Episode 3 — No choice

Marcus wakes up screaming.

Not words, just sound—raw and animal—tearing through the quiet of the hospital room. His body convulses against the bed, hands clawing at the sheets.

"Mr. Hunt, you need to stay still—"

"My leg." His voice is hoarse, panicked. "Why can't I feel my leg?"

I'm standing in the doorway. I shouldn't be here. Visitors aren't allowed this early, but Gerald Hunt pulled strings, and my parents insisted I come.

I don't know why I'm here. Marcus doesn't want me. He made that clear last night.

But I'm here anyway, invisible as always, watching him break.

The doctor comes in an hour later. Older than the one from last night, with kind eyes and a grave expression.

"Mr. Hunt, I'm Dr. Patel. I performed your surgery."

Marcus is calmer now, sedated, but his eyes are still wild. "Why can't I move my leg?"

"The accident caused severe damage to your femur, the surrounding muscles, and the nerves. We've reconstructed what we could, but the healing process will be long and difficult."

"How long?"

"That depends on you. With intensive rehabilitation, there's a good chance you'll regain significant function. But I won't lie to you—it will take months. Possibly longer. And there are no guarantees."

Marcus stares at him. "What does that mean? No guarantees?"

"It means you may need assistance walking. Crutches. A cane. Possibly a wheelchair for a time."

The words land like blows. I watch Marcus's face crumble—just for a second, just enough for me to see the fear underneath all that cold composure—and then he rebuilds himself, brick by brick.

"I want a second opinion."

"Of course. We can arrange—"

"I want the best specialists in the country. I want—"

"Marcus." Gerald Hunt steps forward from where he's been standing by the window. "Let the doctor finish."

Marcus ignores him. "I want to walk again. I want to be normal. I want—"

His voice breaks. He doesn't finish.

The room empties slowly. The doctor leaves. The nurses leave. Victoria follows them, her face pale with worry.

Gerald stays.

And so do I, hovering in the corner, invisible as always.

"Marcus." Gerald's voice is calm. Controlled. "We need to talk about the wedding."

Marcus laughs. It's a terrible sound—hollow and bitter.

"The wedding. Of course. My leg is shattered, and you want to talk about the wedding."

"The scandal is worse than we anticipated. The investors are panicking. Hunt Industries is down seven percent since yesterday morning."

"Let it burn."

"Don't be dramatic."

"Don't be dramatic?" Marcus's voice rises. "My leg is destroyed. I may never walk again. And you want to talk about stock prices?"

Gerald doesn't flinch. "The stock prices are what keep this family afloat. The alliance with the Vances was supposed to secure our future. Without it—"

"Without it, what?" Marcus snaps. "We lose some money? We sell a yacht? You'll survive."

"This isn't about yachts," Gerald says, his voice turning cold. "Hunt Industries is vulnerable. We've borrowed heavily against projected growth. The alliance was the foundation of those projections. If it collapses, so does everything we've built."

Marcus stares at him. "You knew this. You knew we were overextended, and you still—"

"I did what was necessary to protect this family."

"By selling me to the highest bidder?"

"By securing your future."

"My future?" Marcus laughs again, but there's no humor in it. "You've never cared about my future. You care about your legacy. Your empire. Your name."

"And what do you think pays for your life, Marcus?" Gerald's voice is sharp now. "Your cars. Your homes. Your education. Everything you have comes from this family. And now this family needs you to do your part."

"By marrying a woman I don't love?"

"By honoring a contract you were born into."

Marcus turns away. His hands are shaking.

"I won't do it."

"You will."

"I won't. I'll find another way. I'll—"

"There is no other way." Gerald steps closer. "The Vances are insisting Freya take her sister's place. The board expects the alliance to proceed. The investors are watching. If we cancel the wedding now, we lose everything."

"Then let it fall."

"You don't mean that."

"I do." Marcus's voice is quiet now. Dangerous. "I would rather lose everything than marry a woman I never chose."

The room falls silent.

I stand in my corner, invisible, and I feel something break inside me—something small and fragile that I've been holding onto for years.

He would rather lose everything than marry me.

I knew it. Of course I knew it. But hearing it—hearing the conviction in his voice, the certainty—it's different. It's like being stabbed with a blade I've been sharpening myself for eight years.

Gerald looks at his son with something close to disgust.

"You're not thinking clearly. The medication—"

"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years." Marcus meets his father's gaze. "I will not let a business agreement dictate my life. I will not marry a woman I don't love. I will not—"

"Then you leave me no choice."

Marcus freezes. "What?"

"Your mother and I have discussed this with the Vances. With the board. With the investors." Gerald's voice is ice. "The wedding will take place tomorrow, as planned."

"Tomorrow?" Marcus's voice cracks. "I just had surgery. I can't even stand."

"You'll be sedated. The ceremony will be brief. The photographs will be controlled." Gerald's jaw tightens. "We cannot afford a delay. The damage is already spreading."

"This is insane. You can't—"

"The wedding will take place tomorrow," Gerald repeats. "Whether you agree or not."

Marcus stares at his father. His face is white, his eyes wild with fury and fear and something that looks like grief.

"You can't do this to me."

"I'm not doing it to you. I'm doing it for you." Gerald's voice softens slightly. "One day, you'll understand. One day, you'll thank me."

"I will never thank you. I will never forgive you. I will—"

"Get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day."

Gerald turns and walks out of the room.

The door closes behind him.

And Marcus is left alone, trapped in a bed that feels more like a prison every second. And I stand in my corner, invisible as always, watching him break.