CHAPTER 2: The Price of Pride

I couldn't sleep.

My childhood bedroom felt smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I just felt trapped. Same pale blue walls I'd picked out at fifteen. Same white desk where I'd done homework and dreamed about college. Same window overlooking Mom's rose garden, except the roses were overgrown now. No one had taken care of them since she died.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, laptop open, staring at Sterling Marlowe's face.

He was handsome. I had to give him that. Sharp jaw. Expensive haircut. The kind of face that showed up in magazine spreads about eligible bachelors and power players. But his eyes were cold. Every photo, same expression. Like he was looking through the camera. Through people.

I clicked on another article. "Sterling Marlowe Spotted with Model at Charity Gala." There was a photo of him with a tall brunette in a dress that probably cost more than my car. His hand was on her lower back. She was laughing. He looked bored.

Next article. "Marlowe-Ashford Engagement Ends After Two Years." A photo of Sterling with a stunning blonde woman. Victoria Ashford, hotel heiress. The article said it was mutual. The comments said he'd cheated on her. Multiple times.

Great. I was about to marry a serial cheater who couldn't commit to anything except his family's money.

I kept scrolling. More photos. Different women. Different parties. Same cold expression in every single one.

My phone buzzed. A text from Derek.

*I'm sorry. I know that doesn't help. But I am.*

I deleted it without responding.

Sorry didn't change anything. Sorry didn't make this decision any easier. Sorry was just a word people said when they'd already gotten what they wanted and felt bad about the cost.

I closed the laptop and pulled my knees to my chest. The house was too quiet. Dad had locked himself in his study hours ago. Derek and Charlotte were gone, probably back to whatever apartment they'd been hiding in for six months while the rest of us thought everything was fine.

"Be strong, Nora."

Mom's voice echoed in my head. Her last words to me, whispered from a hospital bed three years ago while I held her hand and tried not to fall apart.

The cancer had taken her in six months. Fast and brutal and unfair. One day she was fine. The next day she wasn't. And then she was gone.

I'd sat beside her bed in those final weeks, watching her fade. Watching her fight. She'd held my hand even when she was too weak to talk.

"You're stronger than you know," she'd said that last day, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't let them make you small."

I'd promised her I wouldn't.

But what did strength look like now? Was it walking away? Letting everything collapse? Or was it this? Marrying a stranger to hold the pieces together?

Mom would have hated this. All of it. She'd always said love mattered more than money. More than names. More than any of the things Dad valued. She'd married him for love, and look where that got her. Stuck in a dying marriage, watching him choose pride over everything else.

I touched the jade bracelet on my wrist. Cool stone. Familiar weight. She'd worn it every day of my childhood. When Dad gave me her jewelry box after the funeral, this was the only thing I kept. Everything else felt wrong. Like wearing someone else's life.

A knock on my door made me jump.

"It's me." Simone's voice came through the wood. "I brought wine and terrible ideas. Let me in."

I hadn't even heard her arrive. I opened the door and she swept past me with two bottles of red wine and a corkscrew.

"Your dad let me in," she said, already working on the first cork. "He looks like hell, by the way."

"Good."

She poured two massive glasses and handed me one. "Okay. What are you going to do?"

I took a long drink. The wine was expensive. Simone had raided her good collection. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You're going to say no." She sat beside me on the bed. "You're going to pack a bag. Come stay with me. Screw your father's pride. Screw Derek's mess. This isn't your problem."

I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to just run.

"It's not just pride," I said quietly. "It's Mrs. Patterson. And James. Everyone who works here. They'll lose their jobs."

"They can find other jobs."

"At their age?" I shook my head. "Mrs. Patterson is sixty-seven, Simone. Who's going to hire her?"

Simone grabbed my hand. "So you're just going to sacrifice yourself? Marry some stranger?"

"The contract says separate living arrangements."

"That's not the point." Her grip tightened. "Nora, listen to me. You'll disappear. You'll become invisible. Just another society wife who smiles at parties and keeps her mouth shut."

The fear I'd been pushing down all day surged up. Sharp and real. She was right. I'd watched it happen to other women. They started out bright and full of dreams, and then they married the right man from the right family, and slowly they just faded.

"I'm terrified," I whispered.

"Then don't do it."

"What choice do I have?"

Simone didn't answer. Because we both knew. I didn't have a choice. Not really.

I pulled up Sterling's photo again. Those cold eyes stared back at me.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," I said, not believing it. "Maybe we'll just coexist."

"You deserve more than coexisting."

"I deserve a lot of things." I finished my wine and reached for the bottle. "But this is what I got."

We drank in silence for a while. Simone knew when to push and when to just sit with me. Right now, I needed her to just sit.

"If you do this," she finally said, "promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't lose yourself. Keep working. Keep coming to the gallery. Keep something that's yours."

I nodded. The contract allowed me to work. That was something. A piece of my life that would still be mine.

Simone left around midnight, making me promise to call her in the morning. But we both knew what I was going to do. The moment Dad mentioned Mrs. Patterson's name, my fate was sealed.

After she left, I pulled out my suitcase. Started packing. Clothes. Laptop. My authentication tools. Mom's bracelet, wrapped carefully in a silk scarf.

My phone sat on the nightstand. Waiting.

I picked it up. Found Dad's number. Opened a new message.

One sentence. That's all it would take.

I typed it before I could think. "Yes. I will do it."

Sent.

The phone slipped from my hands. I made it three steps before my knees gave out. I sank to the floor, back against the wall, and the sob I'd been holding all day finally broke free.

I cried for the life I was giving up. For the choice I never got to make. For Mom, who wasn't here to tell me if I was being strong or just stupid.

I cried until there was nothing left.

Then I got up. Washed my face. Started packing again.

Tomorrow at nine, I'd meet the man I was going to marry.

And somehow, I'd figure out how to survive him.