Chapter 1 — The Imprisoned Pawn
Lynette
The steady hum of my father’s voice filtered through the heavy oak doors of his study, an unrelenting rhythm of control. I lingered outside, my pulse thudding in my ears, debating whether to listen further. The fragments I’d already overheard painted a clear enough picture, and yet, I couldn’t seem to walk away.
“The D’Angelo arrangement is finalized. Lynette won’t have a choice.”
Finalized. No choice.
The words grated against my mind, sharp and unyielding. My nails dug into my palms, leaving crescents that bit into my skin—a futile attempt to suppress the surge of anger and helplessness rising within me. He hadn’t just crossed a line. He’d obliterated it.
The air in Delhencia Manor was thick tonight, the faint scent of varnished wood and expensive cologne suffocating me. Every inch of this house felt like his domain, his stage, where every detail whispered of control. I could storm in, demand answers, scream until my throat burned—but I knew exactly how that would end. His cutting pragmatism would strip me bare, dissecting my anger until I had nothing left but the hollow shell of his victory.
No, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I pivoted sharply, my heels clicking against the marble floor in a rhythm of defiance. Each step away from the study felt heavier, as if the house itself was conspiring to hold me back. By the time I reached my bedroom, my breath came in shallow bursts. I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, savoring the fleeting illusion of control.
The room was immaculate, every piece of furniture and gilded frame curated to perfection. It mocked me with its pristine elegance, a cage dressed in finery. My gaze caught on the small jewelry box perched on my dresser. Without thinking, I crossed the room and opened it, my fingers brushing against the delicate gold locket nestled inside. My mother’s locket. The faint floral scent of the pressed violet it held drifted up, grounding me in a memory untouched by my father’s schemes. I clasped it tightly, drawing strength from the fragile object before slipping it around my neck.
Breaking my reverie, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and scrolled to Mae’s number. My fingers trembled slightly as I pressed call.
She answered almost immediately, her voice warm and familiar. “Lynette? Is everything okay?”
“Can you meet me at The Velvet Ember?” My voice was sharp, teetering on the edge of desperation.
There was a pause, then a note of concern. “The nightclub? It’s nearly midnight—”
“Please,” I cut her off, my voice cracking under the weight of my frustration. “I need to get out of here.”
Another pause, followed by a resigned sigh. “Thirty minutes. Don’t do anything reckless before I get there, okay?”
Reckless. The word hung in the air as I ended the call. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed tonight.
---
The Velvet Ember was a world away from the gilded prison of Delhencia Manor. Red-tinted lights bathed the sleek black leather booths in shadowy hues, while the bass-heavy music reverberated through my chest, a second heartbeat. The air was thick—a heady mix of perfume, liquor, and something darker, something that thrummed beneath the surface of this place.
I stepped inside, my tailored blouse and pencil skirt earning more than a few curious glances. The crowd was a sea of sequins, plunging necklines, and sharp-edged smiles, but I ignored them, weaving through the throng with singular focus. This wasn’t about blending in. This was about escape.
Sliding onto a barstool, I ordered the strongest drink they had. When the glass was placed in front of me, I downed half of it in one go, the burn searing a path down my throat. It was harsh, unrefined, and exactly what I needed.
For a moment, I let the chaos around me drown out the storm in my head. The laughter, the flirtation, the whispered deals—none of it mattered. I focused on the condensation trailing down the side of my glass, the cold bite against my fingertips grounding me.
“Not your usual scene,” a voice drawled to my right.
I glanced over, my gaze locking onto a man leaning casually against the bar. He was tall, his dark hair brushed back to reveal piercing blue-gray eyes that seemed to hold a world of secrets. His suit, though impeccably tailored, carried an undercurrent of danger—like a blade hidden in fine silk.
“Neither is yours,” I replied, my tone cool.
A ghost of a smirk curved his lips. “Touché.”
I turned back to my drink, but his presence lingered, shifting the air around him. It was heavy, charged, like the calm before a storm.
“Careful who you talk to here,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.
I arched a brow, glancing at him again. “I can take care of myself.”
“Maybe.” His gaze flicked over me, assessing but not unkind. “But this isn’t the kind of place that forgives mistakes.”
The quiet challenge in his words stoked the embers of my defiance. Before I could respond, a hand clamped onto my arm.
“Dance with me,” slurred a voice that reeked of whiskey and bad intentions.
I yanked my arm free, my hazel eyes narrowing. “I don’t think so.”
The man’s grip tightened, his smile turning predatory. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”
“I said no,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the music.
Before I could pull away, a shadow moved between us. The dark-haired man from the bar stood there now, his presence eclipsing the space around him.
“She said no,” he said, his voice even but laced with quiet menace.
The drunk man glared, his bravado faltering under the stranger’s steely gaze. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone you don’t want to cross.”
The man hesitated, then stumbled away, muttering under his breath. I exhaled slowly, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
“Thank you,” I said stiffly, the words foreign on my tongue.
He shrugged, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. “This isn’t a place to let your guard down.”
“Noted,” I replied, my tone flat. But something in his gaze unsettled me—an intensity that seemed to peel back my defenses and peer into the turmoil I kept hidden.
Before I could respond, Mae appeared at my side, her ash-blonde waves a beacon in the dim light. Her eyes flicked between me and the stranger, suspicion evident as she looped her arm through mine.
“Lynette, are you okay?” she asked, her tone warm but protective.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though my voice felt thin.
The stranger inclined his head slightly, his gaze lingering on me for a beat too long. “Be careful, Lynette.”
A chill ran down my spine. I hadn’t told him my name. But before I could ask how he knew it, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with more questions than answers.
---
Sunlight filtered through the curtains the next morning, gilding the edges of the ornate bedroom I’d tried to forget. Every movement felt mechanical as I dressed, pulling on yet another carefully tailored outfit before heading to breakfast.
My father sat at the head of the long dining table, the newspaper in one hand and his coffee in the other. He didn’t look up as I entered.
“Lynette,” he said, his tone clipped.
“Father.” My voice was tight, anger simmering just below the surface.
“I trust you’ve had time to accept the news.”
I gripped the back of the chair, my knuckles white. “Accept it? You mean the arrangement you made without asking me?”
He finally looked up, his cold gaze settling on mine. “It’s for your benefit. The D’Angelos are powerful allies. This union will secure your future.”
“My future shouldn’t be yours to decide.”
His expression didn’t waver, but I caught the slightest flicker of impatience. “You’ll thank me one day.”
A knock at the door punctuated his words, and the butler stepped in, announcing the arrival of our guest.
“Send them in,” my father said smoothly.
The stranger from The Velvet Ember stepped into the room, his presence commanding even in the daylight. My breath caught in my throat as recognition slammed into me.
“Lynette,” my father said, his voice almost smug. “Meet Dominic D’Angelo—your fiancé.”
Dominic’s piercing gaze locked onto mine, a flicker of amusement and something darker passing between us. “Pleasure to see you again,” he said, his voice measured and deliberate.
The world tilted beneath me, and I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself. My father’s expression was one of quiet triumph as the realization hit me with the force of a thunderclap.
I wasn’t just a pawn. I was a pawn on a board I hadn’t even seen.
