Page 9 of The Serpent's Bride
“I’ll come back to see you later,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Then she slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with the maids. They moved efficiently, helping me out of bed despite my protests, guiding me into a bath, into a dress, making me into something presentable. Something sellable.
My body screamed with protest through every movement, but they both ignored it. Of course they did. This wasn’t about me, the person. I had become a pawn in Papa’s goal to keep the Moretti satisfied at all costs.
“Please,” I said at one point, gripping the edge of the vanity. “Just help me get out of here.”
“Your father is waiting for you,” the maid said gently.
My reflection stared back at me in the mirror. I looked luminous, pretty. But I could see the ghost of the girl I used to be shining through. My eyes were soulless. My life faded before my watering eyes. My body looked pale. Bruised.Not mine anymore.
The two maids half-led, half-forced me down the hall, every step heavier than the last, until we reached Papa’s study. The door opened. He was already inside. And he looked angry.
“Sit,” he said.
“I’ll stand,” I bit out.
The door clicked shut behind me, sealing us in. Papa didn’t repeat himself. He simply watched me, his expression carved from stone as he moved slowly around the desk.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.
“Yes.” I lifted my chin. “You’re selling me off like I’m cattle, not your child.”
A flicker of irritation crossed his face. “Watch your tone.”
“Or what?” The words slipped out, sharp and reckless. “You’ll hit me again?”
“This is no longer about discipline,” he said quietly. “This is about damage.”
My stomach tightened. “What doesthatmean?”
He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the exact moment he decided I was worth the truth. “You know what I’m about to tell you already.”
Cold slid through me. “No, I don't, Papa.”
“Enough.” The word landed like a slap. He didn’t even need to hit me this time. His gaze locked onto mine. “You didn’t tell me the truth about the night of the dance. You were with a man, weren’t you?”
My pulse stumbled. “Of course not. Whoever told you that was lying.”
“A lie?” His expression shifted. “You expect me to believe you, after youalreadylied to me?”
Silence lay between us until I finally looked him in the eye again. “I met someone, but nothing happened.”
He laughed sharply. “Met someone. A man?”
“Yes.” My voice hardened. “We just… we just talked. And argued… and he offered me some help when the snake bit me.”
Papa didn’t react. His calm was suffocating.
“He didn’t say you weretalking,” he went on. “Or arguing. Or asking for help.”
The air left my lungs. For a second, I couldn’t move.
“He said you were beneath him, in fact,” Papa spit out.
“That’s not true,” I said, the words scraping out of my throat. What thehell?
“He claims he found you alone in the gardens,” Papa continued, each word precise. “That you approached him. That you knewexactlywho he was.”
