CHAPTER 5

ISABELLA

I made it exactly three blocks from Blackwood Tower before my composure shattered.

My knees buckled beneath me, and I barely managed to steady myself against the cool stone of a building facade. Pedestrians streamed past, a few casting curious glances at the woman in the black dress who suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe.

The weight of what I'd just done pressed against my chest like a concrete slab. I'd said yes. I'd agreed to marry Alexander Blackwood,a man who had meticulously orchestrated my family's downfall, who had watched me for years with cold calculation, who had openly admitted that I was nothing more than an instrument of revenge.

And I was to be his wife in four days.

I stared down at the black pearl ring glinting on my finger, its darkness both beautiful and ominous. Rare. Formed under pressure. Beautiful, but not in the conventional way.

His words echoed in my mind, the unexpected moment of something almost like sincerity in an otherwise transactional encounter. For that brief moment, he had looked at me, really looked at me, as if seeing something beyond his revenge plot.

It was probably just another manipulation.

My phone buzzed in my purse, pulling me back to reality. I fished it out with trembling fingers to find a text from my father: Did you meet with him? What happened?

The rage that flooded me was surprising in its intensity. I shoved the phone back into my purse without responding and pushed myself away from the wall. I couldn't go home, not yet. Not when every corner of that house held my father and his lies and his guilt.

Instead, I started walking, letting my feet carry me wherever they would. The September afternoon was cool but sunny, the kind of perfect Boston day that usually filled me with creative energy. Now, I barely noticed the brilliant blue sky or the historic architecture surrounding me.

I had four days of freedom left. Four days before I bound myself to a man who saw me as collateral damage in his war against my father.

Somehow, my aimless wandering led me to the Public Garden. I found an empty bench beside the lagoon and sank onto it, watching the swan boats glide across the water, filled with laughing tourists. How strange that the world could look so normal when mine had been completely upended.

Finally, I pulled out my phone again, ignoring the three additional texts from my father. Instead, I called the one person I knew would understand the impossible choice I'd made.

"Izzy?" Maya's voice answered on the second ring. "I was just about to call you. Did you finish that commission for Hartwell Gallery? They're asking about,"

"I'm getting married on Saturday," I interrupted, the words tumbling out before I could soften them.

The silence that followed was so complete I thought the call had dropped.

"Maya?"

"I'm sorry," she finally responded. "For a second I thought you said you're getting married on Saturday."

"I did."

"To whom?" Her voice had risen an octave. "Last I checked, you weren't even dating anyone. Unless,wait, did you and that barista from Groundwork finally,"

"To Alexander Blackwood," I said flatly.

Another silence, longer this time. Maya was my oldest friend and my occasional agent, handling the business side of my art career when I landed bigger commissions. She was also possibly the only person in my life who would understand the full implications of what I'd just said.

"Alexander Blackwood as in the Alexander Blackwood? CEO of Blackwood Enterprises? Boston's most eligible and terrifying bachelor?"

"The very same."

"Izzy, what the hell is going on?" All humor had vanished from her voice. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"God, I wish it were." I leaned back on the bench, closing my eyes against the afternoon sun. "Remember how I told you my father had been acting strange lately? Financial troubles he wouldn't explain, selling off assets?"

"Yeah, but you said it was just bad investments..."

"It was blackmail," I said, the word bitter on my tongue. "Six years ago, my father signed a contract with Blackwood. Financial protection in exchange for me."

"For you? What does that even mean?"

"It means exactly what you think it means." I opened my eyes, watching a young couple stroll past hand in hand, completely oblivious to my disintegrating world. "My father sold me into marriage to save himself."

The words hung between us, stark and brutal. Saying them aloud made the reality crash over me anew.

"That's not legal," Maya said finally. "That can't possibly be enforceable."

"Apparently, it is when it's structured as a choice rather than a mandate. I can refuse. If I do, my family loses everything,including my mother's medical care."

"Jesus, Izzy." Her voice softened. "This sounds like something out of a Gothic novel, not modern-day Boston."

"Tell me about it." I laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. "But it gets better. The reason Blackwood wants this marriage is that my father was responsible for his parents' deaths fifteen years ago."

I explained everything,the corporate espionage, James Blackwood's depression, the fatal drive off Harborview Bridge. With each detail, Maya's shocked exclamations grew quieter, until she was listening in complete silence.

"So I'm the centerpiece of his revenge," I concluded. "The thing my father loves most, handed over to the son of the people he destroyed."

"Oh, Izzy." Her voice cracked with emotion. "This is beyond fucked up. Have you talked to a lawyer? There has to be some way out of this."

"My father already consulted three different attorneys. The contract is airtight." I twisted the black pearl ring on my finger, watching how it caught the light. "Besides, even if there were legal loopholes, we can't afford the kind of lawyers who could find them. Blackwood has made sure of that."

"Then run," Maya said simply. "Come stay with me. We'll figure something out."

The offer was tempting, so tempting that for a wild moment I imagined doing exactly that. Disappearing. Starting over somewhere Blackwood couldn't find me.

"I can't," I said softly. "My mother... you know her care is everything. And as much as I hate my father right now, I can't be responsible for his complete destruction."

"So you're just going to sacrifice yourself instead? Marry a man who's using you as a weapon against your father?"

Put that way, it sounded insane. But what choice did I really have?

"I negotiated terms," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "My art career remains mine. Separate bedrooms. Financial independence, to a degree. It's not ideal, but it's not complete subjugation either."