Page 112 of Stolen Innocence

Before I can wipe it away, Father catches sight of the tear. Ever the consummate showman, he uses it. “Ah.” He laughs gently into the microphone, and with a proud smile, he brushes the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Tears of joy.”

The room positively melts. A collectiveawwrises from the guests. They see a moved daughter overwhelmed by happiness on her father’s big night. The cameras flash even more furiously, eager to immortalize this tender moment. No one can possibly hear the way my heart is shattering.

Chase pulls me into his side as the applause swells again. He leans in, brushing a kiss against my temple for the cameras, his voice so low only I can hear. “That’s my girl.”

My stomach churns at the possessive tilt of his words.I’m not your anything,I want to spit, but I catch sight of his smile and I know I have to match it. I have to play along.

Across the ballroom, near a cluster of black-clad security staff, Dredyn stands at the forefront of the trio, half a step ahead as if he had started to surge forward. Jasper’s hand clamps onto Dredyn’s arm, fingers white with the effort of holding him back.

My boys.

Inside, I’m screaming.Do something!I beg silently, my nails biting into my palms.

Make it stop. Please, someone, make this stop.

But of course, they can’t. Not here, not now.

The applause is finally beginning to ebb as guests sip their champagne and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. Father has stepped down from the podium to mingle again, and the string orchestra eases into a soft waltz. The formal announcements are over, and the celebration truly begins. People will soon approach to congratulate us.

No one notices that my hands are shaking. My vision blurs again, and I tear my eyes away from that reflection before it crushes me completely.

Chase’s hand slides up from my waist to the middle of my back, guiding me gently off the stage. He’s still waving to well-wishers, playing the charming groom-to-be. I move beside him, the cheers washing over me in waves of static.

As we reach the bottom of the steps, another server appears at my elbow, offering a fresh glass of champagne on a silver tray. The bubbles catch the chandelier light. I lift it slightly and that’s when I see it.

Etched faintly into the crystal, right beneath the rim, is the Syndicate seal—a dagger stabbing through an open book, blood dripping down the page.

I stare at it for a long moment, pulse thrumming in my throat. Then Chase leans close, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“Smile, sweetheart. And play the game.”

TO BE CONTINUED…