Chapter 5

I woke up cold and aching all over. At some point last night, I must have passed out on the tiled floor. My head throbbed as the memories of yesterday came flooding back. I still couldn’t believe it, my parents had sold me out. Sometimes, the way they treated me made me wonder if I was even their biological child.

Groaning, I pushed myself upright, my muscles stiff from the hard floor. For some reason, the room felt foreign, even though I’d lived in this house for a few years now. My mother’s harsh words still echoed in my mind, I still couldn't believe that she would go along with my fathers plan to sell me out. I rubbed my face, trying to shake off the thoughts, but the ache in my chest was deeper than the physical pain.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection. My eyes were red-rimmed, hollow. I looked like someone who had aged overnight. Is this what they want? To break me until I stop fighting?

I shuffled back into my room, but before I could collapse onto my bed, I heard a sharp knock coming from my door. My stomach twisted. I already knew who it was.

"Jeremy," my mother’s voice came softly, almost hesitant.

For a moment, I thought about ignoring her. Let her feel what it’s like to be shut out. But something in her tone pulled me toward the door. When I opened it, she stood there, dressed in one of her neat silk blouses, her hair perfectly arranged. She looked as if last night hadn’t happened at all.

Her eyes flickered over me, lingering on the shadows beneath mine. "You should eat something," she murmured, lifting a white bag stamped with the name of the luxury café she always favored. Without waiting for permission, she stepped inside and set it on the coffee table the scent of buttered brioche and freshly brewed coffee filling the room.

I crossed my arms, standing near the door. "Why? So I’ll look presentable when you hand me over like cattle?"

"It's not like that Jeremy"

"Not like that?' My voice cracked with disbelief. "Mom, you literally threatened me last night. Dad decided to marry me off to a stranger, and you..." My throat tightened. "You didn’t say a damn word.

Her lips parted, but she pressed them together, as if swallowing words she couldn’t afford to let out. She sat down on the couch, her back too straight, her hands trembling slightly in her lap.

"Jeremy," she whispered, "sometimes, silence is the only way to protect what little we have."

I barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. "Protect? You call this protection?"

She looked at me then, really looked, and for a moment, I thought I saw regret flicker in her eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced with the same resigned calm I’d grown to hate. "You’ll understand one day."

"I don’t want to understand," I snapped. "I just wanted you to fight for me. Once. Just once."

The silence between us was suffocating. I could see her struggling, like she wanted to reach out, but her hands stayed tightly clasped in her lap. Finally, she stood.

"Eat," she said softly, her mask sliding back into place. "You’ll need your strength. There are… arrangements being made."

The words hit me like ice water. "Arrangements?"

Her eyes avoided mine. "Your father wants you to be ready. Soon."

And then she left, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding. Arrangements. The word tasted like poison. My life was no longer mine, it was being carved up and served to strangers.

Later that day, I found myself at the café again, even though part of me knew I shouldn’t go back. The place was my only refuge, the only place that still felt like me. Mira looked up when I walked in, her face lighting with a mix of relief and worry.

"Jeremy," she said, rushing from behind the counter. "Where have you been? I tried calling."

"Sorry," I muttered, sliding behind the counter. "Phone died."

She sat across from me, eyes searching mine. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," I said dryly.

She frowned. "What happened?"

I hesitated, staring at the chipped edge of the table. Mira was my friend, maybe my only one, but how could I tell her the truth? How could I say, My parents are selling me to the Andersons like some sacrificial lamb?

"I just… had a fight with my mom," I said finally, keeping it vague.

Her expression softened. "I thought you told me that you haven't been in touch with your parents for a few years now"

I shrugged, trying to force a smile. "My mother visited my house yesterday. I don't really want to talk about it."

But her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering. She wanted to press, but the bell over the door jingled, and a couple of customers walked in. Mira sighed and stood. "You’ll tell me when you’re ready."

"Yeah," I whispered.

When she left, I let my gaze drift toward the cafe window. That’s when I saw it, a sleek black car parked across the street. Tinted windows. The kind of car that screamed money and power.

It had been there yesterday too.

A chill ran down my spine. Coincidence? Maybe. But something about it felt wrong. Like it was waiting. Watching.

I tore my gaze away, heart hammering. Paranoia. That’s all it was. Just my brain making monsters out of shadows.

By the time I got home that evening, an envelope was waiting on my desk. Thick, cream-colored, sealed with dark wax stamped in an unfamiliar crest. My name was written in bold, elegant script.

Hands trembling, I broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

To Jeremy Carter,

The Anderson family cordially requests your presence to discuss the forthcoming union. Preparations are underway. A car will arrive in a week to escort you.

The letter slipped from my fingers. My pulse roared in my ears.

My Parents really weren't kidding, this was all real.

It was real.

I stumbled back onto my bed, clutching the sheets like they could anchor me. I had no choice. My father’s threats, my mother’s silence, this letter, it all closed in on me.

For the first time, I whispered Damien Anderson’s name. It tasted like fate, like chains.

And in a week, I’d meet the man I was being forced to call my husband.