Diana's POV
"She is carrying my grandchild. You two are getting married tomorrow. My decision is final."
Mr. Smith’s voice cracked like thunder across the room. My heart stopped.
"What?" Gordon and I blurted at the same time, disbelief hanging between us.
"Yes, you heard me," Mr. Smith said evenly, though his eyes were locked on his son, sharp with anger.
Gordon let out a humourless laugh. "Dad, I don’t even know her. You know me, there’s no way I’d move in with a girl like her."
My stomach twisted at his words. Was this really the same man who had taken my body a month ago, like his life depended on it?
"Diana," Mr. Smith turned to me, his tone gentler, "do you know my son?"
I froze under Gordon’s glare. His eyes warned me: Say yes and you’ll regret it.
And just like that, my mind slipped into an old nightmare.
I was back in high school, trapped in the suffocating stench of the girls’ restroom. Gordon’s friends had my head shoved into a toilet bowl, their laughter bouncing off the tiles. My lungs burned as I struggled.
"Hold her under until she drowns," Gordon’s voice commanded coldly, arms folded as if he were above it all.
"Diana?"
The sharp snap of fingers yanked me out of the memory. Mr. Smith leaned toward me, concern etched into his face. "Are you alright?"
I nodded quickly, forcing my trembling hands into my lap.
"Don’t let him scare you," Mr. Smith said firmly. "Now answer me, have you been with my son? And by that, I mean, have you two not slept together?"
Heat burned my cheeks. I lowered my gaze, hesitated, and then shook my head.
"See?" Gordon sneered immediately. "There’s no way I’d touch this disgusting thing."
His words sliced me open, and I dropped my head lower so neither of them could see the tears threatening to fall.
"Gordon!" Mr. Smith’s voice thundered. "Never, do you hear me? Never call another man’s child a disgusting thing."
Gordon’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"Whether she admits it or not," Mr. Smith continued, "you two will marry. That’s final. Go get ready."
"Dad....."
"Get out of my office. Either you marry her, or I’ll have you thrown into jail for rape."
The word rape struck like a hammer. Gordon’s face drained of colour before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Silence hung heavy until Mr. Smith turned back to me, his expression softening. "Ignore my son. He’s hot-headed, rude, but… he can be sweet when he chooses. He’ll make a good husband in time."
I wanted to laugh, but my throat was too tight.
"I know about the Room 208 incident," he added casually. "It’s my friend’s hotel, after all."
My heart stopped. He knew. He had always known.
"How is your mother?" he asked.
"She’s… fine. Just not as strong as before."
"She’ll recover," he assured me kindly. Then his face grew serious again. "In my family, it is forbidden for a man to impregnate a woman and abandon her. My son will do the needful. Tomorrow morning, my driver will pick you up at eight sharp and take you to the courthouse."
He smiled then, a warm, fatherly smile that almost made me believe him. "You’re a good girl, Diana. By the time this child is born, Gordon will warm up to you. I promise you, I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams."
"I'll let my driver drop you home."
I forced myself to smile back. "Thank you, Mr. Smith. But I’ll go home by myself. I need to explain everything to my mum. If I show up in an expensive car, she’ll panic."
"That’s fine." He opened his drawer, pulling out a bundle of cash. "Here. I need you and the baby to be safe. Call for a ride, don’t take the bus."
I took only a small portion. "This will be enough for the ride, thank you."
He pressed the rest into my hand. "Keep it. From now on, I’m your father-in-law."
My throat tightened with unspoken gratitude as I slipped out of his office.
The corridor felt like a tunnel closing in on me. I was nearly to the stairs when Gordon’s voice lashed out from the shadows.
"So, you went running your dirty mouth to my dad, huh?"
I spun, startled. "I didn’t! I didn’t even know I was pregnant. All I remember is passing out on my way to the bus stop."
"And I’m supposed to believe my dad just happened to find you?" His voice dripped with venom. "Somehow, he’s convinced I got you pregnant? How the hell do you get knocked up from one time?"
"I, I don’t know. You were my first."
His eyes narrowed, suspicious. "And you expect me to believe you didn’t sleep with anyone else after me?"
My body trembled, but my voice hardened. "If I were that kind of girl, I wouldn’t have been a virgin, would I?"
Gordon scoffed, leaning in close so only I could hear. "Don’t you dare show up tomorrow. If you do, you’ll have brought this misery on yourself." He shoved past me, his cologne choking the air as he disappeared down the stairs.
