Two

Chapter 2

### KIARA'S POV

"Your mom is dying." For a minute, my heart stopped beating, and fear crept into my body, embracing me in its cold hold. "She has been vomiting blood. She keeps calling out to you, ma'am. I..." Morticia was crying hard, her voice hoarse. "She needs you."

Those words snapped me out of my trauma. I ducked into my car, my phone still glued to my ear.

"Where is Father?! Take her to a freaking hospital!" I screamed.

"She..." The phone beeped loudly, indicating she had hung up.

"Morticia! Morticia!" I tossed the phone aside, switching the gear as I sped out, driving through the street like a drunk, yelling and breaking every traffic rule that hindered me from reaching home at the earliest.

Morticia's words replayed in my mind a dangerously large number of times, fueling my anger. I took a turn, not caring about the horns that blared against me. I took yet another turn, narrowing through the lone road.

She is dying? She was alright when I checked in with her later that month. She sounded good. Hell, she was on top of the world, ranting about how the Miami vacation was worth every penny.

Was she happy? Or maybe she just acted that way. Maybe she didn't want me to know.

Damn! I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. Self-hate curled up in my gut, tugging it painfully.

It was my fault. If only I had come home. If only I didn't move out three years ago. If only I had endured Father's taunts and stayed with my mom, maybe, and just maybe, Mother would have been better.

Finally, I zoomed into the vast compound, screeching my car to a halt midway. I wasted no time in flinging the door open as I ran in. Crazy thoughts ran through my mind: thoughts of her dying, thoughts of me meeting her cold, numb body.

With every step I took, I trembled, afraid of what I would see. Afraid of the impending future.

"Mother!" I yelled, running into the house. It was oddly quiet, with no trace of a soul. "Mom!" I screamed more, scurrying into the second part of the sitting room. I suddenly hated how vast the mansion was. "Morticia!" I called out for the head maid.

Where the fuck are they? Did they already leave for the hospital?

But which one?

"Mom!" I pushed the glass door open, stepping into the vast sitting room. My steps were halted as I sighted a certain figure, sipping her usual morning tea with biscuits.

"Mom?" I whispered through my heavy breathing.

"Darling." She beamed, hopping into her flip-flops, while I stood, unable to process what the hell was happening.

Wasn't she sick, dying? She looked healthier than a 10-year-old. A warm smile stretched on her barely wrinkled face, her black hair packed into a bun, revealing her pale skin. She stood, smiling at me.

"What the..."

"Good morning, Kiara." I inclined my back, meeting the gaze of my dearest father, who stood far away with his right-hand man, Ryder, holding a gun to Morticia's head. "Welcome home."

"Explain." I gritted. I knew what the hell happened. He used Mom to lure me back.

Typical.

"It was the only way to get you home, darling." Mom spoke, embracing me, but I didn't care to return the hug. My gaze was still pinned to my father and Morticia, who was shaking, her eyes swollen.

I never knew my father had a gun, nor did I know he was capable of using it. Well, you learn new things every day.

I pulled myself from Mom's embrace. "Ryder, put down the freaking gun." He stood unfazed. "Are you freaking deaf? Put down the gun now!" He grunted yet complied. I turned to Morticia. "Leave."

She nodded, running out.

"Holding a fifty-year-old woman at gunpoint. That's messed up, even for you."

"Darling, don't talk to your father like that."

She always did this. Every time, she took his side, even when he was wrong.

"You called me?"

He bridged the distance between us. Unlike before, I didn't cower. As intimidating as his blue eyes were, I stood tall.

He was always proud of his beauty. He was tall, his skin too good to be that of a 62-year-old, and he had black hair, which added to his status.

He sank into the white couch. "Sit." I obliged, not because I was afraid, but because my legs were hurting.

Moral lesson: never run in heels.

I sat directly opposite him.

"How are you doing?"

"I doubt that's the reason you dragged me back here."

Only heaven knew how much I hated it here. Fourteen years ago, I thought of this hell as home, a place I thought I belonged. But with each passing day, I understood the bitter truth. This wasn't my home, I never belonged, and a stupid paper and signature wouldn't change anything.

"We have more pressing matters at hand, young lady." His expression changed from nonchalant to angry. "Get ready, your husband will be here to pick you up soon."

I paused, staring at him like he had grown an extra horn. Mindlessly, I burst out into laughter, wondering when my father started comedy. "I never knew you were interested in comedy."

"I am serious," he yelled. "Tomorrow or the day after, your husband will be coming to get you, so get your ass off my couch and go and prepare!"

"How can I have a husband when I am not married..."

"You are," he interjected. This time, there was nothing funny about it, yet I couldn't twist out even a smile from myself.

"What?!"

