No. Absolutely not.
Aurora's fingers curled around the edge of the table, her nails digging into the smooth wood.
How dare he?
"No, Dad! I refuse to marry a man I don't even know just for the sake of the company!"
Her voice rang through the grand dining room, shattering the poised silence that had always existed in this house. The high ceilings and expensive paintings did nothing to soften the weight of her words as they clashed against her father's unshakable presence.
Across from her, Mr. Everly barely blinked. His face remained composed, but the tightening of his fingers around his whiskey glass gave him away. The ice clinked softly, the only sound in the vast room aside from her erratic breathing.
To him, this was not an argument.
It was just a transaction.
"Aurora, be reasonable," he said, his voice smooth and low. The practiced tone he used to close deals and manipulate contracts.
"This isn't just any man. He is powerful and well-connected. This will benefit you."
A bitter laugh scraped its way up her throat. Benefit me?
She shook her head in disbelief, her nails pressing deeper into the polished surface of the table. Of course, that's how he saw it.
"You make it sound like I'm a product to be sold," she snapped, her voice laced with resentment.
But that was exactly what she was to him—a carefully groomed heiress, prepped and polished for the highest bidder.
Her father sighed, slow and patient, as if she was the unreasonable one. "This is about securing your future."
A sharp pang spread through her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Her future? Or the company's?
She didn't even need to ask.
Aurora's pulse pounded in her ears as she shoved back her chair, the legs screeching against the marble floors.
She couldn't do this.
If she stayed even a second longer, he'd start again—calm words laced with manipulation, his voice weaving a net around her, tightening until she second-guessed everything.
But not this time.
She turned on her heel, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor as she strode toward the grand staircase.
"Aurora…"
His voice carried through the air, rich with expectation and laced with duty.
It pressed against her back like a heavy weight, the same weight she'd carried all her life.
But she ignored it.
Not because she didn't hear him. But because if she stopped now, she wasn't sure she'd be able to walk away.
A Prison Wrapped in Gold
Aurora Everly was beautiful.
Curves in all the right places.
Sultry, hypnotic eyes that could bring any man to his knees.
Full lips that whispered power, elegance, and privilege.
Men wanted her.
Women envied her.
To the world, she was a princess wrapped in gold, dripping in diamonds and luxury.
But to her?
It was a prison.
A cage made of glass and expectations, where every move was watched and every step was dictated by rules she never agreed to.
She reached her bedroom and slammed the door shut, pressing her back against it as she took a steadying breath.
Her hands shook as she moved to her closet, yanking a small bag off the shelf.
She didn't need much.
Just enough to get away.
Jeans. A sweater. Some shirts.
Underwear. Toothbrush.
Her hands moved on autopilot, stuffing the bag with necessities as her mind raced.
She needed out. Even if it was just for the weekend.
Her gaze flicked to her phone, hesitation creeping up her spine.
After a moment, she typed out a quick message.
Can I come over?
She hit send before she could second guess herself.
Vincent.
Her secretary. Her voice of reason… Her only friend.
The only person who kept her sane in this twisted, suffocating world.
Seconds ticked by but no reply.
Her fingers tapped against the dresser, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.
One… two… three… four… five…
Still nothing.
She exhaled sharply and hit the call button.
Two rings.
Then, his clipped, professional tone. "Good afternoon, Miss Everly. How can I assist you?"
Aurora's jaw tightened.
"Vincent, did you not see my text?"
"Can I come over for the weekend?"
"No."
Her breath caught. "Wait!...No?"
"No," Vincent repeated, his tone perfectly unfazed, as if she had just asked him to commit a crime.
Her pulse spiked.
"Vincent, come on." She exhaled, forcing her voice into a calm she did not feel. "It's just two days. I'll be back for work on Monday."
Silence.
She tried again, this time, her voice pleading. "I just… I need a break, okay? I might actually lose my mind."
"Fine," Vincent said, sounding thoroughly unamused. "Door's open. Don't make me regret this."
A victorious smirk tugged at her lips.
"Trust me," she murmured, grabbing her car keys. "You won't."
The moment she stepped out of her room, she heard her father's call.
"Aurora."
That voice soo commanding and calculated.
I hated when he use this voice on me.
The voice of a man who had spent his life winning battles in boardrooms, always in control.
Her heartbeat pounded as she descended the staircase, her pulse a steady and determined rhythm.
If she hesitated—even for a second—he'd see it.
The doubt.
The hesitation.
And he'd use it.
"Aurora," her father called again, his voice sharp now. "Don't walk away from this conversation."
Conversation?...really?
Well that was a generous way to put it.
She reached the grand entrance, her fingers curling around the door handle.
"Aurora, listen to me," he said, voice edged with a warning.
She turned her body a little just enough to glance over her shoulder.
Their eyes met.
Hazel against stormy blue.
"I am listening, father."
"I just don't like what I'm hearing."
And without another word, she stepped out of the house.