In all fairness, Inessa thought they were joking.

Although her brother had that strange look in his eyes - the same look men have when they find an extra penny under their seat at the Opera - she decided he was just playing a prank. He wouldn't just sell her to Stark, especially not Stark. What happened to brothers not wanting their younger sister marrying their best friend?

More importantly, Inessa thought bitterly, why would her brother want to sell her off to a man who's reputation was worse than the french woman in backlit alley streets? Stark, at best, could only be defined as a playboy.

She often saw his face printed on the front cover of the morning paper. Sometimes it was for some sort of new invention, like his failed flying car prototype last year. Occasionally it had to do with the war effort; however, it was guaranteed that Stark was pictured with a different woman every Saturday night.

It seemed chivalry was dead these days.

So, she decided to ignore the conversation between James and Stark. The conversation that eerily about her. They were just tricking her, she thought to herself. They had to be. This was the only thought that kept her going as she walked into the sitting room and picked up her play - A Doll's House.

Inessa found herself seated in the green armchair reading the play more often then not. When money was no longer something she could play with, she had no option but to turn to literature. Before her mother started to sell the furniture and literature within the house, Inessa had found this play.

Her mother had nearly fainted the first time she saw her reading it.

Was it a controversial play? Absolutely.

Did she feel partially connected to Nora's plight? Without a doubt.

Even the sound of the paper folding over to reveal the next page of words was cathartic. It was a reminder that for Nora, each page brought her closer to her fate: damnation or salvation - it really dependent on which publication she read. For Inessa, it was a reminder that they still had some power and wealth. Even if it was through a few pieces of old paper with tea stains and tears spoiling it's value.

Curled up in the armchair, Inessa begun from Act 1. Engrossed with how so few words could create such vivid imagery of Christmas trees and macaroons. The deliberation of choice and freedom; was it worth being honest if it came at the cost of one's freewill? All of it - Inessa ate it up. No matter how many times she read the play, she knew she would find something new - hidden behind double barrel sentences.

Whilst reading, Inessa hadn't realised that dusk turned to daylight. Minutes turned into hours and soon midday turned into late afternoon. Her day had been lost to time, not that she could complain. What could a twenty two year old woman do during the day with no money, no education, or a job?

Her brother's got to go to university. It was an expectation, considering they would take over the family business one day. The first born would control the railroad and the spare managed the pearl jewellery business. Ironically, the first born died, the railroad lost all it's investment, and pearls no longer were considered a luxury item.

Ultimately, there was no family business left. It wasn't like she would need an education.

But she probably should get a job, she thought. She was still holding onto the book as she came to a startling realisation. She would have to get a job.

An utterly disgraceful thing, really. A real pity she was too young to remember the days her family owned more money than they could imagine. It had been a quick fall, at least that was what her mother often said bitterly. Uncontrollable and untameable.

It isn't until she hears the creak of the floor boards before she lowers the book to her lap, eyes flickering up to the sound.

It was James.

Her pathetic brother.

Once, a very long time ago, she believed they had enjoyed each other's company. Yet, as the years worn them down they had became anything but civil. James had taken the role of man of the house and playboy too seriously, and she suppose she took the position as the wicked witch. At least, that was what James had called her on more than one occasion.

If she had to guess where the resentment begun, she would easily point the blame to their mother. Inessa's earliest memories were of her mother dislike for James, perhaps it had something to do with how similar he looked to Henry. A better guess would be because James was a man curated by her father's hand. He was self-obsessed, only though for himself, and had a tendency to spend their vanishing savings on outlandish outings that often resulted in him spending the night in a married woman's bed.

He didn't particularly have a shining reputation, and it didn't help that he distanced himself from their Russian roots. In contrast to her brother, she had learnt Russian before English. She often accompanied her mother everywhere, and spent the evenings cooking traditional meals with her.

Inessa kept her mother in her pocket, especially when she clashed with James. It was, after all, the only true power she had left in the house. A mother's rage was much more terrifying than anything James would ever be able to muster.

"Did you not hear me yelling you name?", he said.

She rolled her eyes as she gave him one of her usual looks: lazy, unbothered, and annoyance.

His jaw flexes as he stares up at the ceiling, probably to swear a profanity under his breath. Her bother was always so predictable.

"If you had bothered to listen-", he begun.

"-And why would I listen now?", Inessa snapped back.

James' eyes had narrowed in on her, and there was something deeply concerning in how his eyes darken. He had been cursed with their father's brown eyes, whereas Inessa inherited her mother's grey eyes. Yet, the shade of his eyes was something else: violent.

"You would have known that you need to get out of my house."

She laughs.

He does not flinch.

"You're not serious," she says.

Then she sees Stark walk up behind James, his gaze penetrative.

"Oh, but he is, love", drawls Stark, "In fact, I get to take you tonight in exchange for a fifty thousand pension per year."

Flickering her gaze between Stark and her brother, her mind came to an awful conclusion. He had actually sold her to New Yorks most notorious womaniser for a salary wage.

With her mouth agape, her neck grew warm. There was no way her brother had actually arranged her to marry him, and to add to insult - he was willing to force her to live with a man before marriage. Inessa's dignity had never felt such a hard blow.

"You got to be joking," she hisses, "I am not marrying Stark."

Her voice comes out more pleading then assertive. It was as if the barriers that kept her calm was slowly fading - crumbled that she would be forced into a marriage much like her mothers. Both women forced to marry man they detested... just so their family could save themselves from poverty. It was an unfair cycle - one that Inessa had hoped she would escape.

