CONRAD PIERRE

CONRAD

A year and half away, and now I was finally back home. I was back to the very place I despised.

The same place that made me go to a rehabilitation centre for a year and half. It's strange how, despite everything my father did to me, he still wanted me to take over his company.

But of course it's because I was the only person available for now and it would never be free. I could take over his company only if I married within a certain period.

“Remember that everything you own is mine,” he had once said.

Well, now that he has given me his company to manage, I planned to leave my mark everywhere until my father's name became nothing but a memory.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I remained standing by the window in my large bedroom, my gaze fixed on the gardener outside. Such lazy humans.

The sky was clear, its blue hues casting a bright glow in my room. It was peaceful.

“Come in,” I said, my voice sharp and low.

The door slowly opened and Mr Colton Garrett, my personal assistant stepped in, shutting the door behind him.

“Young master,” he said, his voice low.

I turned, narrowing my eyes. “Don't call me that!” I said, my voice a low command. “I am Conrad Pierre.”

He stepped back slightly, his hands folded behind him. “My apologies.”

I sighed, settling down on a chair by the window. “Your father instructed me to ask you if your wedding will still be done in five days' time.”

I leaned back, shutting my eyes for a few seconds. “The date hasn't been changed. The wedding will go on.”

“Do you know the bride? Have you seen her before?”

“It doesn't matter Colton. She is a substitute and the secret will remain between us.”

There was a brief silence before Colton spoke. “What about… your therapist, Conrad?”

I arched my brows, looking at him. “What about him?”

He cleared his throat, his hands still folded. “You haven't visited for a while and Mr Pierre will not take it lightly if he finds out.”

I exhaled, standing up, my jaw tight. “I don't need therapy anymore. My father put me in rehabilitation for years. What more does he want?”

My hands were clenched, my mood dark as I walked to Colton. “I'm not going back there, Colton. Never.”

He stared at me, his stance strong. He wasn't scared of me. He didn't see me as someone that needed therapy. Or maybe he did. He had taken care of me since childhood so he knew everything about me.

“What do you suggest I do?” he asked, his voice calm.

“Tell him to go on a trip for a very long time and if father asks, tell him the therapist dismissed me as stable.”

He nodded and turned to leave, but stopped. “Your bandage is bleeding. Do you want me to change it?”

I glanced at my wrist, sighing. “I'll handle it myself. Leave!” He left the room and shut the door, the sound a faint thud.

When he was gone, I collapsed on my chair, taking off the bandage from my wrist.

The fabric peeled away, revealing a sight that made my stomach churn. It was a raw, angry red, the skin around the wound still swollen and tender. It wasn't just a wound. It was an ugly festering thing that would undoubtedly leave a thick scar, a permanent testament to my father's affection for me.

“A welcome home gift,” he had said a month ago, a grin on his face. I had just gotten back, still reeling from the rehabilitation journey when he had welcomed me.

I could still remember his eyes glinting with that familiar predatory amusement.

His words had haunted me before I left for my therapy sessions. “Never return to that little weakling you were years ago.”

I hated myself for the weakling I was as a child. I hated my younger self. I hated being reminded of how I was then. And that little kid was a mirror of how weak I was then. The one I had seen at the hospital the previous day. I hated that kid who had stared back at me through the child's innocent eyes. I hated how he looked. And I hoped never to see him again.

*************************************

AMELIA

Days had passed since my job search began. Four days of endless searching and it yielded nothing. Some of the hospitals I went to called me. Only to tell me I didn't get the job or pass the interview.

When I had brought up Xander's offer to my parents that night, I hoped they would agree. Xander wasn't perfect, but his proposition felt like a lifetime, a way to escape the suffocating pressure and fear for Noah's future.

I laid it out, carefully, trying to make it sound reasonable. My mother's face crumpled in disbelief, then solidified into an expression of utter disapproval. My father, who had been listening silently, slammed his fist on the table.

“Absolutely not!” he roared, his voice shaking the quiet air. “Don't ever think about doing that. It is Conrad Pierre or no one else.”

My shoulder sank and my fragile hope shattered, leaving behind a cold, empty ache.

Since then, I hadn't bothered talking to them again. Just as I put my son to sleep and was about to lie down, a soft knock sounded on my door.

Thinking it would be my brother, Aiden again, I took out my pocket knife and went to open the door. I was surprised to see my father standing there, his face calm. I told him to enter inside and he did.

“We've talked about Xander, and that's not an option,” he began, his gaze serious as we settled down. “We already made the deal with Conrad Pierre and he will not spare us if he finds out we opt out from the deal.”

I stared at him, my heart slowly breaking to shards. They already made the deal with him. Without informing me, again.

He then leaned forward, his eyes earnest. He glanced at my son and was about to touch him, but I held his hand midway, my mood dark. He pulled his hand back, sensing my disapproval.

“Think about Noah, Amelia. Think about his life and future. Do you want him to grow up struggling? Or to worry about where his next food will come from? Conrad can give both of you a good and stable life. A life you can't provide right now, not on your own.”

I glared at him, my lips quivering. “But Xander is ready to provide that for me and also invest in your company. Or you just want it to be Conrad and no one else. You're practically selling me off to him.”

He stood up, his mood changing. “Noah will have someone to call his father when he grows up. This discussion is over! You're getting married to Conrad tomorrow.” He said and left my room, not glancing back once.

I sighed, collapsing on the bed. Tomorrow. It will happen tomorrow. I will be a substitute bride tomorrow.