Arabella gasped. She wasn't sure which was worse: the knowledge that Grant had been concealing his background from her or the discovery she had just made considerably more sinister than she was ready for.
Sitting at the window, Arabella's eyes followed the edges of the clouds far below while the private plane hummed gently in the background. From the opulent cabin to the carefully thought-out itinerary, every aspect of the trip to the remote island was organized correctly.
Still, even with the luxury all about her, she couldn't help but think this was all some elaborate show. A ruse. A phony honeymoon to market the public's view of her union with Grant Winslow.
Grant, sitting opposite her, as usual, had a faultless posture. Though his black suit, the precisely fitted fabric clinging to his body, was a sharp contrast to the comfort of the private plane, he nevertheless made it seem simple.
His lips were devoid of a grin, his eyes lacked laughter, and all that remained was the frigid, methodical accuracy she had come to expect from him.
The whole thing seemed stifling. The burden of the contract she had signed bore strongly on her chest.
Five million dollars for her sister's care, indeed. But at what price? Everything she had known was fading away: her personal independence and sense of self.
Then came Grant. She had considered him the faceless, even mythical remote guy in all of this. But she could not help but see him as they journeyed in this remote opulence.
Under that mask, though, there was something raw, almost desperate, hidden despite the control and authority he wielded easily. When he spoke of his past, when his guard dropped for only a fraction of a second, she had seen it briefly. His chilly exterior belied something more profound about him.
Grant moved in his seat, and for a brief moment, his eyes met hers.
"This isn't what you anticipated, is it? " he said quietly, nearly reflectively.
The unexpected sensitivity in his voice surprised her; for a while, Arabella questioned whether the guy in front of her was the same with whom she had signed the contract.
"I didn't expect much of anything," she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her voice had a bitterness she didn't even know existed.
"I understood what I was signing up for, marriage for money. A life spared."
Grant's face relaxed a little, but his eyes grew rigid again. "You believe this is simple? For either of us?"
The unexpected shift made Arabella blink. "What do you mean?" she enquired, her words tinged with curiosity despite herself. Could it be guilt? Was it a moment of truth breaking through?
Grant leaned forward a little and folded his hands in front of him. His stare was nearly unbearable in intensity.
"You believe I desired this existence? That I had options?" His voice fell to a whisper as if he were admitting something too terrible to express out loud. "The family I was born into, the treachery I have suffered, I am caught. We're both stuck."
Arabella sat back, taken aback by the rawness of his remarks. She couldn't say if it were only a ploy for compassion or something more sincere. For a time, she allowed herself to think it was the latter.
"The Winslows," he said, his tone growing darker.
" You believe you know all there is to know about them, but you don't. You have no idea what I have had to endure or what I have had to do to get to this point." His jaw was tight, and the strain in his body was evident as he stopped.
"You're here since I require you to maintain appearances. Believe me, Arabella, I'm not doing this for myself."
A shiver ran up her back. It was the first time he had spoken something that nearly seemed human.
Arabella gulped hard, her mind racing. Isla was the one she had come here to save. She had come here because the money was too good to pass up, leaving her no other option. But now, at this time, she was caught. Could she believe him? Ought she to?
As the jet dropped towards its destination, its engines hummed louder. An isolated island, the earth below appeared surrounded by crystal, transparent water. Its beauty was almost surreal in its completeness. But this was all fake.
Grant replied abruptly, his voice icy once more, "Don't confuse this for anything more than what it is. Arabella, we are playing a part. Nothing else."
But Arabella felt a peculiar flutter in her chest as the words left his lips. The way he phrased it made her feel as though we were playing a part, as if we were two performers in some great, unsaid show. Something she could not identify.
White sand beaches, luxury houses tucked under swaying palm trees, and crystal, pure water extending as far as the eye could see made the island much more opulent than Arabella envisioned.
Overlooking the sea, they were residing in a huge mansion. But the beauty of it all could not quiet the nagging voice in Arabella's head.
Since their talk on the jet, Grant had maintained his distance. He had been chilly, distant, back to his usual self. For only a moment, Arabella couldn't get rid of the picture of him lowering his guard.
She was uncertain if she had misinterpreted the circumstance or whether something else was operating.
Unable to sleep, Arabella spent the night after dinner meandering around the mansion. Stepping onto the balcony, the great ocean spread out before her like an unending chasm, the cool night air seared against her skin.
Then, she saw a tiny drawer next to the bed in the room she had been given. The curiosity eating at her made her heart skip a beat. Though she had previously investigated most of the estate, this drawer, the one she had not opened, was the one item that fascinated her.
Though she knew well, she opened it.
A little, simple bottle of tablets sat at the back of the drawer. The label said: Terminal Stage 4.
Arabella's hand trembled as she drew the bottle out. The universe around her whirled. Final. Fourth stage. She had heard enough to understand what it signified.
Grant was passing away.
Staring at the bottle, she felt a firm lump in her stomach and her breath stuck in her throat. Was this reality? Was he dying, or was this only another component of the game?
The room felt colder now, the truth sinking in like an anchor dragging her further into the unknown. Arabella wanted solutions. She had to face him.
Footsteps of Grant echoed along the corridor.
Arabella turned, her heart pounding as she shoved the bottle back into the drawer, the reality of the moment striking her with an unprepared force. His eyes dark, his face unreadable, he entered the room, and she stood motionless.
"Arabella, I'm dying," he said flatly, his voice colder than she had ever known.
"But I need you to complete what I started." His look was sharp and full of something she couldn't grasp as the words hung in the air between them: death.
Taking a shuddering breath, Arabella spoke almost inaudibly. "You should have told me. Why didn't you let me know?"
Something unintelligible made Grant's eyes flutter. He remarked icily, "You are not here for sympathy. Your purpose is to assist me in safeguarding what belongs to me. That's all there is."
Arabella's heart raced in her chest. She was unsure what to trust any longer. Their chemistry was evident, but so was the cold world he had drawn her into.
Tangled in his web, she could not escape.
As she stood there, gazing into his eyes, she concluded she had no idea how to flee.