Chapter 7

Hailey’s POV

The house was quiet when I returned. The kind of quiet that made the walls feel alive, listening, waiting for someone to slip.

I stood by the main door, my shoes in my hand, my heart racing like a criminal sneaking into a vault. The clock above the hallway ticked softly 2:47 a.m. I winced. My father’s guards were probably asleep by now, but I couldn’t take chances. One wrong creak and I’d be dead before dawn, at least socially.

I tiptoed across the marble floor, the cold seeping into my bare feet. Every sound felt too loud the click of my ring against the doorframe. I passed the living room, still smelling faintly of cigar smoke and oak polish, then hurried up the staircase, clutching my heels like they were weapons.

When I reached my door, I exhaled slowly, fingers trembling as I turned the handle. The familiar scent of my vanilla candles greeted me. Safe. Finally.

I dropped my shoes, peeled off my nightdress, and collapsed face-first onto the bed. The night replayed in flashes the music, Dorian’s teasing grin, Lila’s giggles, and then him. Santino. Cold. Composed. Watching me from the VVIP like he owned the damn world.

And maybe, in a way, he did.

I could still feel the weight of his stare when I whispered in his guard’s ear to “go tell your boss to go fuck himself.” The way his jaw clenched, the dark fire in his eyes it made my pulse race and my stomach twist. I didn’t know if it was fear or something else entirely.

Before sleep took me, I promised myself one thing I wasn’t going to be tamed. Not by him. Not by anyone.

---

In the later morning, sunlight spilled across my face like punishment. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head. My phone buzzed endlessly on the nightstand.

Three missed calls from Mom.

Five texts from Lila.

One from Dorian that said: “Hope you slept well, jailbird. You owe me pancakes.”

I smiled faintly, then winced when I remembered I had brunch with my mother today.

“Crap.”

After a chaotic hour of bathing, brushing, dressing, and pretending to be alive, I slipped into a cream-colored dress that screamed rich girl trying to behave. My mother didn't like when I wore black or red, said it made me look rebellious. She wasn’t wrong.

When I finally got downstairs, she was already waiting by the door, looking stunning as always. Classic Chanel suit, pearl earrings, perfect hair. The woman was elegance personified but her eyes were empty.

“You’re late,” she said softly without looking at me.

“I’m alive,” I replied, grabbing my purse. “Let’s call it even.”

---

The restaurant was one of those places that didn’t just serve food it served reputation. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, people who smiled with their teeth but not their eyes. As soon as we walked in, I could feel the shift, the whispers, the stolen glances.

It was like walking into a shark tank wearing a bleeding dress.

We were barely seated before a woman in diamonds leaned toward her friend and whispered, not quietly enough, “That’s her the one marrying Blackwood.”

Her friend’s lips curled. “Poor thing. He’s twice her age.”

I took a sip of my water and smiled sweetly in their direction. “Don’t whisper. If you’ve got something to say, make sure everyone hears it.”

My mother’s hand froze around her cup. “Hailey,” she called softly. 

Twice my age?? Did they think I was marrying his father?

I ignored her. “Maybe I’ll even give you my number so you can send me your jealous thoughts directly.”

The women turned scarlet and looked away.

“Honestly,” I muttered, stabbing my fork into a croissant, “people act like I’m being sold to the devil.”

My mother sighed. “Hailey, control your tongue. They’re not worth your attention.”

“Neither is this marriage, but here we are.”

She didn’t answer. She just kept sipping her tea, pretending not to hear the bitterness in my voice.

A few tables away, a group of younger girls, social media darlings, the kind that lived for gossip were filming something on their phones. I caught snippets of their conversation.

“She doesn’t even look like Blackwood’s type.”

“I heard she threw her engagement ring at his secretary last week.”

“She’s only marrying him because her father’s business owes money.”

That last one hit like a slap.

My hand tightened around the glass until my knuckles whitened. I didn’t owe anyone anything. I wanted to shout it, throw the drink, break something. But instead, I smiled wide, bright, venomous.

When one of the girls turned her camera toward me, I waved. “Make sure you get my good side.”

The camera dropped instantly. Satisfied, I turned back to my mother.

She was staring at me with a mixture of pride and despair. “You can’t fight everyone, Hailey.”

“Watch me.”

---

Reporters were waiting outside when we left. They were always a few of them around places like this. The moment the glass doors opened, microphones and flashing cameras flooded the air.

“Miss Carter! How do you feel about your upcoming marriage to Mr. Santino Blackwood?”

“Is it true the engagement ring costs over a million dollars?” I haven't gotten the ring yet.

“Rumor says you’ve been seen partying instead of preparing. care to comment?”

I blinked against the lights, the noise, the fake smiles. My mother’s hand gripped my arm, but I stepped forward anyway.

“Here’s your comment,” I said, flashing my signature smirk. “Maybe if you all got married, you’d have less time to stalk mine.”

The reporters laughed, some shocked, some amused. I could hear my mother’s soft gasp beside me.

I turned to her. “Relax, Mother. It’s called honesty.”

The cameras kept flashing. One reporter, braver than the rest, shouted, “Do you love him?”

For a moment, everything stopped the cars, the noise, even my pulse.

I met her gaze head-on. “I don’t know yet,” I said slowly, “but if I ever do, you’ll be the last to find out.”

And with that, I walked straight to the car, head high, heels clicking like war drums.

---

Back in the car, my mother was silent. She didn’t scold me, didn’t even look at me. Just stared out the window, lips pressed tight.

Finally, she said, “Your father is trying to protect you, Hailey.”

“By marrying me off?”

“By making sure you’re secure. You think this world is kind to women who are born in families like ours?”

I looked at her reflection in the window poised, perfect, tired. Maybe she believed it. Maybe she was just repeating what had been drilled into her.

But I wasn’t her.

“Maybe I don’t want to be secure,” I said quietly. “Maybe I just want to be free.”

She didn’t reply.

The city lights blurred past gold and white and cold. Somewhere in the distance, I imagined Santino reading the morning papers, seeing my name on every headline again, and that dark frown crossing his face.

Good. Let him.

If he thought marrying me would be easy, he was in for one hell of a surprise.