The Gentlemen's Club

Anna Bellamy stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of her bedroom, gazing out at the manicured garden that stretched toward the ornate iron gates of the estate. The setting sun cast long shadows across the immaculate lawn, bathing everything in a golden light that made the mansion's grounds look like something from a fairy tale. It was beautiful, pristine, and suffocating.

She pressed her palm against the cool glass. Four years since her mother's death, and still, this house felt less like a home and more like an elegant prison. A chime from her phone pulled her attention away from the window. A message from her father's assistant: Mr. Bellamy requests your presence in his study at 7 pm sharp. Formal attire required.

Anna sighed, letting the phone drop onto her bed. Her father never "requested" anything-he summoned, he commanded, he expected. And formal attire meant business associates would be present. Another evening of being displayed like a prized possession while middle-aged men discussed business deals and market forecasts. As she turned to her closet to select something appropriately conservative yet elegant, a soft knock came at her door.

"Come in,"

She called, already knowing who it would be. Marisa, the housekeeper who had been with the family since before Anna was born, slipped into the room. Her warm brown eyes-the only feature that hadn't changed in all these years-held a mixture of affection and concern. "Your father has guests tonight," she said, moving to help Anna select an outfit.

"Important ones."

"So I've been informed."

Anna gestured to her phone.

"Any idea what this is about?"

Marisa's hands paused almost imperceptibly as she reached for a midnight blue dress.

"It's not my place to say, mija."

The term of endearment-one she'd used since Anna was small-came automatically, though Marisa had become more formal since Victoria had become the new Mrs. Bellamy.

"But you know something,"

Anna pressed, catching the hesitation. Marisa met her gaze in the mirror.

"Your stepmother has been planning this dinner for weeks. Mr. Devereaux and his son are attending."

Anna felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. James Devereaux was her father's most important business partner, but she had never met his son. For Victoria to take special interest in their visit suggests motives beyond business.

"I see,"

She said, taking the blue dress from Marisa's hands.

"Thank you."

After Marisa left, Anna moved to her vanity, catching sight of the silver-framed photograph that held pride of place among her cosmetics and jewelry. Her mother's smile-genuine and warm-looked back at her. Elizabeth Bellamy's eyes crinkled at the corners in the way they always did when she laughed, her dark hair swept back from her face by a breeze on the day the photo was taken.

"What would you do, Mom?"

Anna whispered, running a finger along the edge of the frame. The memory came unbidden, her mother's voice as clear as if she were standing beside her:

"Always remember your worth isn't determined by others, my darling. Not by your father's money, not by society's expectations. You determine your value."

Anna closed her eyes, letting the memory wash over her. Her mother had been everything Victoria wasn't-genuine, loving, putting Anna's happiness above appearances or social standing. The official cause of death had been heart failure, but Anna knew the truth. Her mother had died of heartbreak when she discovered Richard Bellamy's affair with Victoria. The betrayal had crushed something vital inside Elizabeth, and within months, she was gone.

Her father had waited a respectable six months before marrying Victoria, who had promptly moved in with her two daughters, Olivia and Emma. The transition had been swift and calculated, with Victoria wasting no time establishing herself as the new lady of the house.

Anna opened her eyes, resolution settling over her features. Whatever game Victoria was playing with tonight's dinner, Anna would not be a passive participant. She might be trapped in this golden cage for now, but she wouldn't surrender her wings.

She slipped into the midnight blue dress, its modest cut still managing to highlight her slender figure. At twenty, she was no longer the grieving teenager who had watched her mother's coffin being lowered into the ground, but neither was she the society daughter Victoria tried to mold her into. She was something else-something still taking shape.

As she fastened a simple pearl necklace-her mother's-around her neck, Anna caught sight of Victoria passing her open doorway. Her stepmother paused, backtracked, and leaned against the doorframe with a practiced smile.

"Anna, darling. That dress is lovely, though perhaps a bit severe for tonight."

Victoria's voice was honey-sweet, her blonde hair perfectly styled, her cream-colored dress clinging to her still-youthful figure. At forty-two, she remained strikingly beautiful, a fact she wielded like a weapon.

"I laid out the pink chiffon on your bed earlier. Did Marisa not tell you?"

"I prefer this one."

Anna replied coolly, meeting Victoria's gaze in the mirror.

"Blue was my mother's favorite color."

A flash of irritation crossed Victoria's features before her smile reasserted itself.

"Of course, dear. I only thought something softer might be more appropriate for meeting our special guests."

She stepped into the room uninvited, fingering a lock of Anna's dark hair.

"You should wear your hair down. Men prefer it that way."

Anna resisted the urge to pull away from her touch.

"I wasn't aware my hairstyle needed male approval."

Victoria's laugh tinkled like expensive crystal-beautiful but hollow.

"Oh, Anna. Always so modern in your thinking. It's charming, really, but there are realities to consider."

She moved to Anna's jewelry box, lifting out a diamond tennis bracelet that Anna knew had been a gift from her father to Victoria.

"Wear this too. It complements the dress."

Before Anna could object, Victoria had clasped it around her wrist.

"Perfect," she declared, admiring the effect. "Richard will be pleased."

And that's what matters most to you, isn't it? Anna thought. Keeping my father pleased, keeping him distracted while you position your daughters to inherit everything that should have been my mother's legacy.

"The Devereauxs are very traditional, you know,"

Victoria continued, moving toward the door.

"Old money, old values. James has been widowed even longer than your father, and his son-well, Alexander is quite the eligible bachelor."

She paused, giving Anna a meaningful look.

"Thirty is a perfect age for a man. Established, successful, but still young enough to be... energetic."

The implication was unmistakable, and Anna felt her stomach tighten. So that was Victoria's game-setting up an introduction with Devereaux's son, likely hoping to marry Anna off and remove her as an obstacle to Victoria's daughters inheriting the Bellamy fortune.

"Seven o'clock, darling. Don't be late."

Victoria's perfume lingered after she'd gone, cloying and expensive. Anna returned to the window, watching as a sleek black car pulled through the gates below. Two figures emerged-one elderly but still commanding, the other tall and broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored suit. The younger man paused, looking up toward the house, and for a moment, Anna felt as though he was looking directly at her window.

She stepped back, heart inexplicably racing. Tonight was clearly the opening move in some scheme of Victoria's, but Anna had no intention of being a pawn. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind again: You determine your value. With a deep breath, she turned from the window and headed for the door. Whatever game awaited her downstairs, she would play it on her own terms.