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“It is the Council’s expectation that you marry and produce an heir to carry the Lockwood blood forward, even if not in name. The Bradley family holds a significant portion of your father’s debt. They have agreed to absorb the remaining obligations in exchange for your betrothal to Ryker Bradley. Your first son will become the first Bradley to hold a seat on the Council in place of Lockwood.”

I stare at him and let every word land. Some man I’ve never met is going to wed and bed me, and they’ve already laid claim to my unborn son. All so the precious founding families can keep their precious fucking bloodlines intact. My father spent my entire life reminding me that my body was the most valuable thing about me. And this just proves him fucking right.

“What if I don’t have a son?”

“You will marry Ryker Bradley and fulfill your obligation to this Society. You will have children until you have a son.”

The pathetic thing is that this is likely a more preferable future than the one my father would have chosen for me. I’d be on my knees with eighty-year-old balls in my mouth right now if there were enough zeroes on the check. “I suppose it’s too much to ask if there’s another option.” I can’t help but try.

“The Council’s decision is final. The Bradleys are a well-regarded family. You will be well cared for.”

Well cared for. That’s what every man in this room tells himself about the women in his life. They’re well cared for, so they should be grateful and shut the fuck up. My father said the same thing every time he zipped me into a designer dress I didn’t pick and pushed me toward a man old enough to be my grandfather. You should be grateful, Laine. Most girls would kill for this life.

Most girls wouldn’t be down for getting bred like a prize horse. But sure, Dad. Grateful.

I glance at Dane one more time. He still hasn’t moved or spoken. His arms are crossed. His green eyes are on me until his phone vibrates. A small smile appears as he reads his screen. He’s either about to fuck or kill.

“Is that all?” I ask.

“Mr. Bradley is waiting outside. He will make arrangements for your belongings. Subject to Council approval.”

Because everything I own is part of the estate now. Everything must go, including the last Lockwood with a working uterus. At least they hope so. Can’t say I’ve tested my pussy yet, but I guess that’s about to change.

I turn toward the door without thanking them, because I’m not grateful and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I straighten my spine and keep my chin up, because my dignity is the only thing in this room they can’t put a price on.

I grew up in this world. I have watched women be traded and sold and redistributed my entire life. My father made sure I understood from the time I put on my first pair of heels that my future was not mine to decide. Every Society event, every dinner, every introduction to some rich asshole was a rehearsal for this exact moment.

It was never going to end any other way.

The two masked men lead me through the mansion’s corridors, past oil paintings of founding families and glass cases full of Society artifacts that exist to remind you how old this world is and how small you are inside it.

They stop at a set of double doors that open onto the front drive. A black car is parked at the base of the steps, and a man is standing beside it.

I stop walking. Just for a second. Then I shake it off and keep going. If this is Ryker Bradley, then this arranged marriage just became a lot more interesting than I expected.

I thought he’d be some scrawny trust fund brat or an old winkled asshole that still had hopes of getting an heir.

This man is neither of those things. He is tall, at least six-four, with broad shoulders and a build that says he hits the gym every day. His dark hair is silver at the temples, and his jaw is sharp beneath a neat, trimmed beard. He is wearing a charcoal suit that fits like it was cut on his body, and he stands there with his hands in his pockets and his eyes locked on me.

He’s older than I expected. Forties, maybe. But still way too hot. I clearly have Daddy issues. I could get into the Daddy thing with him. And that pisses me off because I don’t want to find a single goddamn thing about this situation appealing. My body didn’t get that memo. My body is looking at this man and thinking about what he looks like under that suit, and whether the Council would care if I started the baby-making process in the back seat of his car.

If this is what my life is going to be, I might as well make the most of it. And so far, being rich and fucking this man doesn’t seem like too big of a burden.

His eyes find mine as I come down the steps. He watches me with an expression that is calm and patient and in control. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t look me up and down the way that asshole at the Council table did. He just watches me come to him. His patience is worse than any leer because I don’t know how to read him.

Something tightens between my legs, and I don’t hate it. I should. But I don’t.

“Laine.” His voice is deep enough that I feel it in my chest, and I’m close enough to see that his eyes are blue.

“Mr. Bradley.” I stop a few feet from him and cross my arms as I meet his blue eyes up close. “I’d say it’s nice to meet the man I’m supposed to fuck and breed with, but I don’t like to lie. So forgive me if I skip the pleasantries.” He might be sexy as fuck, but I’m not going to make this easy on him.

His mouth tips at one corner. Not quite a smile. Not quite nothing, either.

He opens the rear door and holds it. “Get in the car, Laine.”

“Please and thank you would be a nice touch. I guess chivalry really is dead.”

“It wasn’t a fucking request.”