Chapter 2: The Snake in My Bed

I walked out of Benjamin's building on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. The night air hit my face, warm and thick, but I was shivering. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Benjamin: "Sorry I missed your calls, babe. I was in the shower. Is everything okay?"

I stared at the message until the screen went dark.

A taxi pulled up at the curb and the driver honked at me. I had not waved him down, but I climbed in anyway. "Mercy Hospital," I said.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror. "You alright?"

"Just drive."

The city lights blurred past the window. My mind kept replaying Benjamin's words. "It was my idea. I suggested Shaznay's name." Every dinner we shared, every time he held my hand, every time he kissed my forehead and said, "I will always take care of you," was nothing but a chess move. He had set the board. Dorinda was his partner. Clara was his reward.

And me? I was the pawn.

By the time I reached the hospital, it was nearly midnight. The night nurse at the front desk looked up with concern when I walked past, but I did not stop. I went straight to Room 14 and sat beside my father's bed.

His breathing was steady, mechanical. The ventilator pushed air in and pulled it out in a rhythm that had become the soundtrack of my nightmares. I took his hand. His fingers were cold.

"Daddy, I do not know what to do," I said. My voice cracked on the last word.

He did not respond. He had not responded in three weeks. The doctors said the liver failure had damaged his brain. They said he might never wake up. I refused to believe them, but sitting here in the dark, with my whole world in pieces around me, believing felt harder than it ever had.

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against his bed rail. The facts were simple. I had no money. My mother had no money. Every friend I could think of was a broke university student just like me. And the one person I thought loved me enough to help was the reason I needed help in the first place.

If I did not find twenty-two million by Friday, my father would be thrown out of this hospital. And he would die.

I sat up straight and opened my eyes. The document Dorinda had shown me flashed in my memory. Two hundred million. Marry Victor Emmanuel. Become the wife of a man who would never open his eyes, who would never touch me, who would never know my name.

Something cold and hard settled inside my chest. It was not courage. It was not bravery. It was the feeling of a person who has been backed into a corner and is about to bite.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Dorinda's number. She answered on the second ring, which told me she had been waiting.

"I will do it," I said. "But the full bride price goes into an account under my name. Not yours."

Dorinda was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Seventy percent goes to you. Thirty to me. That is non-negotiable."

"The hospital bills come out of my seventy."

"Obviously."

"Then we have a deal."

"Smart girl," Dorinda said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "I will contact the Emmanuel family in the morning. Be at the house by nine. Wear something decent."

She hung up. I sat in the silence of my father's room and realized my hands were steady. The shaking had stopped.

The next morning, I stood in front of Dorinda's full-length mirror while she circled me like I was a piece of furniture she was about to sell. Clara sat on the sofa in the corner, scrolling through her phone, not looking at me.

"Stand straight," Dorinda said. "You have good bone structure but terrible posture. The Emmanuels are old money. They notice everything."

I straightened my spine and stared at my own reflection. Dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, full lips pressed into a thin line. I looked tired. I looked angry. Good.

"Is she really going through with it?" Clara asked from the sofa. Her voice was bored, indifferent, like she had not been in Benjamin's bed twelve hours ago.

"She is," Dorinda replied. "And you will be civil to her until the contract is signed. After that, I do not care what you do."

Clara finally looked up at me. Our eyes met in the mirror. She smiled. It was a small, satisfied smile that made my stomach turn.

I looked away.

At ten o'clock, a black car arrived to take us to the Emmanuel estate. The drive took forty minutes through Glenford's wealthiest district. The houses grew larger and the gates grew taller until we reached the Emmanuel compound, a massive structure surrounded by white walls and guarded by men in black suits.

A woman named Mabel met us at the front door. She was middle-aged with kind eyes and a gentle manner.

"Welcome," she said. "Madam Evelyn is expecting you."

The living room was bigger than my entire apartment. White marble floors, high ceilings, gold-framed paintings on every wall. The Emmanuel family crest hung above the fireplace.

Evelyn Emmanuel sat in a high-backed chair at the center of the room. She was seventy-five years old, with silver hair pulled into a tight bun and sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. Beside her stood a tall man in a grey suit. His face was hard, and his eyes were calculating. This was Franklin Emmanuel, Victor's older brother.

"Come closer, child," Evelyn said. Her voice was strong despite her age.

I walked forward alone. Dorinda and Clara stayed near the door. Evelyn studied me from head to toe, and I held still under her gaze, refusing to flinch.

"You are young," Evelyn said.

"I am twenty-one."

"And you are willing to marry my grandson, knowing his condition?"

"I am."

Evelyn tilted her head. "Why?"

I could have lied. I could have said something sweet about duty or compassion. But something told me this old woman could smell dishonesty from a mile away.

"Because my father is dying," I said, "and this is the only way I can save him."

Evelyn's eyes flickered. Not with pity. With something closer to respect.

"Honesty," she said. "Good. I have no use for pretenders in this family." She turned to Franklin. "Prepare the paperwork."

Franklin's jaw tightened. "Mother, are you certain about this? We know nothing about this girl."

"I know she is honest and desperate. That makes her more useful than half the women in this city." Evelyn turned back to me. "The wedding will be in three days. You will move into Victor's mansion immediately after. Mabel will explain everything you need to know."

Three days. In three days, I would be married to a man who could not speak, could not move, and according to every doctor in Glenford, would never recover.

Franklin's wife, Tonia, appeared in the doorway. She looked at me with the kind of smile that promised trouble later.

"Welcome to the family," Tonia said. Her voice was sugar over poison.

Evelyn stood from her chair and took my hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm. She leaned close and spoke so only I could hear.

"There are people in this house who do not want Victor to have a wife. Be careful, child."