A Debt Owed(50)

He’s cruel and unforgiving, and walking next to him up the stairs to the five-star restaurant feels like a joke. The idea of stomping on his feet and running off briefly flutters into my mind, but then I spot two guards walking behind us, who apparently drove along with us all the way to this place, and I change my mind.

We walk inside, into what’s now on of my brother’s hotel-restaurants, and I don’t even recognize the place. A chic black and white design with lots of contrast—opposite of the warm colors my father often preferred—replace the old, overdone red and gold interior.

But I guess this is the price he had to pay to keep everything running. Not only did he need to sacrifice me for the money but he also had to change his entire business into something that didn’t remotely feel like anything he’d create. Suits him well for trying to trade me. I hope the whole endeavor sinks into the ground.

Just as I hope Easton falls into a pile of shit on the way out of this restaurant should we ever leave this place. I’m pissed and at a loss for words as we stroll into the restaurant like all the other regular couples sipping drinks at the bar and chatting with each other. As if this is the normal thing to do for a rich, upper-class husband and wife. A husband who bought his wife from the very man he’s now walking up to with a big smile on his face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Davis,” Easton says with a certain sneer.

When my father turns around to face us, I’m mortified. In an instant, our eyes connect, and the contentment evaporates from his face, making place for a grim scowl. Then he looks at Easton.

“Easton,” he mumbles.

Easton holds out his hand, and my father takes it, only to be roughed up visibly. It’s as though the two compete for who has the toughest handshake, and neither of them wants to give in.

“Didn’t know you’d be coming too,” my father says when they settle on a truce.

Easton cracks a vicious smile. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss the grand re-opening of my latest investment here in the Netherlands … with my latest prize.” He pulls me toward him for a forced hug, squeezing my ass while my father watches.

I want to spit in his face.

“Hmm, I see you two are getting along quite well,” my father muses.

That’s the first thing he says? No apology for selling me to this man as some kind of sacrificial lamb for his own sins? No sorry for not even contacting me and asking how I’ve been all this time?

Both their faces should be spat on.

“She’s adjusting well in my mansion. Very easygoing and frisky, if I might say so myself,” Easton retorts, and my cheeks light up like a cigarette’s bud at the sight of my father’s enlarged pupils.

His heart probably jumped through hoops there. And it’s all because of Easton’s lying ass. He should be ashamed of himself, but the moment I part my lips, Easton immediately holds up his finger right in front of my face.

“No need, Charlotte. You know how that would look on your father, right?” He glances at me from the sidelines, but it’s enough to shut me up before I even begin talking. The glimmer in his eyes predicts thunder as though he’s warning me not to step across the boundaries he’s laying out right now.

None of this was for me. This outing wasn’t for my enjoyment. I wasn’t even the reason he wanted to be here. This was all because of my father and the re-opening of this restaurant. He wants to flaunt me to my family as some goddamn trophy wife. And I went along with it like a fool.

Sighing, I turn my head and gaze at all the people talking amongst one another. They’re blissfully unaware of what’s happened here, of all the reasons why this restaurant underwent a makeover and changed its name. Why I’m even here … as a groomed kitty cat on a leash.

“Charlotte, why don’t you go to the bar? Have a drink and enjoy yourself,” Easton says, and he leans in to press a soft but forceful kiss on my cheeks as though to show to my father I’ve adjusted to the situation. As though I’ve truly become the wife Easton’s always wished for, and my father should be jealous of him.

Fuck him and fuck my father for believing his lies.

I’m not okay, and I will never pretend to be.

So I shrug Easton off and walk away without even acknowledging what either of them said. I never greeted my father, but I don’t care anymore. He can drop dead for all I care. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. All he cared about was what Easton said; as if it completely tilts him off his axis that he’s here. Not me, his daughter, but Easton.

I sit on a stool at the bar and order a tequila on the rocks from the bartender. I’ll need a drink or two to get through this. The question is, do I want to?

I look around the room for a moment. There are three potential exits, and only two guards following me. Sure, they’re not right beside me, but they’re creeping around the room, keeping their eyes on me. Easton must’ve paid them well, too, in case I attempt to escape.

The bartender hands me my drink, and I take a big sip. The burn feels nice going down my throat, and the sharpness takes the edge off things. I wonder how many it’d take for me to get drunk. I’ve never had nearly enough to get there, but tonight, I might.

As I chug down my drink, someone slides onto the stool beside me and stares at me awkwardly. A familiar smile from when I was still a youngster makes me melancholic.

“Hey, sis.”