"I have made myself clear." Estella swallowed before continuing, "Either you grant my request, or I step inside and ensure everyone knows precisely the kind of man you are."
Her words hit him like a slap, rooting him to the spot.
More than what she had said, he hated how the night air had suddenly turned stifling. His temper simmered just beneath the surface.
She was good at avoiding his gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on his shoes the whole time. A clear proof that she had been shaken by what he had said before.
Also, her demands had not been as bold as her words before, so why was she doing this? Why wouldn't she back down? Was getting him to comply really so important to her?
Perhaps he should have believed her the first time when she insisted she was neither trying to seduce nor threaten him.
"Very well. Let us hear it, then. What is the cost of your silence?" the Duke finally said.
But Estella did not rush to answer. First, she bent to pick up her shoes, and then, shoulders slumped, she gazed past him almost like she'd suddenly fallen into deep thoughts. After what felt like a century of living inside her head, she stood up straight and laid out her demands.
Looking back now, Félix could almost laugh at her absurd request. But at the time, he had clenched his jaw and dismissed her demands as ridiculous. Now, though, his priorities had shifted. He needed to find out who she was, which family she belonged to, and what had driven her to make such a request.
Reentering the ballroom, Félix scanned the room for a drink. One arrived right on cue. A server passed then, and he snatched a cocktail glass off the tray, draining it in one gulp.
He had to find her and make her reveal more about herself. He blamed himself for not asking the most important questions while they were outside together.
"Tell me… Who is it you seek with such urgency?" A soft, feminine voice whispered in his ear, followed by slender arms wrapping tightly around him from behind.
Had she not pointed it out, he would not have realised he had spoken his thoughts aloud.
"Please, forgive me," she added, then pressed her face against his broad back. "I regret my behaviour of storming off on you before. I should not have done that."
Félix exhaled deeply. The only person who would dare touch him in public and get away with it was Coralie. It had never bothered him before how often she did that. He knew it was her way of staking her claim, a silent warning to other women. Not that she ever needed to—he had told her that often enough.
But tonight was different. He couldn't stand her touching him now, not because of anything she had particularly done, but because of what he had.
Right there, he couldn't bring himself to tell her he had shared a passionate kiss with another woman not too long ago, believing for a moment that she was the princess. That the same woman had proceeded to blackmail him. But worse still, how he couldn't shake that woman out of his mind, irrespective of all she'd done.
She had been breathtaking under the moonlight if he did say so himself. The way her choker sat elegantly on her pale, tall neck was a sight to behold. She looked beautiful in her shimmering white dress. He had taken the time to notice how the corset accentuated her waist and how the loose strands of her hair, caught in the wind and dancing around her face, told a story of quiet defiance.
A restless urge stirred within him, for he wanted to see her again. Badly. This burning need unsettled him, and he couldn't shake it off either. More than his need to find out who she was, he simply wanted to see her again before the night ended.
Realizing that Coralie's grip on him drew too much attention, Félix carefully but deliberately pried her hands off. He didn't want that kind of spotlight right now. Turning to face her, he said,
"That is a long-forgotten matter." After a brief pause, he added, "I saw you heading toward the back entrance and followed, yet when I arrived, you had vanished. Why was that? Where did you go?"
Coralie blinked rapidly and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "Actually… I did not go that way. I—I was elsewhere."
"And where was that?"
A sudden announcement cut through the room, calling Viscount Alistair to the dance floor with his newly betrothed wife. Félix had once heard whispers about the matter, a rumour among the king's cabinet that the girl had been given away to settle a debt. It hadn't concerned him then. He had no interest in the old Viscount or his personal affairs.
But for some reason, he now badly wanted to see the girl in question.
As Coralie faltered, struggling to piece together a single sentence, Félix slowly turned away. At that moment, the hall dimmed, and the music softened.
…
Estella despised her life. The odds had never once tilted in her favour. She loathed how the baroness had forced her to shove her bandaged foot into a silver slipper, the very pair Geraldine had loaned her at their mother's insistence back home. The shoes had been too tight from the start, crushing her toes into a painful knot. Now, with the added layer of fabric biting into her skin, it felt as though her ankles might tear apart.
Why hadn't she unwrapped her feet before putting the shoes back on? Her soles didn't burn as badly as they had outside, but she had needed an excuse. A reason to escape the dance. She had pleaded that she could barely stand, let alone waltz, but the baroness had silenced her with a glare and ordered her to wear the slippers as they were, all while the Viscount stood watching. Her very own father the Baron no less.
"Do make a grand show of it, Estella!" Geraldine called, beaming.
"You shall do splendidly, I am certain!" Georgina added, dabbing at an imaginary tear as if she were reliving a moment of true romance. It was almost as if Estella were walking toward a man she loved and didn't innately hate with all her being.
Estella fought the urge to sneer and swallowed it down, knowing the consequences if her mother saw. Yet that did not change the truth: Viscount Alistair was not the love of her life, and he never would be. She did not believe she was worthy of love, but it would be her choice if she were to belong to anyone.
The music shifted the instant they reached the dance floor. The weight of every gaze in the room pressed down on her, not because they pitied her but because they all knew. They knew she was being sold. They might not know the reason, but they understood enough. She was being forced to be with the old Viscount against her will. Still, it was not their concern. No one would interfere.
Estella's pulse quickened as she took her place before him. All she could focus on was the man standing too close. His thick fingers clamped around her waist, pulling her in before she had even drawn a breath.
Her shoulders stiffened. He would not notice. He would not care. His pleasure mattered more than her discomfort.
Slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. His nose hovered close to her chest, and then he inhaled sharply.
Her fingers curled into fists, her breath catching in her throat. In that moment, Estella felt it might be better to just die.