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Oberon Benoit, a man whose genius is recognizing it in others and profiting from it, is built broad-shouldered and hard-faced. He’s barely six feet tall, but that doesn’t stop him from towering over everyone in board meetings and contract negotiations. He wears his Armani suit like its armor, every move he makes is one of power and determination. He demands respect and recognition from every person in a fifty-foot radius. Benoit Tech is as successful as it is because he expects nothing less, and the punishment for failure is too high to risk.
Gone are the days he’d sit at my recitals or attend my horse shows. No longer does he frighten my nightmares away, letting me sleep tucked beside him while he works in bed.
I used to wonder when he stopped looking at me like his little girl and started looking at me as a business commodity. By now, I’ve stopped fixating on it. All it does is exhaust me emotionally, still bereft of answers.
“Of course. Production for the latest version of this prototype is active as we speak,” I report, moving closer to his desk and ignoring the two chairs available. No one sits in front of my father without an invitation, not even me.
“Good. I want this to be the final version. If we are going to take the lead for this new energy grid upriver, there can’t be any more delays.”
I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. He’s opened something on his computer, the leather portfolio open on his desk to the right of him. I wait, patience instilled in me since I was a young child, for him to continue. It gives me more time to look at him, searching for the father I once had.
Physically, he’s hardly changed since I was a child, though he’s in his mid-sixties now. His jaw hasn’t softened like so many others his age, and he is as strong as a man half his age. Even his hair is still a deep brown, as if his own body is too intimidated to grow a gray hair.
Even if I don’t age as well as him, I’m thankful I take after my mother. Like her, I’m slender and narrow boned. I’ll never have an ass men drool over or breasts that spill out of a bra, but I’ve never been envious of more curvaceous women. I’m old enough that the hurtful words of a guy in college don’t sting anymore. He’d been in one of my advanced marketing courses and flirted with me genuinely enough I’d thought he was truly interested.
But then at the college frat party he invited me to, I overheard him in the kitchen with his friends. How he laughed at how easy it’d be to sleep with me that night, even if it’d be like banging a two by four.
Landon called me beautiful, though, and something about his eyes told me he was sincere.
“This evening you will be attending dinner with myself and Miles,” Oberon states and finally looks over at me, his gray-blue eyes narrowed critically. “You’ll change into a dress before. Something with color. Keep it appropriate, we’re meeting a potential new contractor.”
I don’t let my expression falter from its respectful and pleasant mask. I’m wearing narrow black ankle-length pants, a long-sleeve pastel blue silk blouse with a single button black blazer. The only thing that verges on unprofessional are my black flats with delicate ankle straps. When I know I’ll be walking to and from the production floors and my team’s offices, comfortable flats are my choice. My father has often expressed how my mother always wore heels and I should too.
It’s one of the few things I refuse to try to please him with anymore. He can be happy I wear heels three-quarters of the time.
“Of course,” I say, keeping my tone pleasant and submissive. “Where are we going?”
“Alder,” he says, still watching me. It’s unnerving, and I clench my toes as I try not to show my discomfort. His eyes soften, and with them, the uncertainty disappears. In moments like these, I see a fleeting glimpse of who I remember. The father I adore.
“You look so much like her, sometimes,” he begins, his voice even but his eyes hold a touch of emotion. “I remember her at your age.”
My smile turns sincere at his words. “I wish I knew her better,” I murmur.
My mother died when I was a year old, when she accompanied him on a trip overseas. I think she knew something was going to happen, since I’m told she insisted I remain home with the nanny. Their driver had swerved to miss a deer, and their car went off the road and tumbled down a ravine. My father had been the only survivor, escaping with only a bruise but a broken heart.
His eyes glaze over, as if lost in memories of her, before refocusing on me. His dark brows lower, expression turning serious once more.
“Saoirse would be disappointed you are not married yet,” he says, his words clipped. My stomach turns hollow as my heart beats fast enough I feel faint. He sits upright in his chair, closing the leather portfolio before lacing his fingers together and resting his forearms on top of it. Years of expectations are the only thing keeping my eyes locked with his instead of looking somewhere else. Anywhere else.
“As your father, I have always wanted the best for you, to keep you as whole and pure as possible, untainted even. I know my rules have not been easy for you as you’ve grown into a young woman, but it is because of your obedience I have been able to secure a husband for you.”
Internally, I’m screaming and pounding against the office door demanding to escape. I’m spiraling into a panic that promises to never end. I lock my knees, tightening my clasped hands as I desperately attempt to hide my reactions. He continues, his eyes narrowing on my hands. I force myself to relax, to shove everything away until I’m alone.
“You are a well-accomplished woman and will make a good wife for Miles,” he states, confirming the suspicions I revealed to Niamh. “Tonight, he will propose formally and you will accept. The wedding will take place in three months and a wedding planner has—”
“I hardly know Miles,” I interrupt, and his jaw snaps closed. Disapproval stains his eyes, and I drop my gaze to the floor, face burning. “Please forgive me for the interruption. I am overwhelmed, I fear.”
He waits a long moment before replying. “As are most women when they learn they are to be brides. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to get to know Miles better before the wedding. This marriage will open many opportunities for my company due to his family connections. This is not a love match, but you are expected to provide him children. You will not only be Miles’ wife but ensure the continuation of my legacy. This is the greatest thing you’ll ever do, Wren. Do you understand?”
I swallow hard, blinking back the tears threatening to flow down my cheeks, before I look up once more to meet his stern gaze. I put on the perfect society lady’s smile, disguising all traces of discontent.
“Of course, Father. It has always been my greatest wish to make you proud,” I answer. Then desperate to escape. “If that is all, may I return to my department? If I’m to be married in three months, there is much to prepare for.”
He stares at me, studying me for any suggestion of disobedience, but my answer is honest. I’ve only ever wanted him to be proud of me, and he knows it. I don’t dare look away, don’t dare give in to the anger and fear-filled maelstrom in my gut, threatening to bring up my breakfast from two hours ago.
“A driver will pick you up at six. Be ready,” is all he says as a dismissal. I dip my head in acknowledgment and leave his office.
It takes every ounce of hard-won control and resilience I’ve built up to walk calmly from his office to the elevator, to stand with a serene look on my face as the elevator carries down to the eighth floor, and nod greetings to my staff and team. Only when I’m locking the door of my private ensuite office bathroom do I begin to tremble.
