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It was Bart’s turn to jump to his feet, outrage twisting his haggard face. “Mr. Du Pont, she’s seventeen years old!”
My attention wasn’t on Bart and his outburst, though. Sybil held my gaze, and beyond the Botox, I could see her calculated mind churning.
“She’s promised to someone else,” she said, ignoring the gasp Bart released.
I stroked a hand over my chin again, a habit I’d developed in my early teens whenever I was deep in thought. Charlotte was promised to another, a common arrangement in our world, which meant she would have been brought up knowing that she wasn’t allowed to touch, kiss, or fuck any other man until she was legally married.
She really would be mine in every way.
I rolled my neck, the muscles popping. “In that case, I’ll have my men start removing items from the property first thing in the morning, and I’ll arrange for an agent to value the house.”
Giving them my back, I took two steps toward the door before Sybil shrieked, “Wait!” I hid my triumphant grin as I turned back to her, both Astors now on their feet. Bart grimaced as Sybil launched herself at me, her eyes filled with desperation. “We can call off the arrangement.”
“Sybil,” Bart chided. “She’s our daughter!”
“And this is our home. Our lives!” Sybil cried dramatically. “Would you rather us be homeless, Bart? Charlotte will understand. She knows the world we live in.”
“She’s seventeen,” Bart repeated, although the fight was already leaving his voice.
“I won’t claim her until she turns eighteen,” I interjected, doing my best to keep my excitement out of my tone. Sybil had already made her choice; I just needed Bart to get on the same page. “If you agree, I will wipe the debt, and I will give you one more year with her before she becomes mine.”
“Wh…what will you do with her?” Hesitation laced Bart’s question as if he didn’t want to know my answer.
The answer to that question was easy. I would make her mine in every way. I would love and cherish her, and shape her to become my perfect angel who was devoted and dependent on no one but me.
But they didn’t need to know that. “As your wife has stated, you know the world we live in. My parents have recently decided that it is time for me to settle down and take a wife. Your daughter is an ideal candidate; she’s young, beautiful, and knows what will be expected of her in a marriage.” A muscle ticked in Bart’s jaw as my words landed, knowing as well as I did that she would be expected to produce children. He opened his mouth to reply, but I silenced him by holding a finger up. “If your daughter marries me, she will have access to all the Du Pont wealth. She’ll be taken care of for the rest of her life.”
As predicted, Sybil’s eyes lit up, taking my words to mean that if Charlotte had access to my wealth, then so would she. How very foolish of her.
She grabbed Bart’s hand, tugging it to pull his attention from me. “Bart, Charlotte will be leaving us when she turns twenty-one anyway. This makes sense; it’s a few years earlier than what any of us wanted, but this way, we keep our house and our place in the circle.”
Disgust curled my lips. This vile woman was happy to hand her daughter over to a near stranger so she could maintain her image of wealth. She didn’t deserve Charlotte. Neither of them did. No, my angel belonged with me.
A heavy sigh flowed from Bart as his shoulders slumped. “Do you promise you’ll look after her and treat her with respect?”
I bowed my head in response, silently answering his question.
I would take care of my angel every day for the rest of our lives, because once she was mine, she would never be free of me.
The muscle ticked in his jaw again before he held his hand out for me to shake. “We have a deal.”
Chapter 1
Charlotte- Eleven Months Later
11:57 pm.
Three minutes until my eighteenth birthday. Not that anything would change. In the eyes of the law, I would become an adult, but that didn’t matter. I’d still be under my parents’ rule. They would still tell me where I could go, who I could be friends with, and what hobbies I was permitted to have. It was by some miracle that my parents allowed me to choose my own clothes, the only freedom I was permitted to have.
11:58 pm.
I rolled onto my back to stare at the swirls of the ceiling in my bedroom, which was decorated in light pink and purple flowers, the same decor I have had since I was ten years old. Another reminder that my parents still saw me as a child.
Like most nights, I refused to close the curtains. I needed to see the moon glowing outside so I could stare at it, allowing myself to dream what my life would have been like if I hadn’t been born an Astor. To know that there was a whole world out there, even if I wouldn’t get to see it.
I released a heavy sigh, telling myself that I was being ungrateful. There were kids around the world living in much worse circumstances than I was. I had a roof over my head—a very nice and very big house at that. I had gourmet meals cooked every day by the household chef, staff to tidy up after me, and a driver to chauffeur me to and from school.
What was there to complain about, right?
