The dining room was a cathedral of polished marble and quiet judgment.
A chandelier dripped crystals overhead, casting fractured light across the long table where the Margot family sat in perfect silence—perfect, except for the sound of my unsteady breathing. I sat at the far end, clutching my silverware like a lifeline, wishing I were anywhere else. The food on my plate—delicate, expensive, untouched—might as well have been stone.
Mrs. Margot didn’t bother disguising the disdain in her eyes.
“You’re sitting like you’ve never seen real cutlery before,” she said, swirling her wine. “Do they not teach table manners at… what was it? The convent?”
I swallowed hard. “We… don’t eat like this.”
“Obviously.”
My cheeks burned. I tried to keep my gaze low, but it drifted upward—toward him.
Sebastian Margot.
He hadn’t spoken since the meal began. He sat across from me, posture relaxed but gaze sharp, like a man who observed everything but offered nothing in return. The candlelight carved shadows along his jaw, making him look even more unreadable, more dangerous.
He finally lifted his eyes, pinning me with a look that made my breath catch.
“So,” he said, voice smooth as dark velvet, “you’re Isla. The nun.”
My fingers tightened around the rosary hidden in my skirt pocket. “I’m a novice, not yet vowed, but—yes. I intend to take final vows in a few months.”
Mrs. Margot snorted. “Not anymore.”
The words hit like a slap.
“I—I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she said, waving a hand. “Your father has arranged something far more suitable for you. And Sebastian has agreed to keep our families aligned.”
My heart dropped. “Agreed to… what?”
Sebastian’s eyes never left mine. “To the marriage.”
The room tilted.
“No.” My voice cracked. “I can’t. I belong to the Church. I made commitments—”
“Commitments that don’t matter,” Mrs. Margot snapped. “You’re a child playing dress-up. This family has real responsibilities—alliances, reputation, power. You will do as you’re told.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “I won’t marry someone I’ve never met.”
Sebastian leaned back, studying me like I was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. “You met me today,” he said casually. “Now you know me.”
“That’s not knowing,” I whispered.
His expression sharpened. “It’s enough.”
The finality in his tone made my stomach twist. This wasn’t a proposal.
It was a verdict.
I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping loudly across the marble. “I won’t do this.”
Mrs. Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Sit. Down.”
But I stood frozen, shaking, breath caught in my throat.
The air shifted—cold, tense—when Sebastian rose from his seat. He moved slowly, deliberately, walking around the table until he stood inches from me.
I felt small. Cornered. But I didn’t look away.
His voice was quiet, almost intimate. “Your father signed the contract this morning. Your life is no longer your own to negotiate.”
“My life is mine,” I whispered fiercely.
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but something far more dangerous.
Challenge.
Possession.
“We’ll see.”
The confrontation didn’t end in the dining room.
Hours later, I was ushered into the study where my father sat behind a mahogany desk, his signature still drying on the marriage papers. Mrs. Margot hovered at his side, smiling like a vulture.
“You’ll thank us one day,” she said. “The Church will forget you. Sebastian will shape you.”
“He doesn’t want me,” I said, voice trembling. “He wants whatever alliance you’re forcing.”
“Close enough,” she said coolly. “Love is irrelevant.”
I backed away, my rosary digging into my palm so hard it hurt. “I want my vows. My life. My freedom.”
“That’s over,” my father said without looking up from his papers.
Something cracked inside me.
That night, they dragged me to a charity gala—my first social event. My dress was too tight, my shoes too tall, my voice too small to compete with the glittering cruelty of the room.
Women whispered behind jeweled hands.
“She’s the convent girl.”
“She looks terrified.”
“A Margot bride? Embarrassing.”
Men stared like I was a novelty piece.
I tried to breathe but the room spun, suffocating under the weight of eyes that saw me as nothing but a transaction.
Then Sebastian appeared at my side, placing a hand lightly—too lightly—on my back. It felt like a claim.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered.
“I know.”
His voice softened. For a moment, something almost human passed in his eyes.
Then it was gone.
“You’ll learn,” he said.
“Learn what?”
“How to belong to this world.”
“I don’t belong to you,” I said, breath unsteady.
His lips curved—not a smile, but a warning.
“You will.”
His hand pressed firmer against my spine, guiding me forward into a world built to break me.
And I realized with a cold, sinking clarity:
Faith wasn’t the thing being tested now.
I was.