The Angel And The Bastard

Chapter 1 - Iris

Iris

I'm standing in the boardroom, pretending I care.

Smiling, nodding.

All the things a good daughter should do.

My father's voice fills the air like the hum of a well-oiled machine, precise and practiced, rolling out stock values and quarterly reports, making promises that'll leave the poor poorer and our pockets lined.

It's all very charming, if you're into that sort of thing.

I, for one, am not.

"Miss Laurent?" one of the board members—a silver-haired man who smells like peppermint,addresses me with a faint smile. "Do you have any thoughts on the acquisition of Crestmore?"

I offer a small, perfectly measured smile in return. "I think it's a sound investment, Mr. Crawford. Crestmore's market share in Europe could diversify our portfolio and offer leverage in emerging markets."

Inside, I'm rolling my eyes so hard they might detach.

We all know the only reason they ask my opinion is because my father insists I'm here as some kind of showpiece.

See? Look how progressive we are.

We let the girl speak.

But the truth is, they'd rather I sit pretty and nod along like the living mannequin they think I am.

Not that I have much choice. Daddy dearest has made that perfectly clear.

His precious heiress has one purpose: to obey and look the part while they arrange my life, cut and trim it until it fits their perfect mold.

Just like Roman, my fiancé. Or rather, the fiancé they've given me.

Roman stands beside me, impossibly handsome with his square jaw, sandy blond hair, and eyes like winter ice.

The kind of man who, on paper, makes sense.

Old-money handsome. Polished and utterly unremarkable. A man who talks about business mergers the way some people talk about love.

If only he didn't open his mouth.

"Good job, Iris," Roman whispers in my ear as the board moves on to the next agenda item.

His hand slides over my shoulder, possessive. "Nice of you to actually pay attention for once."

I keep my smile locked in place, but inwardly, I'm imagining creative ways to dump his scotch in his lap.

He thinks I don't pay attention because I don't have a penis, which means, of course, I couldn't possibly understand business.

Funny, considering I spend more time on Laurent Industries than he does.

But sure, let's humor him.

"Thank you, darling," I whisper back, saccharine sweet. "I try to keep up with the big words you use."

Roman's smile tightens, just a fraction, but he's too busy playing the part of the supportive fiancé to react.

He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't forget, Iris,there will be a lot of important investors at our engagement party,you need to make your father proud tonight."

Ah, the engagement. How could I forget? I suppose I should feel something—excitement, dread, nausea—but all I feel is... tired.

Tired of the script they've handed me.

Tired of pretending that the idea of spending my life with Roman doesn't make me want to scream into a pillow.

Outwardly, though, I'm the picture of contentment. "Of course, Roman. I wouldn't dream of disappointing him."