Seraphine waited until the soup was cleared to go for blood.
Seraphine: I have to say, Miss Kerr, you're taking this all so well.
Seraphine: Most bought women at least have the decency to look ashamed.
Bought. Like a coat. Like a piece of furniture with a receipt.
My face stayed blank, because my father's fingers were still the price of my manners.
Seraphine: I mean, we all saw the little speech at the gala. The fake pregnancy.
Seraphine: And now she's wearing a dead woman's ring. It's almost sad.
Seraphine: What does that make you, sweetheart? A placeholder with a pulse?
Lachlan set his glass down without drinking.
Every guest at that table heard it, and every one of them looked somewhere else.
Lachlan: Stand up.
Darcy: What?
Lachlan: I said stand up, Darcy.
I stood. My legs worked, which felt like a small miracle.
Every face at that table had turned into a camera with a pulse.
Lachlan: As of this morning, the Crowe archive has a new head.
Lachlan: Miss Kerr takes over the rare-book collection. Effective now.
Lachlan: If anyone here has a problem with that, they can leave.
Seraphine's glass stopped at her mouth, and her knuckles went white.
Seraphine: The archive. Darling, she restores old books in a basement.
Seraphine: That's not a promotion. That's a leash with a title on it.
Darcy: Did you just give me a job without asking me?
Lachlan: You wanted freedom. The archive has its own door.
Lachlan: And its own lock. I'll have a key made.
Seraphine: A key. How generous.
Seraphine: Does she get to lock the door when you're done with her, or does security watch that too?
Lachlan: Say her name again like that, and you'll be eating in the kitchen.
Seraphine: You wouldn't.
Lachlan: Try me, Seraphine. I've had a long week.
The room had changed direction. I could feel it.
One minute I was the bought woman. The next I had a title and a seat.
It was the first time all week I could breathe.
I slipped out during dessert for air, and got ten steps down the hall before a shoulder in a dark coat filled the space in front of me.
Darcy: I'm just going outside for five minutes.
Mr. Crowe's orders were simple, he said. I don't leave the building without him.
Darcy: Excuse me?
Not the front door. Not the garage. Not the terrace.
Darcy: So I'm not a guest. I'm a package.
He said I was a priority, Miss Kerr. There's a difference.
That's what Lachlan said about fiancée and doll. I was starting to see the pattern.
Lachlan: I thought I told you to stay at the table.
Darcy: I thought I told you I'm not a fucking dog.
Lachlan: No. You're the woman every person in that room just watched me choose.
Lachlan: You want to walk out that door and get grabbed by one of Bramwell's men?
Lachlan: Because that's what happens. He doesn't forgive. He collects.
Darcy: And you're so different. You just collect with a nicer ring.
He looked at me like I'd hit him. Good. I wanted to hit him.
Lachlan: You're right. I'm not different yet.
Lachlan: But I'm trying to keep you alive long enough to become different.
Darcy: The archive. Was that real, or just a nicer cage?
Lachlan: It's real. The job is real. The lock is real.
Lachlan: I don't know how to protect someone without owning them. I'm working on it.
I walked back into that room with his ring on my hand and his security at my back.
Safe. Chosen. Owned. The three of them felt exactly the same.
Seraphine: There she is, the archive's new head. I hope you like locked doors, sweetheart.
Locked doors. I'd wanted a job. I'd wanted to breathe.
I just hadn't checked what the key came with.
The ring on my finger felt heavier than it had an hour ago.