belgravia, a massive white-stone mansion that looked like a fortress of old money. As our car pulled into the circular driveway, I saw the other luxury vehicles lined up—Jude's flashy sports car, the black sedans of university board members, and the sleek, lethal vehicles of London's elite.
The front doors were opened by liveried staff, and we were ushered into a foyer that was even more intimidating than the university. The air here was different—it didn't smell like old books; it smelled like power, cold and sharp.
"Stay close to me," my father commanded as we moved toward the receiving line.
And then, I saw them.
Jalen and Marian stood at the end of the hall, the perfect couple. Marian was in a dress of shimmering silver, her blonde hair styled in a way that looked like a crown of ice. She was the "Iron Orchid" in her natural habitat, her smile as sharp as a diamond.
And Jalen. He was in a black tuxedo, his white shirt blindingly bright against the dark fabric. He looked like a king receiving his subjects. His expression was a mask of professional boredom, but as we approached, his eyes shifted.
He didn't look at my face. He didn't look at my father. His gaze dropped to my waist, then lower, as if he could sense the green ribbon hidden beneath the gold silk.
"Fiona," Marian said, her voice like wind-chimes in a graveyard. She stepped forward and took my hands, her touch freezing. "You look... radiant. Gold suits you. It's the color of things that are meant to be kept in a vault."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hart," I said, meeting her eyes. "It's a beautiful evening."
"It's an evening for truth," Marian whispered, leaning in so close I could smell her bitter-orange perfume. "I hope you're prepared for what comes next."
She stepped back, her smile never reaching her eyes, and moved to greet the next guest. I felt Jalen's presence before he spoke. He stepped toward my father, shaking his hand, but his shoulder brushed mine. The heat was instantaneous, a jolt of electricity that made my knees weak.
"Professor Hart," my father said, his voice booming with false warmth. "A magnificent home. A magnificent night."
"It's a night for milestones," Jalen replied, his voice deep and resonant. He finally looked at me, his stormy eyes dark with a message I alone could read. "I hope your daughter finds the tour of the gallery tonight... educational. I have added several new pieces that I think will interest her specifically."
"Education is why she's here," my father said, oblivious to the war happening under his nose.
As we moved into the ballroom, I felt the green ribbon pull against my skin. The "Monster" was in his castle, and his wife was watching from the throne. Jude was in the corner, a glass of champagne in his hand and a sneer on his face.
I was surrounded by enemies, trapped in a gold cage, with a secret wrapped around my leg. I had never felt more alive. The feast was about to begin, and I knew that before the night was over, blood would be spilled—metaphorically or otherwise.
I took a deep breath, the scent of the room—expensive, cold, and heavy—filling my lungs. The game was no longer about grades or secrets. It was about survival. And as Jalen caught my eye from across the room, raising his glass in a silent, predatory toast, I knew that I
was the only thing on the menu