The Signed Trap

My father looked at me for a long moment before breaking into a full smile.

"I knew you would come around," he said, his voice dripping with victory. "It is the least you can do anyway, after disgracing this family with a bastard child."

He turned back toward the room, grabbed a still weeping Natalie by her tiny wrist, and practically threw her out into the hallway toward me. I caught her in my arms, pulling her small body close against my chest.

"Look presentable tomorrow," my father ordered, his voice cold and devoid of any warmth.

Before I could say another word, he slammed the bedroom door shut in my face. The heavy wood clicked into place, locking us out in the dim hallway.

I stared at the closed door for a second, my heart hammering against my ribs. I pulled Natalie tighter into my arms, soothing her with quiet whispers as tears ran down my own face. She buried her wet face into the crook of my neck, her small hands clutching tightly to my shirt.

"It is okay, baby," I whispered, kissing the top of her head. "Mommy has got you. You are safe now."

I carried her down the dark corridor to my own room, pushing the door open with my shoulder. I sat down on the edge of my bed and rocked her back and forth in the dark, humming a low melody until her harsh sobs slowed into steady, soft breathing. I laid her down carefully on the mattress, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and sat beside her all night, unable to close my eyes.

The next day arrived far too quickly. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully applying layers of thick concealer to cover the dark bruise my father had left on my cheek. The purple mark was stubborn, but I managed to hide it under heavy foundation. I picked out a simple, dark green dress from my closet. It was suitable enough for a formal event, but as I looked at my reflection, I felt zero confidence. I had thought about running away in the middle of the night. I really had. But I had nowhere to go, no money saved up, and no real friends in this fake high society world to call for help.

By seven in the evening, the party started downstairs. The grand living room was filled with soft classical music and low chatter. A young legal clerk in a sharp suit arrived holding two thick folders, handing both my sister and me our respective marriage contracts. My father stood at the center of the room, raising a champagne glass to give a proud speech of honor. It was supposed to serve as an official wedding party for both daughters.

The crowd gathered around, whispering loud enough for me to hear every single word.

"Look at her," a woman in a red gown murmured to her husband. "Such a pity. Selling her off to old Harrison after what happened years ago."

"She brought it on herself," another man scoffed, sipping his drink. "A college dropout with a fatherless kid. She is lucky anyone wants her."

I kept a straight face, staring blankly ahead as my jaw tightened. My father cleared his throat, his voice booming over the speakers. "Our esteemed grooms will be joining the celebration any minute now!"

I had tucked Natalie into bed upstairs before coming down. I looked down at the paper contract in my hands, scanning the black text line by line. My brows furrowed in complete confusion as I read the strict terms laid out on the white page.

There were rules about separate bedrooms. I was granted full permission to use his black credit card whenever I wished. I was explicitly required to stay out of his personal business and corporate affairs. My eyes ran down to the last two clauses at the bottom. The marriage would only last five years. Above all, falling in love was strictly not an option.

My frown deepened. This did not read like a contract written for an aging alcoholic like Thomas Harrison. It sounded like an agreement for a business deal.

I looked over at Victoria. She had already finished signing her papers with a smug grin, handing the folder directly to my father. My father turned and walked toward me, his face twisted with disgust as he looked at my pale face.

"Sign it," he ordered in a harsh whisper, bending down near my ear. "Your husband called to say he cannot make it tonight. Stop staring at it like an idiot."

"Dad, wait," I tried to point out the strange clauses on the page. "Look at these terms. This does not make any sense."

"Do not stall!" my father cut me off instantly, grabbing my arm tightly. "Sign it right now! I will not have you making a scene in front of our guests!"

My hand trembled as I pressed the pen to the paper. I signed my name at the bottom line, officially sealing my fate. I handed him the folder, my heart suddenly beating faster and faster. Panic washed over me as the cold reality set in. My future was completely gone. I was now legally bound to a violent abuser and a notorious drunk.

The event continued around me like a bad dream. Guests offered me stiff, fake congratulations before quickly walking away, while they showered Victoria with warm praises and expensive gifts. I stood alone near the edge of the room, my throat tight as I fought back the overwhelming urge to break down and cry.

Suddenly, a loud announcement echoed through the main entrance hall.

"Presenting the arrival of Mr. Whitmore!"

The family butler stepped forward into the center of the room, holding an official legal document. He began reading off the signed marriage contract, stating loudly that the groom who had just arrived was Alessia's new husband.

My heart began beating wildly against my ribs. I turned my head toward the double doors, bracing myself to see an old, heavy set drunkard stumble through the entrance.

The heavy mahogany doors swung open wide.

A young, undeniably handsome man walked into the room. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, his dark hair neatly styled, and his sharp jawline set in a firm line. He exuded an air of pure authority and immense power that instantly silenced the entire room.

My heart rate doubled again in sheer shock. This was not Thomas Harrison.

"Announcing Alessia's husband!" the butler called out, gesturing directly toward the young billionaire.

The butler pointed a hand toward where I was standing, guiding the young man's attention. The man shifted his dark eyes across the crowded room, meeting mine square in the face. A cold, intense gaze locked onto me, freezing me right in my tracks.

Before anyone could utter another word, my father moved immediately. His face turned beet red with pure anger as he rushed forward and violently snatched the paper straight from the butler's hand.