My legs carried me outside on autopilot. I hailed a cab straight home.
When I told my mother everything, the deal, the pregnancy, the marriage, her face crumpled.
"Oh, Diana." Her voice was soft, pained. "You shouldn’t have given your body away like that." She studied me with worried eyes. "So tell me, are you marrying him because you’re pregnant, or because he loves you?"
The truth clawed at my throat. Because I have no choice. Because survival is all that’s left.
But I couldn’t let her carry that burden.
"Mummy… he loves me," I lied, twisting my hands. "He just pretended it was about money. But he loves me, and I love him too."
Her face softened, relief overtaking worry. "If that’s the case, I won’t stand in your way. You have my blessing, Diana. I’ll even accompany you tomorrow."
Tears filled my eyes as I hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Mum."
The next morning, she woke me early.
"I wish I could’ve bought you something pretty," she said, holding up a dress she had stayed up all night sewing. "But everything’s happening so fast. I wanted you to have this."
It was simple, a white, off-shoulder dress with a small belt and a neat flare that fell to my knees, but to me, it was priceless.
"Mum," I whispered, throat thick, "it’s beautiful."
She styled my hair into a soft bun, kissed my forehead, and by 7:50, we were ready. A black four-wheel drive was already parked outside.
Mr. Smith stood at the courthouse steps when we arrived, his bodyguards looming like statues. "Good morning," he greeted warmly. "You must be Diana’s mum."
"This is my mum, Ms. Wilson," I said quickly.
"Mrs. Wilson, or?" he asked politely.
"Ms. Wilson," she replied, shaking his hand firmly.
"Son, come greet your mother-in-law," Mr. Smith called.
Gordon stepped out of the car in a suit, his face thunderous. But when he reached us, he forced a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
"You look beautiful, my dear," Mr. Smith whispered to me, making me flush with embarrassment.
"Hello, Ms. Wilson," Gordon greeted stiffly.
After brief introductions, Mr. Smith clapped his hands. "Alright, let’s get these two married."
The courthouse felt sterile and cold, the walls too white, the silence too loud. My steps faltered as the ceremony began. The words—Do you take this woman… do you take this man…—floated past me like smoke. My hands shook as I signed my name beside Gordon’s on the marriage certificate.
It was done.
"Congratulations to you both!" Mr. Smith declared, hugging us in turn. My mother hugged me too, her smile tender and hopeful.
But I felt nothing but emptiness.
As we walked out, Mr. Smith’s phone buzzed. "I must get to the office. Gordon, take Diana and her mother to gather her belongings. From now on, they live with us."
"Oh, don’t worry about me," my mum interjected. "I run my business at the flat. Take Diana with you. I’ll visit whenever."
I wanted to protest, but my words stuck. She hugged me one last time, eyes bright with love, and waved as we drove off.
I never imagined it would be the last time I saw her alive.
Gordon rolled up the window, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I told you not to show up. But you just couldn’t listen. If not for my dad holding a gun to my back, I’d never have married you."
My heart shrank.
"You wanted this so badly, didn’t you? Well, congratulations." His mouth twisted in a cruel smile. "You just signed yourself into hell. Don’t expect happiness in this marriage."
He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward, my body jerking against the seatbelt. My heart raced wildly as the world blurred past.
He took turns too sharply, the tires screeching. Fear clawed at me as tears streamed down my face. I gripped the seat, screaming as he sped faster, as if trying to fling me from this world entirely.
And in that moment, I understood, this marriage wasn’t a promise.
It was a prison.
I just got myself a certificate for hell.
