Page 88 of Bid For Me
Her words feel like a blow. My father watches us both, his sharp gaze assessing, calculating. He slides the leather folder closer to Elle, the movement deliberate and dismissive at the same time.
Elle opens it and begins skimming through the document, her expression calm but focused. I stay beside her, my fists still clenched, my breath coming in sharp bursts as I watch her scan page after page.
“This is outrageous,” I mutter under my breath.
She doesn’t look up, but her hand reaches out briefly, brushing against mine in a silent reassurance.
Then, her movements freeze. Her brow furrows, her lips pressing into a tight line.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice sharp with concern.
Her eyes flicker to me, a shadow of hesitation crossing her face. “There’s a clause about children,” she says quietly.
“What?” I lean over her shoulder, scanning the section she’s pointing to. My stomach churns as I read the words. The clause outlines how any children we might have would be entirely under the control of the family trust – schooling, finances, even their upbringing dictated by my father.
“This is insane,” I growl, slamming the folder shut. I round on my father, my voice shaking with fury. “You can’t dictate how we raise our kids – if we even decide to have them.”
My father’s expression hardens, his calm exterior cracking just slightly. “It’s not dictating, Sebastian. It’s ensuring that any children born into this family are given the proper opportunities.”
“No,” I snap, my hands slamming down on the table. “It’s controlling their lives before they even exist.”
Elle’s voice cuts through the heated exchange. “This is unacceptable,” she says, her tone even but firm. She pushes thefolder back toward my father. “If you want me to sign this, the clause about children has to go.”
My father regards her with a cold, calculating stare, as if weighing whether she’s bluffing. For a moment, the tension in the room feels unbearable. Then he speaks, his voice like ice. “You’re very persuasive, Elle. But this is non-negotiable.”
“Then I won’t sign it,” she says simply, her voice resolute.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I step forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Good,” I say, my voice steady. “Because we’re not signing anything that gives you control over our future family.”
My father’s gaze shifts between us, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhales, a sound of frustration rather than defeat. “Very well,” he says, his tone clipped. “The clause will be removed. But the rest of the document stands.”
Elle nods, her hand trembling slightly as she picks up the folder again and skims through the remaining terms, after crossing out the clause about children. Once satisfied, she hands it back with a calm precision that both impresses and unsettles me.
My father takes the folder, his expression as inscrutable as ever. “I’ll have this finalised before tomorrow and you can sign the new version,” he says, standing. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He leaves without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Elle, my hand still resting on her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly, my voice laced with guilt.
“Yes, I did,” she replies, meeting my gaze with a determination that takes my breath away. “Because this isn’t just about you, Seb. It’s about us. And I won’t let your father – or anyone else – dictate how we live our lives.”
The strength in her voice, the sheer conviction, sends a wave of emotion crashing over me. I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly, her warmth grounding me.
“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur against her hair.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her expression soft but resolute. “We’ll figure it out,” she says, her voice a quiet promise. “Together. After this wedding, we stop letting your father control us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Elle
The Sterling-Knight ballroom transforms again,this time for the rehearsal dinner. Tables draped in pristine white linens fill the room, their surfaces adorned with glimmering silverware and extravagant floral arrangements. The hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses echo off the high ceilings as friends, family, and a multitude of strangers mingle under the glittering chandeliers.
Seb and I arrive together. As always, his hand on the small of my back is a constant, steadying presence. He looks every inch the heir in his perfectly tailored suit, his confidence radiating effortlessly as he guides me through the room. I, however, feel like an imposter in my sleek, black gown, my hand nervously clutching my favorite Chanel bag.
Candy and her guys are already seated near the head table when we enter, their presence a beacon of familiarity in an otherwise overwhelming sea of faces. Candy waves enthusiastically, her glittering gold dress catching the light, while North, Dash, Don, Wint, and Frost lounge around her, all exuding varying levels of charm and protectiveness.