I sighed, my body trembling from exhaustion after crying for so long. The sight of my blotchy, tear-streaked face in the mirror only made me break down again. I wasn't even sure why, maybe because deep down, I knew what I was about to do was a mistake. Regret and pain twisted inside me as my mind played out a hundred scenarios where I could've fixed this, could've avoided marrying a man who didn't even know my name.
"I've read the paperwork. It's legit," Mike Rond, my dad's lawyer, said as he dropped the document the one that would decide my whole future onto the table.
I turned to him, my voice weak. "There's still no word from my dad's wife? No help at all?" I already knew the answer, but hope is cruel like that.
Mike sighed and gave me a look that almost made it worse pity mixed with resignation. "Stop waiting on them. They're not coming through. Sign this, and I promise, everything will settle. He might even turn out to be a decent guy." He brushed my back in a soothing gesture, the closest thing to comfort I had now that my father was gone.
For the first time, I looked at the documents. My stomach turned. "This says I'll be married to him for five years." I whipped my head toward Mike, disbelief flooding me. His face tightened. "I know."
"I thought this was supposed to be a short arrangement maybe a year!" My voice cracked as I threw my hands up, frustration and fresh tears spilling out. "Five years? Mike, that's like the rest of my youth life!"
"I'm so sorry, kid. But this is what they settled for. Your father's debts the loans alone are two million dollars. That's a lot of money, Emerald," Mike said, sinking heavily onto the bed. I rolled my eyes, my chest tightening. "This is my life we're talking about, Mike. Five years of my life." My voice cracked as I raised it, frustration bubbling up. I felt unheard, abandoned — again.
A knock startled me, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I turned toward the door just as it creaked open. An older man, maybe mid-forties, stepped inside. He had kind eyes and a beard flecked with gray, and when he smiled at me, softly, almost apologetic made something ache deep inside me. I managed a weak smile back, though confusion flickered inside me.
"I don't mean to be rude, but... I wasn't told to expect anyone," I said quietly, my voice still weighted with sadness.
"I'm here to walk you down the aisle, ma'am," he said simply.
The words hit me harder than I expected. Of course no one else would. I'd just buried my father last week, and now... There was no one left. No one to stand by me in this moment that felt less like a wedding and more like a sentencing. I looked at him, unsure what to say, the silence stretching awkwardly between us. I'd never done anything like this before — every step felt foreign.
"My name is Mike, ma'am," he added gently, like he was trying to ease the tension. I blinked, thrown for a second why introduce himself? He probably knew we'd never see each other again after today. Still, it felt wrong not to answer. "My name is Emerald," I murmured, offering him a small, polite smile.
When I stepped toward him, he moved to the door and held it open for me, extending his arm. I hesitated, then reached for it, clinging tighter than I meant to — like he was my last anchor in this storm.
"Wait, we forgot something," he said softly. He adjusted his arm and reached for my veil, carefully pulling it down over my face. "There we go," he murmured, pausing to look at me like he wanted to be sure I was okay. Or maybe he just wanted to give me this one small moment of dignity.
I swallowed hard and nodded, trying to steady myself as we stepped into the hallway.
I gripped his arm like a lifeline as we made our way toward the altar. My hands trembled. Just the thought of his glare the man waiting for me made me shake. I'd seen him once before, and I was certain he didn't like me. I didn't understand it. This marriage was supposed to be a simple arrangement mutual, clean, just a contract. It wasn't supposed to mean anything.
But the fine print in the contract said otherwise. We'd be living together, under the same roof. And that knowledge sat heavy in my chest. I could only hope he remembered that much and didn't make this harder than it already is.
We approached the towering church doors. I had arrived earlier, dressing in one of the back rooms because as someone who spent last night in a dingy motel, there was no way I could put on a wedding dress there.
I froze mid-step. The silence hit me first. No music. No voices. Nothing. Was this wedding just for the two of us? Had he not invited anyone? Mike gently nudged me forward. When I turned to him, his eyes were wide with thinly veiled panic like he knew exactly what I was thinking and was terrified I'd bolt before the ceremony started.
We stepped inside, and my gut twisted. I was right. Only a scattering of guests sat in the pews, and when I looked toward the altar empty. My stomach dropped. You'd think that even for a fake marriage, he'd at least have the decency to show up on time.
Mike kept his gaze forward, not daring to meet my eyes as we walked down the aisle. I stood there, rooted in front of the priest, swallowing down the tears burning at the back of my throat. Every awkward, silent second made the pressure worse. My chest tightened. I didn't want to cry not here, not like this but it was slipping beyond my control. How could he humiliate me like this? How could he make me wait, like I was the afterthought?
Suddenly, the heavy church doors burst open. I jerked in surprise, barely regaining my posture before turning to look. And there he was the groom. My heart stuttered, I quickly wiped at the tears streaking my face beneath the veil.
Our eyes met. His stare was cool, detached, like I was little more than a stranger on the street. Then he glanced away, dismissing me without a second thought, his expression unreadable.
"Make this quick," he muttered, striding forward with one hand in his pocket and the other flicking his watch.
Even through the soft blur of the veil, I could see the hard line of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows. I turned back toward the priest, blinking back tears as I prepared to marry a man who couldn't even look at me with a shred of warmth.
We said the vows—cold, mechanical words. Signed the marriage documents like business partners closing a deal. Then he grabbed my arm, firm and unyielding, tugging me toward the exit. Outside, his hand tightened around mine every time I fell even a step behind, the grip soft enough not to bruise, but firm enough to remind me that I was his possession now. A sleek black limo slid to a stop in front of the church.
He opened the door with practiced ease, and for one fleeting second — just one — my heart fluttered at the unexpected courtesy.
But then he spoke. "We have an event to attend. That's where you'll smile the most. We'll play the perfect couple. I don't want you to mess this up. Do you understand me?" His words sliced through the air, laced with venom.
I blinked at him, stunned, my throat thick with unsaid words. There was so much I wanted to scream at him. But the wall around him was impenetrable. So instead, I just nodded and looked away, swallowing down my tears. If my father were alive, none of this would be happening.
A soft weight landed on my lap. I looked down — a pristine, designer white dress. My brows knit together in confusion. I glanced at him. Why now? Why couldn't this wait until we reached wherever he planned to keep me?
"Change into that. We'll be at the dinner in ten minutes," he said without looking at me, his gaze fixed outside like the scenery meant nothing to him.
I let out a humorless laugh, bitter and dry. "So I'm supposed to just strip out of my wedding dress and into this — here? With you watching?"
His lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It's me or the driver. Though I doubt he'd be interested." His voice was low, husky, but not in any way warm. More like a warning.
I turned away, folding my arms across my chest. "I can't." The words came out sharper than I intended. I slumped against the seat, blinking hard to push back the tears. I refused to let him see me break.
But then, without warning, his hand shot out, rough fingers grabbing my face and jerking it toward his. My breath hitched. His cold, blue eyes locked on mine, a storm swirling behind them. His jaw clenched so tight I thought he might snap.
"You will do what I tell you, when I tell you. I own you now, Emerald Peterson. Don't you ever forget that." His grip tightened with each word, the pressure making my skin sting. "Now change into that dress before I throw you out of this car." I whimpered, small and helpless, caught in the trap I hadn't even seen closing around me until it was too late.
"Throw me,"