Diana’s POVI finished up the last of my work and picked up my phone, my legs crossed neatly over one another. The office was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant chatter from the floor below. I needed a distraction. I opened my browser and searched for the latest update on Charles Moore.The headline alone was enough to make my stomach twist:“Charles Moore Exposed: Living a Double Life as Orevelle’s Board Member.”I clicked. The article was brutal.“It appears Mr Charles Moore was living a double life for years, one of luxury, one of frailty. Colleagues at Orevelle knew him as Frederick Gibbson: long hair, ducktail beard, thick eyebrows, heavy lashes. A disguise so effective, even his closest associates never suspected a thing.”“Wow,” I whispered, leaning back in my chair. “So people really do that? Two faces. One strong, one dying. Like they’re twenty seconds from the grave in one body, and running marathons in the other.”I scrolled past the story
Third Person POVThe morning light crept into the Smith mansion, quiet and deceptive, spilling across the walls of Mrs Smith’s bedroom. She sat at the edge of her bed, one hand clutching her phone, the other pressed to her temple. It had been hours since she last heard from Tracy, and the silence gnawed at her nerves.When she could no longer bear it, she dialled.The call connected after two rings.“Mum,” Tracy’s voice came low, shaken.“Tracy, what’s happening? I’ve been waiting for your call all morning,” Mrs Smith said, her tone calm but lined with worry.“It’s bad,” Tracy whispered. “I’ll have to get Charles out of the country. If he stays, the police will arrest him.”Mrs Smith straightened. “Where are you now?”“At a motel,” her daughter replied quickly. “Somewhere quiet. No one will think to look here.”Mrs Smith exhaled through her nose. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”“Charles said masked men broke into the house last night. They sedated the guards, disabled the se
Diana’s POVMorning came too quickly.Light leaked through the curtains in thin, silvery streaks, painting the room in fragments of dawn. Something heavy rested across my waist. Warm. Alive. A slow, steady breath ghosted the back of my neck.I froze.“Gordon?”A low grunt answered, half asleep, half possessive.My eyes snapped open. His arm was still draped over me.“What are you doing in my bed?” I asked, voice sharp, though I barely recognised it myself.He shifted behind me, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Look around,” he murmured, pulling his arm away. “You’re in my bed.”My heart stumbled. I sat up quickly, scanning the room, the headboard, the faint scent of his cologne, the expensive stillness. He was right. I was in his bed.The couch across the room still held the pillow and blanket I’d used last night. My mind scrambled for answers. How did I.......?“Don’t play games with me, Gordon,” I said, swinging my legs off the bed. “How did I end up here?”He gave a small,
Diana’s POVThe footsteps were coming closer. Heavy. Certain. Not the light, noiseless rhythm of the servants who moved like ghosts through the halls. Gordon.My pulse quickened. My gaze darted across the bathroom. Where could I hide it? The pregnancy test results still sat on the counter, mocking me with the truth I wasn’t ready to face.The bin, no, too obvious. The cabinet above the sink, he’d find it. My eyes fell on the one beneath the basin. I knelt, opened it, and slid the cartridge deep behind a stack of folded towels. Then I tore the test kit box into strips, shredding it until it was unrecognisable before dropping the remains into the bin.The bedroom door opened. His presence filled the air before I saw him. The bathroom door creaked, and Gordon’s head appeared through the crack. I turned, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, feigning calm.“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked.“It was five,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “You were still in your meeting. I was tired.”H
Third Person POVThe late afternoon sun spilled gold through the glass facade of Smith Holdings, glinting against the line of luxury cars in the private lot. Inside one of them, a black Rolls-Royce, Lucas Warren sat behind the wheel, a soft smile playing at the edge of his mouth as he pressed a phone to his ear.“Dad, I’m in,” he said quietly.Static hummed, then his father’s deep voice cut through the line.“That’s good, Lucas. You’re close enough now to protect her. But remember, you can’t stay there long. Do what you must, then get yourself and Diana out of that mansion. There’s something rotten in that Smith empire.”“Understood,” Lucas replied, before the call ended.He leaned back, exhaling. The mask of calm slipped for just a second. His eyes shifted toward the rearview mirror and froze. A man had just entered the car parked two spaces down. Lucas recognised the face. He’d seen him earlier, stepping into Diana’s office when he was heading to the elevator.His instincts sharpene
Diana’s POVSilence pressed close around me after Camila’s last words. The small room felt smaller still, air thick with old grief and the faint scent of medicine. I sat motionless, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, my mind spinning like a carousel that refused to stop. Gordon’s lies, Mrs Smith’s cruelty, the ghosts of a past she had buried but not escaped, all of it circled me in slow, merciless rotation.There was still one question left. One that clawed at the edges of my restraint.“What happened to Gordon?” I asked at last, my voice careful, steady only by effort. “After his first wife was arrested?”Camila’s gaze lifted, weary but searching, as though measuring how much truth she could safely deliver. Then, with a faint exhale, she drifted back into memory.“Mrs Smith called the police that night,” she began softly. “Mr Matthew Smith’s body was carried out of his office in a black bag. She allowed every servant to speak, except me.”“Why?” I asked, leaning forward.“I don’t kn