Chapter 7

The black Rolls Royce Ghost glided down the private, tree-lined road leading to the Glover estate. The hedges were perfectly manicured, the gravel driveway raked into flawless lines. It was a picture of old money and absolute control.

Inside the car, the air was thick with tension. Tristan sat beside Blair, watching her profile. She looked immaculate-her hair pulled back, her makeup flawless, her black dress a statement of power. But he knew the armor was heavy.

"Are you really not going to fight back?" Tristan asked, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Not even a little?"

Blair kept her eyes forward. "Fight what? The fact that I was born a Glover?"

She turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. "To me, this is no different from signing a corporate merger. Who the man is, what he looks like, whether he loves me-those are irrelevant variables."

"What matters," she continued, her voice dropping into a cold, analytical rhythm, "is the leverage this marriage gives me. The resources it secures for Stellosphere Quadrant."

Tristan closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the leather headrest. "You can't reduce your whole life to a business transaction, Blair. You're not a product."

"From the day they handed me to Aunt Joella, I was a product," Blair said, her tone flat, devoid of self-pity. "If I'm going to be sold, I might as well be the one setting the price."

She looked out the window, her mind racing ahead. "If the suitor is powerful enough, I can use his influence to sever Hughie and Georgiana's hold on me permanently. If he's weak, I'll marginalize him and take the power myself."

There was no romance in her words. No hope for a fairy tale. Just cold, hard strategy.

Tristan looked at her, seeing the lonely, battered girl hiding behind the CEO's mask. The family had broken something inside her, and she had rebuilt it with ice and steel.

He wanted to comfort her, but words of warmth bounced right off her frozen exterior.

You don't know, Tristan, Blair thought. I've already made the biggest trade of my life. I traded my freedom for the power to fight back.

She thought of Butler McIntyre. The way he invaded her space, the way he controlled her every move. The prenup they had signed was a pact with the devil. He gave her unlimited capital and protection; in return, she belonged to him, body and soul.

It was a terrifying bargain, but it had been her only way out.

The car slowed, passing through the towering wrought-iron gates of the estate. The massive, colonial-style mansion loomed ahead, its windows glowing with warm, deceptive light.

Blair took a deep breath, holding it for a count of three. As she exhaled, she smoothed her dress and adjusted her expression. Every crack, every ounce of vulnerability, vanished behind a wall of perfect composure.

When the driver opened the door, she stepped out onto the gravel, her heels clicking sharply. She was Blair Guzman, the ice queen.

She gave Tristan a reassuring smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry. I never take a loss."

Tristan nodded, his jaw tight. He stepped out after her, reaching over to straighten the collar of her coat-a gesture of a brother sending his sister into battle.

"I'm right here," he murmured.

Blair nodded once and turned toward the house. Standing at the top of the stone steps were two figures. Georgiana Glover, with her perfectly styled hair and diamond earrings, and Kiana, still riding the high of her public victory.

Kiana's smile vanished the second she saw Blair, replaced by a naked, venomous hostility.

Georgiana raked her eyes up and down Blair's frame, her lips pursed in distaste, like a buyer inspecting a piece of meat that had passed its expiration date.

Blair didn't flinch. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and walked up the steps, meeting their stares head-on. The air crackled with unspoken threats.