Chapter 2

Cameron’s POV

Sundays were supposed to be easy. Wake up late, grab something greasy for breakfast, and then survive dinner with my father and his perfect little replacement family. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I went anyway—because not showing up would only make things worse.

The Aston estate was a mansion built for people who liked to remind you they were richer than you. Polished marble floors, grand chandeliers, a dining table long enough to seat a small army. It was all a ridiculous show of wealth, and I hated it.

Dinner was the usual nightmare. My father, Charles, sat at the head of the table, cutting into his steak like he was signing a business contract. My stepmother, Vivian, played the perfect host, even though I knew she barely tolerated my existence. And then there was Drake—my stepbrother. He sat across from me, grinning like he knew something I didn’t.

I tried to ignore him, focusing instead on my food, but then my father cleared his throat. The sound sent an instant chill down my spine.

"Cameron," he said, setting down his utensils. "We need to discuss something important."

Here we go.

I took a slow sip of water, preparing myself for whatever lecture he was about to throw at me. But nothing could have prepared me for what he actually said next.

“You need to get engaged to Brandon Deville.”

I choked. Not just a little. A full-on, embarrassing, can’t-breathe kind of choke. I barely managed to swallow, coughing so hard I thought I’d spit out a lung.

"What?" I finally gasped. "You—what?!"

Charles stared at me, completely unfazed. "You heard me."

No. No way. There was no way in hell I’d just heard that correctly.

"I’m not—" The words stuck in my throat like glue.

Like if I said them too loudly, they might sound like a lie.

Like if I said them too quietly, they might not matter at all.

I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. “Dad, I—I like women. I’ve always liked women.” My voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be, and I hated that.

Charles barely looked fazed. "And?"

And?

I blinked at him, my pulse roaring in my ears. "And? What do you mean, and? This isn't—this isn't something you just ignore!" My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air. "You’re seriously telling me to marry a guy just because it benefits you?"

Charles exhaled like he was dealing with a particularly annoying business partner. "I’m telling you to do your duty, Cameron. What you like is irrelevant."

Irrelevant.

I stared at him, my nails digging into my palms.

How could he say that like it was nothing? Like my entire identity was just a minor inconvenience?

“I’m not—” My voice cracked, and I hated that too.

This wasn’t who I was. This wasn’t the life I planned for myself.

The thought of standing at an altar, saying vows to someone I didn’t love, pretending—lying—for the rest of my life? It made my stomach churn.

And worse? The fact that my father didn’t give a damn.

“I won’t do it,” I muttered, shaking my head, more to myself than to him.

"You will." Charles’ voice was like steel. “Because I said so.”

The room felt too small. And the air felt too thin.

This was all a game to him. A business move. A goddamn contract.

And I was just another asset to be traded.

"This isn’t about you," he continued, his voice cold and sharp. "The Deville family dominates the logistics industry. Marrying into their family will cut costs for us and expand our market globally. It’s a business decision."

A business decision.

I felt sick.

I forced out a laugh, but it sounded hollow. "So, what? I’m just some bargaining chip now?"

Charles didn’t even blink. "You always have been."

I gripped the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turned white.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

"You can't just force me into this," I snapped, barely keeping my voice steady. “I don’t even like the guy.”

My father sighed like I was being difficult. "You don’t have to like him. You just have to marry him."

I shot up from my chair. "I’m not doing it."

Charles didn’t even flinch. He just leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table like he had all the time in the world.

"If you don’t," he said, his voice low and calm, "you lose your inheritance."

The air left my lungs.

I felt my stomach drop, my entire body going cold.

He wouldn’t.

But looking at him now—the unwavering steel in his eyes—I knew he absolutely would.

I was trapped.

I clenched my jaw, my hands trembling at my sides. I wanted to scream. To punch something. To do anything but stand there, feeling like my entire life was slipping away.

But I couldn’t win against Charles Aston. I never could.

So, I swallowed my pride. My rage. My entire goddamn existence.

“…Fine.”

It was barely a whisper.

But it was enough.

Charles nodded like I had just agreed to sign a contract. "Good."

I didn’t stay another second.

I pushed back from the table and walked out, barely hearing my stepmother call my name. I needed to breathe. To think. To figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.

Once I was in the hall, I yanked my phone from my pocket. My fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating for half a second before I typed out a message.

Me: Is this real?

I stared at the words, my heart hammering in my chest.

Then I hit send.

The reply came almost instantly.

Brandon: Yeah.

I felt like the floor had been ripped out from under me.

Brandon knew.

Which meant… this wasn’t just some sick joke my father was playing.

He was being forced into this too.

I let out a shaky breath and typed again.

Me: We need to talk.

Another pause. Then—

Brandon: Where?

I sent him an address, then shoved my phone back in my pocket. I had to get out of here.

But before I could leave, Drake stepped into my path.

His dark eyes flickered with something I didn’t like.

“You’re leaving already?” He tilted his head, all fake concern. “Didn’t even finish dessert.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Move.”

Drake didn’t. Instead, he crossed his arms and smirked. “You know, I have a hockey game tomorrow.”

I clenched my teeth. “And?”

“You should come.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not happening.”

Drake let out a slow hum, like he expected that answer. “Shame. It’d be nice to have you there for once.”

I didn’t miss the bite in his voice. The way his smirk twitched, jus

t barely.

Drake had always been… weird. Too friendly when people were watching, too sharp when they weren’t. And I had no idea what he wanted from me now.

I took a step back. “I have somewhere to be.”

His expression didn’t change. “Next time, then.”

I didn’t reply. I just turned and walked out.

But as I reached the door, I could still feel his gaze on my back.

And for some reason, that unsettled me more than anything else tonight.