Chapter 5: A Bargain for Survival

It had become a tradition, a way to reward loyalty without actually giving up anything important. I knew what I was asking for—a safe distance.

Sometimes, women with good reputations would be given honorary titles as a sign of favor.

It was a polite fiction, a way to keep everyone happy. I didn’t care. I just wanted out.

And a house as a reward.

A place of my own. Four walls, a roof, and a door that locked. That was all I wanted now.

I knelt there, never daring to lift my head.

The tile was cold against my skin. I focused on the pattern, counting the squares, anything to keep from crying.

Even such an empty title was safer than staying by Jackson’s side.

I’d rather be forgotten than remembered for the wrong reasons.

I saw his polished dress shoes approach. Step by step.

I saw the faint scuff on the toe, the way the laces were tied just a little too tight. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne—sharp, clean, expensive.

His voice was cold. Icy. He slowly bent down, his voice as cold as water about to drip.

His shadow fell over me, blocking out the light. I braced myself, waiting for his verdict.

"Savannah, you want to be my little sister?"

His words were soft, almost mocking. I kept my eyes on the floor, refusing to flinch.

The hall was silent.

Every breath felt loud, every heartbeat a drum in my ears. No one dared to speak.

"Little sister..." Jackson sneered, "Savannah, what makes you think a fisher girl is worthy of joining the Bennett family?"

His tone cut like glass, each word deliberate. I bit my lip, refusing to let him see how much it hurt.

His right hand unconsciously touched the old keychain hanging from his belt.

I recognized it instantly. The little white crane, faded and chipped, still dangling from the ring. He’d kept it all these years.

It was a little worn.

The paint had chipped off the wings, but the shape was still there—a memory made solid.

On it was a white crane charm.

I remembered making it, fumbling with wire and beads, laughing when it came out crooked. He’d said it was perfect.

That was my birthday gift to him.

He’d smiled, tucking it into his pocket, promising to keep it always. I wondered if he remembered that promise now.

Jackson probably didn’t even realize it.

He fiddled with it absently, lost in thought. Old habits die hard.

Whenever he argued with me and wanted me to make up with him, he’d always do that, fiddling with the charm.

It was his tell, the thing that gave him away. Even now, it made my heart ache.

But this time, I didn’t want to give in anymore.

I stayed silent, holding my ground. I wouldn’t beg, not this time.

I said nothing.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. I let it hang between us, refusing to break first.

I didn’t even look up at him.

It was the only power I had left—to deny him my eyes, my tears.

The air was tense.

It felt like the whole room was holding its breath, waiting for someone to move.

Until a man on the right cleared his throat: "Mr. Bennett—"

The interruption was a relief, a lifeline thrown at just the right moment. I glanced sideways, just enough to see who’d spoken.

It was actually the judge.

His presence was commanding, even in the quiet. He stood with the ease of someone used to being obeyed.

When Jackson was disinherited, the judge managed family affairs for him.

He’d kept the family afloat, making decisions in Jackson’s absence. Some said he liked the power a little too much.

Over the years, he was like a regent, holding all the power, almost running the family on his own.

People whispered about him—how he’d shaped the Bennett legacy, how nothing happened without his say-so.