𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

POV || Aurelia

I stood before the full-length mirror, gazing over my appearance, searching for any sort of disarray in my attire. I ran my fingers over my dress absentmindedly, preparing myself for the night ahead of me. Today was the day. I was going to become a slave to some man for the rest of my life.

To some, it could be overdramatic. Surely I wouldn't be forced to marry. Sadly, it wasn't some story I was imagining. I am forced to go to this cursed dance, and I will be forced to find a husband, too. I had always wanted to marry for love, but that was impossible thanks to my current predicament.

I ran my fingers through the dark curls around my head, making sure everything was in place. I twiddled my mother's necklace, trying to calm myself. The tight feeling in my throat grew, and I took a deep breath.

Father needs me to marry. His gambling problem got out of hand after my mother passed away, and not so slowly, all the money we had was drained down to the last drop. There was barely enough to scrape together to get a new dress for this event. Definitely not enough to get the frilly dress that had been sweeping through high society as of late. Instead, the one I wore was of a deep red color with lace sleeves and accents along the bodice. It complimented my dark features quite nicely, especially when highlighted by the deep rogue I wore to accentuate them.

If my father didn't care about status and society so much, he wouldn't have even given me the money to get this simple dress. He would have just sent me in one of the older dresses and used the money to drown himself in alcohol and gambling for another night or two.

There was a knock at my door, and the pit in my stomach grew. I really might empty my stomach now.

"Aurelia, open the door," the cold voice demanded.

My hand shook as I reached out to turn the knob. I stilled my fingers on the handle and took a deep breath. No weakness. He despises weakness. I pulled the door open.

Richard Beckingham. My father, stood in the doorway, and I backed up slightly. He looked me over with a cool gaze, his face void of emotion. After giving me a once over, he let out an irritated sigh, "Good enough, I suppose."

I let out a shaky breath, glad that he was satisfied. His eyes snapped to mine, his face serious. "If you don't find a man tonight, you are as good as dead." He walked over to me, yanking my arm. His nails bit into my skin, and the searing pain shot up my arm. "You're worthless. You should have died with your mother. All you are good for now is marrying some oaf that can give me enough money to live."

My eyes stung, and my arm throbbed, but no tears came. I knew he didn't love me. He didn't care about me. I had heard this before. I either needed to be useful or get out.

He snatched my jaw and made me look into his eyes. There was fire flickering in them. "If you can't find a way to do that, I'll murder you myself. I don't need some whore around eating up more of my money." He let out a dark chuckle. "Who knows, I could even use your death to petition to the King and get some money for my grief." He smiled wickedly.