I will never marry Charles

Gracia

I paid the cab driver and stepped out, swallowing hard as I looked up at the estate in front of me.

It was beautiful, the kind of luxury that could stir envy in anyone. Charles’s parents had given it to mine as an engagement gift, it was part of the arrangement they made for my relationship with Charles. Back then, I didn’t mind. I believed what we had was real, even if our families treated it like a transaction. But God, I was so wrong.

I sighed and pressed my fingers to my temple. My head had been pounding since the morning, probably because of the stress, and exhaustion.

I shook my head and made my way toward the door. When I pushed it open, I froze. Sitting at the dining table like it was just another normal day were my parents. My mother was laughing at something, while my father was smiling.

The moment they heard the door open, they turned, and their laughter died immediately.

My father’s cold gaze landed on me, his eyes sweeping from the top of my head to the hem of my dress, taking in every detail. Instinctively, I straightened my posture. Before coming here, I’d tried to make myself presentable, I pulled my hair into a bun, washed my face, smoothed the wrinkles from my dress. I’d done my best. But my father was never easy to fool.

My mother, on the other hand, smiled as if nothing was wrong. “Gracia,” she called. “Come here.”

I hesitated. She was always like this, sometimes warm, sometimes ice. Sometimes a hand on my shoulder, sometimes a knife in my back. She had a gift for manipulation, she knew how to mix cruelty with affection just well enough to keep me loyal. And every time, it worked.

“What are you doing standing there? I said come here.”

“Yes, Mother.”

I walked toward them. When I reached the table, I sat down, folding my hands in my lap to stop them from trembling.

My mother smiled, and clapped her hands lightly. “Mina,” she called, and a maid appeared from the hallway almost instantly. “Serve Gracia anything she wants, she must be hungry.”

“Yes, madam,” the maid replied, then began quietly dishing out portions from the table. The food smelled so good, but I had no appetite.

My heart pounded faster with every passing second. I already knew where this conversation was headed, and I didn’t want to go there. I just wanted to crawl into bed, bury myself under the covers, and pretend last night had never happened.

My mother gestured to the table with a smile. “Look, I told Mina to make your favorite apple pie.”

The maid returned and placed the dish carefully in front of me, but the look she gave me was anything but respectful. “Here’s your meal, miss.”

I looked away and stared down at the pie. My mother took a sip of her tea, then spoke again.

“I was upset yesterday,” she said, sighing. “And I may have spoken too harshly, but you have to understand it was your fault, Gracia. You broke things off with Charles. How did you expect us to react? But it is good everything is going well now. There is no need for me to worry again.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? Why are you surprised? Didn’t you go and beg Charles like I told you to last night?”

My stomach dropped. “No, I didn’t.”

Her smile faded. She looked at my father, who calmly set down his utensils and met my gaze.

“Well,” he said simply, “it doesn’t matter whether you did or didn’t. Charles and his family have decided to forgive your little outburst, and continue with the marriage as planned in a few days.”

“No!” I shouted, my voice louder than I intended.

Hell no.

My mother and father’s eyes snapped to mine, and panic fluttered in my chest. Every instinct told me to lower my head, and take it, but if I did that, if I bowed now, I’d be sealing it.

I’d be walking down the aisle into a marriage with a man who never loved me, no, a man who couldn’t love me.

“I was serious about breaking off the engagement,” I said. “I’m not marrying Charles. I will never marry him. Do you even know—”

Splash.

I flinched, gasping as something cold hit my face, soaking through my dress and dripping down my neck. I blinked water from my lashes and stared in shock.

My mother’s expression twisted in rage, glass in hand, the fake kindness she’d worn only minutes ago completely gone. “Ah, shit,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “I was trying to be nice to you, but it’s so damn hard. Repeat what you just said. Did you just say you won’t marry Charles?”

I wiped my face with the edge of the cloth napkin beside me and forced myself to look her straight in the eyes.

“That’s right, I won’t marry Charles.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You really are shameless,” she spat. “After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?”

“We fed you, clothed you, gave you a home. And this is the thanks we get? This is why we should’ve never taken in a bastard,” she snarled. “Even your own parents didn’t want you. They threw you away like garbage. And we were kind enough to take you in, raise you, give you a name. And now, the one thing we ask of you, and you can’t even do it?”

Something inside me broke. For years, I had been obedient, quiet, and grateful because I thought I owed them. I was just a child when they adopted me, and they never let me forget it. I wanted so badly for them to accept me that I did everything they demanded. But now, I was exhausted. I felt more like a slave than a human.

She kept ranting, “We gave you everything and you act like—”

I stood up, the chair scraped back sharply against the floor. My mother paused.

“I said I’m not marrying him, no matter what you do, I will never marry Charles.”

My mother blinked at me, stunned, before rolling her eyes with a scoff.

“Is this because he cheated?” she snapped. “Gracia, seriously? Why are you being so dramatic over a little cheating?”

I stared at her, stunned. "A little cheating? That’s the issue, he didn’t just cheat.” I took a breath, and forced the words out. “He cheated on me with a man, Mother. He’s gay. This whole marriage is just a cover-up for him. His parents are using me as a distraction.”

“What? Gay?” Her face went pale but my father didn't even flinch.

Don’t tell me—

“You knew?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

He looked at me, emotionless. “That’s not a problem. This was a transactional marriage from the beginning. You think their family would’ve ever accepted you if he didn’t have a problem to cover?”

My mouth went dry. I felt the room tilt slightly beneath me. “What?”

My mother coughed awkwardly and glanced at him, then back at me. “W-well…your father is right. And besides, what’s so wrong with marrying a gay man? Charles is a good man. He’ll treat you well, give you a name, stability—”

I didn’t remember throwing the plates in front of me. My body moved before my mind caught up. The apple pie shattered on the floor.

They both froze, staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Please. Don’t say another word. I don't want to hear that from my parents. God, no matter how awful you two have been, I never thought you'd actually say this.” My mother’s mouth opened, but I raised a hand. “No. I mean it. I’ll do anything for this family. I always have, but not this. I'm sorry.”

I turned, hands clenched into fists, and walked toward the door. Just as I reached for the handle, my father’s voice rang out. “If you walk out that door, you survive on your own. I’ll cut you off. No money, no home, no protection. You’ll lose everything.”

I bit down on my bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. Without turning around, I said quietly, “Fine, Father.” I opened the door. “You and Mother should enjoy your perfect life.”

The sunlight outside was blinding. I stepped into it anyway, shielding my face with a hand. Something wet ran down my cheek.

No. I wasn’t crying. Something was just stuck in my eye. That’s all. I knew what kind of people they were in the first place, so why did it still hurt this much?

They were the same people who once left me locked in a room for three days with no water, and food, all because I’d spoken too loudly during a dinner party.

I didn’t know how I survived that, but I did. And I would survive this, too.

My phone buzzed in my bag. I wiped my face and pulled it out.

Hubby: Baby, I understand if you don't want to come to the wedding dress fitting. I’m already here, and I’ll make sure to choose a beautiful wedding dress for you.

I stared at the screen, and my gaze darkened.

That fucking asshole.

He really thought this wedding was still happening?

Fine. If he didn’t realize it was over, I’d tell him myself.

I raised my hand and hailed a cab, gave the driver the address, and sat back in the seat.

He wanted a fitting?

He was about to get one hell of a final adjustment.