Chapter 7: Call me Dad

A ripple of excitement spread through the room. Students perked up, whispering, and I could already hear Lucas’s name being thrown around in soft, eager tones.

I swallowed hard and braced myself. The votes were cast quickly, hands raised, names tallied.

When the final count was read, I nearly dropped my laptop.

Me.

By a landslide.

I blinked, frozen in place. How? More than half the school adored Lucas. They worshipped the ground he walked on. And yet… I had won. Not just barely but overwhelmingly.

Applause rang in my ears as the principal announced my victory. I gave a small bow, still dazed, my chest thundering.

I turned to glance at Lucas. He wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t angry. Instead, he looked at me with an expression that made my stomach knot.  And then, suddenly, a little smile curved his lips.

“I didn’t want my fiancé to be upset today of all days,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear over the noise.

I glared at him. “What do you mean? Did you rig it?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with something unreadable, and before I could react, he took my wrist and tugged me out of the room. My breath hitched as he dragged me down the hall, ignoring the few lingering stares, until we reached a secluded corner by the stairwell.

“Maybe I did,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

I yanked my hand free, glaring. “You’re insufferable.” I turned to walk away, my heart hammering, but something inside me twisted, and I spun back toward him.

“Luca,” I said in a harsh manner, “reject the marriage. You obviously hate me, so there’s no point in dwelling on this any longer. And I…” I faltered, forcing the words out, “I have… very different viewpoints from you.”

His gaze locked on mine, steady and unwavering. “But I don’t want to.”

My breath caught. “Why don’t you want to? You hate me…”

“Did I ever tell you that I hate you?” he asked quietly.

I froze. “No, but…”

He smiled then, slow and disarming, the kind of smile that felt dangerous because it hinted at something I couldn’t decipher. “Enjoy your victory,” he said softly, and then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the stairwell with my pulse racing and my thoughts spiraling.

When I got home, the maids looked fearful, their eyes darting toward the staircase as if they’d seen a ghost. That was unusual.

Curious, I walked forward and lingered in the living room. Shouting drifted down from upstairs, it was very heated. A door slammed so hard the chandelier rattled. My father’s footsteps thundered against the polished wood floor as he stormed out of the bedroom.

I pressed myself under the shadow of the staircase, crouching low beneath the carved banister. From there, I could see the bottom of the steps but remained hidden from view. My pulse thudded in my ears as I strained to listen.

I heard my step mother’s voice first, she sounded very furious. “Why that bastard child? Why not Athena? She’s clearly better than her!”

The word slammed into me. Bastard. My nails dug into my palm until the sting forced me to breathe. I pressed harder, needing the pain to steady me, to keep me from crumbling.

My father’s reply was immediate, though he kept his composure. “In what aspect? Athena is in B class.

Though they’re on the same level, she doesn’t stand out. Besides, the Donnells were the ones who proposed the marriage.”

My stepmother’s heels clicked angrily against the floor as she followed after him. “So what? You know the importance of this alliance. And you’d hand it to her instead of Athena?”

My chest tightened. So this was about the engagement.

She was pissed over the fact that the Donnells wanted me.

I slung my backpack back over my shoulder and started moving toward my room, my steps light against the floor. I wasn’t interested in hearing any more poisonous words.

It was almost laughable. She’d rather send her perfect, loved daughter into the lion’s den for money and power than watch me take that place.

I guess, apparently, for her, the promise of more power outweighed even her daughter’s safety.

After I entered my room, I spread my books across the desk and tried to focus on schoolwork. Numbers blurred on the page, my pencil tapping against the margin. Anything to drown out the echo of their argument upstairs.

A soft knock at the door broke my concentration.

“Miss,” a maid’s timid voice filtered through, “Mr. Virelli is asking for your presence in the living room now.”

Her tone carried the kind of fear that made my stomach turn.

“Okay,” I said quietly, setting my book aside. My fingers lingered on the pages before I pushed back my chair and rose.

When I entered the parlor, my stepmother was nowhere in sight. My father, Vincent Virelli sat in a leather chair, with his legs crossed, a glass of whiskey balanced loosely in his hand. His gaze lifted to me, assessing me slowly.

“Mr. Vincent, you called for me?” I asked, my voice steady.

“Yes, Lana.” His reply was smooth. “I’ve invited stylists. They’ll take care of your hair, your face, your clothes. By six p.m. sharp, we’ll be heading to the Donnells’ estate for the engagement banquet.”

My fists clenched at my sides. So Luca hadn’t been joking. This was happening too fast, like a tide pulling me under before I had time to breathe.

“Alright, Mr. Vincent,” I murmured, my throat tight.

He lifted his glass slightly, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Oh, and one more thing.” His voice dropped an octave. “When we get there, don’t refer to me as Mr. Vincent. Call me Dad.”

That word felt very foreign and choking to me.

“Okay…” I managed, forcing the word past my lips.

Without waiting for dismissal, I turned and walked back to my room. My pulse drummed in my ears.

He wants me to call him dad?

The world I’d been shoved into was closing in on me, and there was no escape.