Page 73 of Branded

I should have known better. Should have seen this coming. A man who’d pay that much for a woman at an auction isn’t looking for a partner. He’s looking for property he can control. Use. Own completely.

The gentle moments were aberrations. Mistakes. Brief glimpses of something that can never really exist between us because the foundation is rotten.

I won’t forget that again. Won’t let myself hope that he is more than what he just proved himself to be—a monster who threatens worse treatment if I don’t obey. Who reminded me I’m property when I try to have any autonomy. Who stood by while his father accused me of treason and then used my contract as a weapon when I reacted.

This is my reality. The sooner I accept it, the sooner I stop fighting it, the easier the next two years will be.

* * *

Sebastian hadn’t returned from the hospital when it was time for me to have lunch with Eleanor. Thank God for small mercies.

Eleanor meets me at the door herself, no staff hovering, just her in casual slacks and a blouse.

“Lennox.” She looks me over with sharp eyes. “You look terrible.”

“Thank you. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.”

“I’m not here to coddle you. I’m here to feed you and possibly give you advice you don’t want.” She gestures for me to go inside. “We’re eating in the conservatory. It’s the only room in this house where I don’t feel like I’m being watched.”

I follow her through marble hallways to her glass sanctuary. A small table has been set up with lunch: sandwiches, salad, fruit, and what looks like homemade lemonade. Food that doesn’t require effort to eat when your appetite is gone.

“Sit.” Eleanor pours lemonade into crystal glasses. “Eat. We’ll talk after.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I manage half a sandwich and some fruit before giving up. Eleanor watches me with those cold eyes that miss nothing.

“Sebastian called me an hour ago,” she finally says. “Told me you’d be staying at his house instead of moving to the bunkhouse. He said it was your decision.”

“Did he?”

“He lied, obviously. I know my son. I know when he’s using control to cover his inadequacy.” She takes a sip of lemonade. “What did he threaten you with?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. Because depending on what he said, I need to know whether to have a conversation with him or have my lawyer file emergency injunctions.”

I look up. “You’d go against your own son?”

“I’d go against anyone who abuses someone under my roof. Family or not.” Eleanor’s voice is steel wrapped in silk. “I’ve been married for forty-five years, Lennox. I know what it looks like when a man uses power to compensate for being a shitty husband. So tell me. What did Sebastian threaten you with?”

The words come out before I can stop them. All of it. The contract. The threats. The reminder that I’m property he can treat however he wants to if I disobey. The cruelty wrapped in legality.

Eleanor listens without interrupting, her face growing colder with each sentence.

When I finish, she sets down her glass with a soft click.

“That stupid boy,” she says quietly. “He’s become exactly what I was afraid he’d become.”

“What’s that?”

“His father.” She stands and moves to water an orchid that doesn’t need watering. “Walker and I married the same way you and Sebastian did. I told you that.” She turns, and I nod.

“I was seventeen and needed a way out of my life. I’m from Chicago originally, and my family, well, let’s just say there are worse things than being a Drake. Growing up as the daughter of a mafia don is by far worse.” She walks back to the table and takes a seat.

“Walker was twenty-five and the head of the marriage auction at that time. Much like Sebastian, he orchestrated but never participated until me. He saw me, looked over my file, and realized how beneficial I could be to him. I’d run away from my family, and I needed protection. Back then, the auctions were easier to get into if you had the right connections. I’d fallen into some trouble trusting the wrong people, and the auction had been whispered about in my circle, so I sought it out.” She reaches for her lemonade and takes a sip.

I look at my mother-in-law and see the young mafia princess she was. Coming to Texas and being bought by a rough-and-tumble cowboy must have been a culture shock. The grand house that doesn’t seem to fit all of a sudden makes sense. The dislike of being near the cattle, wanting to have more of a home that shows off who she is, it’s all coming together.

“For the first seven years, he treated me exactly the way Sebastian treated you this morning, like property he’d acquired. Something to control, to use, to dominate.”