"It's a long story, darling." I turned to Mother, who held a saddened look. "It happened before you were born. It was an agreement."

"Before I was born?"

"It was a deal. My child was to marry into their family. And you are my child. Adopted, but you still bear my name."

"Is that the reason you adopted me in the first place?" It was both a bold and foolish thing to say, but I would never know if I didn't ask. I'm not a child. I lived with Father for 14 years. Everything he does has a hidden motive.

"Kiara! How can you say such a thing to your father?" Mother scolded. "Adopted or not, you are still our child. We care for you. And we did try to nullify the deal but..." She paused.

"You couldn't."

"You ungrateful child. We did everything we could, but we had no choice, neither do you."

"Wrong. I..."

"You don't. You will pack your bags and sit outside, waiting until your husband comes, and you will be a good wife to Mr. Blackwood. Whether you like it or not."

"Mr. Blackwood," I muttered. I know that name.

"Yes. Silva Blackwood." Shock numbed my body. My mouth hung open, unable to form words.

Out of all the men in the world, my father chose my worst nemesis, a selfish, egotistic, self-absorbed bastard with the manners of a clueless pig.

"Never! I would rather marry a cripple than an egotistic CEO."

"Unfortunately, you don't have a choice."

"I have. And I choose not to go on with this nonsense." I sprang up from my seat, grabbing my purse, ready to storm out before Father spoke.

"Kiara, you will marry..."

"Over my dead body." I gritted and stalked out.

***

### SILVA'S POV

I had a billion things to do, and reminiscing over an arrogant, selfish one-night stand wasn't in my top ten, but here I am, my mind fucking clouded with her voice, her moans, her eyes, her lips. Every inch of her body was imprinted in the deepest part of my mind, torturing my mental health.

Kiara fucking Monera.

I shut my eyes, rubbing my fingers against my temple. I needed to forget her, her charming smile, the way she gazed at me, so innocent, already to be dirtied up, the way her lips tasted on mine, her pleading moans. She was everything I ever thought I needed. Fuck! I was ready to put a leash around her neck and tie her down until she became one, until she left like I was some fucking paid slut with a fucking note.

"Consider the money on the bed as a tip for your service."

Services? Fucking services.

"Lost in thought?" The voice said, yanking me out of my thoughts. I grunted, swiping my hand over my jaw.

Fuck!

"What happened? Business related?"

"I never knew it was a crime to see my own grandson." I snorted at his words. He was the last person to ever care about emotions. He believed more in profit and loss than he believed in family bonds. Don't let his old and wrinkled and sweet smile fool you.

There was nothing wrong. I felt it in every move he made. "Tomorrow, you will be picking up your wife," he said while I stared at him, waiting for a correction. None came. He was not one to joke around either.

"What wife?"

"You are married..."

"I believe I would have a memory of my own wedding."

"It happened when you were still five."

"What?!"

"No ifs and buts, Silva. I have pushed this off far too long. You are twenty-six. I think it's time you bring back your wife."

"You thought wrong."

"Silva, this isn't the time to act stubborn."

"It is not an act," I added. "You have no right to decide who or when I get married, and as for my supposed wife, tell her to fuck off."

"Silva."

"I already told you this before. I am not getting married. Not now and maybe not ever."

"This isn't just about you. It's about our legacy, our company, and our reputation. We are Blackwoods. We don't go back on our words."

"Well, there is a first time for everything."

"Not for the Blackwoods."

"Even for the Blackwoods," I sneered. "We are done here." I stood, turned, and headed for the door before he spoke.

"We are not. The Moneras are awaiting you."

I stopped. "Moneras? Kiara Monera?"

"Perfect. You do know your bride." Time slowed as reality crashed on me.

"My bride?"

"Yes, she is."

"Out of all the women you chose, Kiara Monera, a selfish, egotistic, self-centered, and nonchalant woman who thinks she owns the world?" And also my one-night stand.

I didn't dare to add that. If he knew, he would have a custom cuff built to bind us together.

"You aren't any less."

I tottered close, staring him dead in his eyes. "I would rather feed my hands and legs to the stray dogs than marry Kiara." I spun, dashing out. Yet again, he spoke, this time softly.

"The doctor called yesterday..." I slowed my step. "He said the tobacco are too much. My lungs are slowly giving up." I turned back, staring at his dull look. "I don't have much, Silva. At least let me hold my great-grandchild before I die. That's my only wish."

"We can get you treated," I said rather calmly.

"Too late. I don't want to go through such processes. It will only prolong my death."

"You don't ha-..."

"No, Silva." He slashed my words with his. "I won't go through any treatment."

"You don't have a choice."

"Neither do you." He leaned out. "Either you get married and I get treated, or you don't and I die."

"You can't be serious."

"Get married or watch me die."