For all intents and purposes, Abel may as well be a bastard. His connection to IVI is weak at best. He was Eli’s first and only son, but he was not born to the woman The Society chose for him. Therefore, he will never truly be of importance in our world. It’s a simple concept to grasp, even for someone like him, but accepting it is another matter.

He has always been too smug for my liking. Too eager for approval. I don’t like the way he carries himself, and I am even less pleased with how readily he agreed to offer his sister to me. He might not have a choice in the matter, but his lack of regard for his own blood does nothing to win my approval.

I expected a fight, and admittedly, I am disappointed that I did not get one. I’ve been watching his family for four years now, and I have found a weakness for all but him. Eli and his wife crave the power that comes with The Society. Ivy craves to escape through naïve dreams of school and a life she’ll never have. Much like her older sister, who did escape, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried. The youngest Moreno, Evangeline, isn’t old enough to have an opinion either way. But Abel does not seem to be cursed with affection for any of his family members, and if he loves anything other than himself, I have not yet discovered it.

Marrying Ivy off to me should have been torturous to all of them. But not once since I declared my intentions has anyone come to beg me to spare her. Not even her own mother. I’m beginning to think the only Moreno who might care is the one who’s lying helpless in a coma, too cowardly to face the injustices he deserves himself.

“I wanted to offer you an assurance.” Abel’s eyes flick to the empty chair opposite my desk. He’s waiting for me to tell him to sit down and make himself comfortable. I don’t.

“What assurance?” My eyes narrow in on the folded paper in his hands.

“That your bride is pure. There can be no doubt now.”

I consider his words carefully. Surely, he cannot mean what I think he does. But as I examine the tilt of his lips and an expression that can only indicate he is rather pleased with himself, my temples begin to throb violently.