Page 88 of Forbidden Forget-Me-Not
“Benefiting the family is not the same as benefiting me,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm building under my ribs. “You are forcing me into a life that I don’t want.”
His expression did not change.
“You were born into this life.”
Silence filled the room.
I stepped back from his desk and shook my head.
“You cannot punish me into obedience. That’s not leadership. That’s fear.”
“Fear,” he repeated coolly, “is sometimes a necessary tool. Especially when dealing with petulant daughters that have forgotten their place.” He stood and glared at me. “You will do what is right for this family. That is your duty.”
My mother moved. “Dimitri, this is uncalled for. Taking Atlas—”
He shot her a hard glare. “She needs to understand that her actions have consequences.”
I laughed once, disbelieving what I was hearing.
“Consequences for what? Riding well? Living my life? Refusing to let you marry me off to some creep that will abuse me if given a chance. All for what? A larger bank account?”
His jaw flexed.
“Daughter, I told you when you turned eighteen that this day would come, and you said you understood.”
“I was a child,” I yelled. “And you were my hero. I never thought you would put me in harms way and call it a good business deal.”
“You are behaving like a dramatic child throwing a tantrum. You confuse independence with defiance. You can be independent and do what is right. Instead, you reject your responsibilities. And Julian wouldn’t be the way he is with you if you showed him respect.”
I shook my head. “And you are confusing being a father with ownership.”
The words hung between us, even the air going still.
Mom tried again. “Dimitri, please. Kaylani is our daughter, not a business transaction.”
He walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink.
“Enough, woman. I do not even know why you are in here,” Father said.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an ill-behaved dog,” Mom snarled. I had never seen her so angry. “Or you might find I am the next one who moves out.”
My jaw dropped.
Father turned and glared between us.
“Well, it seems I know where you’ve suddenly developed your insolent streak. You will not compete. If you ever want to set foot in that stable again, you will meet the candidates I approve of with serious consideration, or that horse will be on a plane out of this country.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“I won’t,” I growled.
His gaze hardened into steel. “You overestimate your leverage.”
“And you underestimate me.”
For a fraction of a second, something passed between us. Recognition. Maybe even respect. Then it was gone.
