Page 82 of The Serpent's Bride
“Oh, this?” He motioned between us casually. “Curiosity mostly. Leo never brings women around.”
“I’m not ‘around.’ I’m getting married,” I reminded him. “That means I’m here to stay.”
“Exactly.” Angelo laughed softly. “That’s the weird part.”
Ice prickled along my skin. Something in his tone felt deliberate now. Cruel.
“He’s never wanted marriage before?” I asked carefully. Angelo barked out another laugh.
“Wanted?” He looked genuinely entertained. “Sweetheart, Leo doesn’t want marriage. Leo wants the inheritance.”
The room tilted slightly. “What?”
Angelo swirled whiskey lazily inside the crystal glass. “You really don’t know?”
His eyes glittered maliciously. “Jesus Christ. He actually married you blind.”
My pulse started pounding painfully. “What are you talking about?”
“Leo’s father’s will.” Angelo smirked. “Haven’t you heard? The whole Moretti empire goes to Leo’s firstborn son. No heir, no inheritance.”
Cold spread slowly through my chest. No.
No.
“He needed a wife fast,” Angelo continued casually. “Needed someone young enough to give him kids.” His gaze dragged over me pointedly. “Preferably obedient.”
My stomach dropped so violently I thought I might actually faint. Oh God. Everything clicked together in horrifying clarity.
The lies. The rushed marriage. The obsession with breeding. Tears burned behind my eyes.
“No,” I whispered.
Angelo tilted his head mockingly.
“Aww.” Fake sympathy dripped from his voice. “Did you think this was a love story?”
Humiliation crashed through me so hard it physically hurt. I stared down at myself. The dress. The diamonds. The veil. Not a bride. Livestock. A womb. Something useful to get him to his goal as fast as possible. Worthless tears spilled over despite my desperate attempt to stop them.
“Oh, don’t cry.” Angelo’s grin widened cruelly. “Leo probably likes you at least a little. More than the rest of his women anyway.”
The words sliced straight through me. My chest tightened so painfully I could barely breathe. Every humiliating moment replayed.
You really are desperate for it, aren’t you?
God. I’d begged him. Thrown myself at him. Taken my clothes off while he secretly laughed about needing an heir. I felt sick.
The suite doors opened behind me. Papa stepped inside. And his expression darkened.
“Why are you crying?” he demanded sharply.
I looked at him desperately. “I don’t want to do this.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Excuse me?”
“He only wants me for children,” I whispered brokenly. “I’m just… I’m just a weapon to him.”
Papa’s hand cracked across my face so hard my vision blurred. Pain exploded through my cheek. I gasped. Angelo watched silently from the corner with open amusement.
