Chapter 3: A Reward and a Reckoning

Two

During the banquet, the president asked warmly, "Natalie, your marriage alliance was a great service to the country. What reward do you wish for?"

I replied openly, "Mr. President, your daughter hopes you will bestow a home, so I may live comfortably in the days ahead." I’d like a place of my own—something stable.

I spoke clearly, letting my words hang in the air. The nearby guests shifted in their seats, some glancing toward my parents with barely hidden curiosity. The way I said it, every syllable was a gentle accusation—an open wound for anyone paying attention.

Anyone paying attention could hear I was hinting at my parents’ lack of kindness toward me.

Many strange looks fell on my parents, making them squirm in their seats—forks paused, a camera flash caught their tight smiles, and whispers skittered like mice.

It was the payback they deserved.

And this was only the beginning—I took a slow sip of water, the ice clink loud as a gavel.

In my previous life, after I returned safely, they despised me for having been the Northland president’s woman, even wishing I’d die to prove my innocence—the bathroom tile cold under my knees, a doctor’s flat voice refusing to see what was done to me.

Aubrey Sinclair framed me again and again with such clumsy tricks—did they really not see through it? She swapped a letter on my desk to make it look like I’d leaked intel; she slipped a vial into my clutch and cried scandal when it “fell out.”

If you look closely, they weren’t innocent at all—status, donor access, the glittering invitations Aubrey dangled kept them willfully blind.

The president leveled a hard stare at my father, then smiled and said to me, "I grant it."

I knelt to thank him for his kindness.

I went down on one knee, the classic gesture at such a formal event—a blend of respect and solemnity. The band paused, the room quieted, and my heart thudded in my chest. Some of the guests nodded approvingly, understanding the weight of what was unfolding.

The First Lady said, "When Natalie went for the marriage alliance, she was only fifteen. Now she’s in the prime of her youth. Mr. President, perhaps you should arrange a marriage for Natalie—politically sound, of course, and with her consent."

Her tone was gentle but carried a hint of planning, like someone who always had one eye on the future. I caught her smile—a little too tight—and realized she was staking her claim on me, making sure my future would be secure but also public.

The president nodded thoughtfully and asked me again, "What does Natalie think?"

My gaze swept the crowd again. When I saw Marcus Lane, he quickly lowered his head and turned away, as if afraid I’d look at him and pester him to marry me—his shoulders stiffened, fingers tugging at his tie.

He and I had known each other since childhood, childhood sweethearts, but our engagement was broken off because of the marriage alliance.

He fell in love with another girl, which I could accept and understand.

But he fell in love with that stand-in, shielding and indulging her as she repeatedly framed me.

He even knew she poisoned me, yet still protected her—deleting a damning text from his phone, pocketing evidence with a guilty flinch—as he watched me die from the poison, my features twisted in pain.

That burning pain in my organs—just remembering it now makes it hard to breathe, like molten glass in my lungs.

My knuckles whitened around my water glass. Every muscle in my body tensed as memories flashed before my eyes—the betrayal, the cold indifference, Marcus’s refusal to meet my gaze. I promised myself I’d never beg for his love again. The glass creaked in my hand before I set it down.