CHAPTER 5.

Grace’s POV.

I hadn’t left my adoptive mother’s side for hours now. She lay on the hospital bed, pale, her chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.

I held her hand gently, afraid that if I let go, she might slip away. The doctor had told me not to lose hope, that she was being closely monitored, and I clung to those words as if they were my only lifeline. Still, my heart refused to calm. Fear crawled through me, inch by inch, every second she remained unconscious.

My phone rang again. I glanced at it and sighed. My biological father’s name flashed on the screen for the twentieth time.

I had ignored his calls before, but this one felt louder, sharper, more insistent. I knew why he was calling. He wanted me to leave. He wanted me to abandon my mother and play the role they’d forced on me. I wanted to throw the phone away, but the bargain held me still. If I didn’t show up, he could destroy everything—and my adoptive mother’s life depended on that fragile agreement.

With trembling fingers, I answered.

“Hello.”

His voice was sharp, brimming with controlled anger. “Why are you still there? Do you think this is a game? Sebastian is waiting. Do you want him to change his mind? If he does, Sarah will go back to jail.”

The words struck like a whip. “Please, don’t. I’m sorry. Just give me the address. I’ll come. Please.”

“The driver is waiting outside. There are clothes in the car. Grace—listen carefully. You will behave yourself. You will not give him any reason to doubt you are Isabella. Do not fail me.”

The line went dead.

Almost immediately, a message came through with the address. My body felt heavy, each step against my will, but I stood. I bent down and pressed a soft kiss to my adoptive mother’s forehead.

“Forgive me, Mom. I have to do this for you.”

I walked out of the hospital, chest tight, and met the driver waiting by the gate.

The drive took an hour. My thoughts were scattered, a storm I could not calm. By the time we arrived, my nerves were raw.

The gates opened to reveal a grand estate. A butler led me straight to a study.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and expensive whiskey. Sebastian stood near the window, speaking on the phone but the moment he sensed my arrival, he ended the call without a word.

“You took your time, Isabella,” he said, voice low, sharp, controlled. Every word pressed into the air like a command. “Do you understand what’s at stake?”

I swallowed hard. My pulse raced.

“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my eyes.

“Save your apologies.” He moved toward the desk with long, deliberate strides, paper in hand. “Sit.”

I obeyed. The chair felt too big, the air too heavy.

“This is a contract marriage,” he said, setting the papers down. “It lasts only as long as I see fit. There will be no love, no expectations, no children. Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly. My throat felt tight.

He leaned closer, his gaze pinning me in place, the intensity making me tremble. “And if something ever happens between us that leads to a child, you will end it immediately. There will be no mistakes.”

The words were sharp, absolute. There was no room to question him, no way to negotiate. Even sitting there, I could feel the power in every gesture, every tone he used. He didn’t ask; he commanded.

I forced myself to look down, telling myself this wasn’t real, that it was temporary. But even as I tried to steel myself, I couldn’t ignore how precise, how utterly in control he was.

When my hand hovered over the line where I was meant to sign, my pulse raced. Sebastian’s gaze never wavered. Every second I delayed, I felt his presence like a tangible force, measuring my hesitation, ready to strike if I faltered.

I signed. The pen’s scratch on paper felt too final.

He nodded once, satisfied. “Good. Follow the butler. Change. We will leave shortly for the registry, I had them waiting for our wedding registration.”

I stood, my body heavy, and followed without a word. His dominance was everywhere—not just in commands, but in the way he shaped the situation, controlled my movements, and ensured nothing deviated from his plan.

*

Thirty minutes later, Sebastian and I sat in silence as the car sped toward the registry. Neither of us spoke. The air felt thick, loaded with words that would never be said.

The ceremony was over before I could even process it. A few lines recited, papers signed, and it was done.

My first marriage. My adoptive mother lay in a hospital bed, unaware.

No one I loved had witnessed it. Not even the people who had forced me into it. I stood beside Sebastian like a stranger performing a role. My hands were cold. My heart was somewhere far away.

I told myself this wasn’t real, that it was only temporary. I shouldn’t feel this broken over something never meant to last. Yet my chest still ached as we walked out of the registry. The ring on my finger felt heavier than it should.

It was evening by the time we rounded up. We drove for a long while before stopping again, in front of a mansion grander than Sebastian’s own. The gates opened soundlessly. I stared through the window, pulse quickening.

His family awaited inside. They expected grace, poise, and perfection. But I wasn’t that woman. I didn’t belong here.

The car door opened. I was about to step out when Sebastian’s hand caught mine. My breath hitched as I turned to him, startled.

His expression didn’t change. Tone calm but cold enough to sting.

“Listen, Isabella. My family has high expectations for my wife. Do not embarrass me. Do not speak unless I tell you to. Do not make me regret this. Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

For a moment, his eyes lingered on mine, unreadable. Then he let go, stepped out, and straightened his jacket.

I followed him up the marble steps, legs trembling despite my effort to stay composed.

The butler opened the door and bowed slightly. “Mr. Knight, your father, stepbrother, and sister-in-law are waiting in the dining room.”

The hallway was long and silent, filled with portraits that seemed to watch me as I passed. My palms were damp, my steps unsteady.

Sebastian opened the dining room door and motioned for me to enter.

At the long table sat an older man, dignified and stern. Beside him, a younger couple.

But when my eyes met the man across from me, my breath caught. My body went cold.

It was Ryan.

And beside him, equally stunned, sat his wife—Chloe.