Especially since it was 1943 and woman of her status weren't just cattle to be sold. Well, perhaps they were more like pawns for their father's games - but not cattle.

"No, you're marrying me, Howard Stark", He states. "You're marrying a genius, a millionaire, and America's hottest bachelor", he says dryly.

At his statement, Inessa stands up and slams her book to the ground. A doll's house be damned, she refused to have the same ending as Nora in the German adaptation: forced into a loveless marriage and stripped of her freewill. Marching up towards Stark, she jabs her finger into his chest.

"I will do no such thing."

In the corner of her eye, she watches James take a step back from her. He mutters something along the line 'Howard's problem now' as he leaves the room completely - leaving Inessa alone with Stark. A less ideal situation.

Her dislike for Stark started young. He was a penniless man that somehow monopolised on her brother's inept business skills - whether James wanted to admit it or not. He hadn't became America's leading technology company without draining all the money left in the Vanel pearl business. Her brother had allowed it to happen, confessing that the money was going to run up eventually.

James had justified his actions with: It's better to be friends with a rich man.

It had made Inessa want to rip her blonde hair when he had said it.

"I will not marry you", Inessa bites, her voice loud enough to echo down the hallway behind Stark.

They were inches apart, and he was still standing tall - towering over her. There would be no choice but to look up to meet his eyes. And it seemed Stark was more than happy to look down on her.

"I don't care", he responds cooly, "The decision has already been made for you."

A scoff leaves Inessa's mouth as she jabbed her finger in his chest again... his hard chest. Not that she was paying particular attention to that new realisation.

"So that's it?," she hisses, her eyes narrowing up at him, "I'm to be sold like a whore?"

His eyes remained emotionless, but she watched his lips twitch into a frown, "Would you rather be sold as one?" he replies harshly, "Sold to the highest bidder? Perhaps James could make more money selling your body instead."

Gasping in disbelief, Inessa blinks at him a few times before processing exactly what he had said. Stark was anything but civilised, but this has only confirmed what she already knew. No matter how much money he makes, no matter the richness of his velvet suits - Stark will always be a street rat.

After all, you can't take the smell of an impoverished childhood from a man.

"How dare you speak of me so uncivilised!"

"I can speak to you however I bloody want to, love."

She's breathing heavier, anger pouring from her before she can stop it. Raised to be an aristocrat, she had learnt that woman had to keep their anger in check... or else risk the reputation of being a barbaric oaf. Yet, Stark had a way with words that seemed to crack it open - leaving her susceptible to his taunts.

And he's smirking at her as he twists the rings on his finger. His lips part to flash his shiny white teeth - she loathed the man.

Then, without a second thought, she raised her hand to slap the smug grin off his face until-

- until he catches her wrist. His grip is tight and promises to leave a series of purple and green bruises as a reminder. And then there just standing: Inessa's wrist in his hand with her chest beating heavily.

Slowly, he steps forward and she steps back. They were already closer than she would prefer. With every step forward, she would match it by stepping back. This danced continued for seconds until Inessa could feel the hard stone wall pressing against her back. She was trapped.

He had her wrist above her head. She's never felt so exposed.

Her body shivers as his mouth lowers to her neck, his breath hot against her flushed skin. He's taunting her, he had to be. This slowly turned into a game for him. She could feel the trail of his warm breath against her skin as he leisurely made it to her ear.

With his voice low and husky, he whispers, "Want to try that again, love?"

Something explodes in Inessa. She had been humiliated and stripped of her dignity before. When she attended school, she was constantly reminded of her families lost fortune. In the handful amount of times she has spent in the upper east, Inessa couldn't shake the feeling of the disgusted stares of onlookers. It had been humiliating.

So, Inessa has had plenty of experience with her dignity being torn to shreds... but never in her home.

This was a new low.

Glaring up at him, she hopes her eyes radiate fire or poison or really anything that could scare him off. She narrows her eyes further, mimicking her mother's terrifying gaze. Nothing seemed to work and this only seemed to make Stark grin more.

His finger presses under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head upwards to meet his gaze. It was hungry. It was dangerous. It was exactly how she expected Howard to look.

"Love, I suppose you're going to need to learn a few rules before we leave today. Never expected the daughter of Richard Vanel to be such a vicious animal."

She growls at him. The irony of bad timing.

Stark's face was only inches from her own, his lips too close to be considered proper. But she suppose their was nothing right about Stark, as if he had lost a screw in his head after all his years under cars and women.

"One," he whispers, "Attack me again and I'll have you screaming."

She hates him.

"Two," he says in her left ear, "Disobey me and I'll remind you exactly what type of man I can be."

Rat man, she thinks to herself.

"Three," he says, pausing a long time before speaking. "I find it unbelievably hot when I woman fights back."

Loathed was probably a better word.

"Four," he says as he leans away from her and straightening his suit, "When I say it's time to go, you go."

Inessa raised her eye brows at him, "You can't make me."

She watched Howard sigh deeply before muttering, 'for the love of christ', before he grabs her waist and forces her body over his shoulder. She's screaming before she even realises that he intends to carry her out of her home.

As he carries her out of the sitting room and towards the front door, Inessa watches the last fragments of her dignity shatter. Like glass, the fallout will cause blood. She just hoped she wouldn't be the one cut.

She would much prefer to watch Stark bleed.

Author's note:

I don't hate poor people, Inessa does (she hates me, I'm poor).

DON'T WORRY GUYS HOWARD ISN'T ALL THAT BAD (I just hate men as much as Inessa does).