CHAPTER THREE

JASMINE

No.

I clenched my fists in the dark. No way.

I didn't panic. My mind raced, putting together everything Willow had just said.

Travis Sterling. Security passcodes. The Swiss account. 

They thought I was just a dumb waitress they could throw away. But Willow had just given me the weapon I needed. I didn't need to stop the wedding. I just needed to stay alive long enough to use this evidence against Willow when the money vanished.

—

The morning of the wedding came with a heavy storm.

Rain pounded against the windows as maids laced me into a heavy silk wedding gown that felt like a cage.

While the maids were in the other room getting the veil, I quickly reached into a vanity drawer and grabbed Willow’s extra burner phone. My hands trembled as I dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Hello?” a tired voice answered on the third ring.

“Lucy, it’s me,” I whispered, keeping a cautious eye on the door.

“Jas?! Oh my god, where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Listen to me, I don’t have much time,” I said quickly. “I’m trapped in something bad, but I’m doing it to save Sylvia. I need you to go to the hospital today. Check on her. Make sure her surgery went well and that she’s in a good room. Don't let my parents or Dr. Jonathan see you. Can you do that?”

“Yes, of course! Jas, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I will be. Just watch over Sylvia. I’ll call you when I can.”

I hung up, cleared the history, and hid the phone under a stack of papers just as the door opened.

Willow walked in, wearing a coat and dark sunglasses, a cold smile on her face.

“Look at you,” Willow smirked, walking around me. “You almost look decent. Try not to embarrass us tonight when you sign the papers, sister. Though I guess it won't matter much by tomorrow.”

She was gloating, waiting to steal the money.

I turned to face her. Instead of looking down like I had for two weeks, I lifted my chin and gave her a cold smile.

“You should worry about yourself, Willow,” I said.

The voice coming out of my mouth wasn't mine. It was Willow’s exact tone, her exact rude pitch, her exact arrogant way of speaking.

Willow took a step back, her eyes wide in shock.

Marjorie walked into the room right behind her, but froze when she heard me speak.

I stepped closer to my mother, my eyes cold.

“Let me tell you one thing, Marjorie,” I said in Willow’s voice. “I am getting in that car. I am going to that house. But if my grandmother’s care slips for one second, if her medicine is late by one minute, I won't just sign those papers, I will ruin this family's name on live news tonight. I have someone on the inside keeping me updated, so don’t bother lying to me. Try me and see what happens.”

Marjorie’s face went pale. She opened her mouth to speak , but nothing came out.

Without waiting, I picked up the bottom of my dress, pushed past my sister and walked out the door.

The car drove through the touring gates of the Callahan estate, cutting through the heavy rain.

Outside, stone walls and high towers rose through the fog. The place looked huge and wealthy, but also dangerous.

The car pulled up to the front steps and a guard in a black suit opened the door, holding an umbrella over my head.

I pulled up my dress and stepped out onto the wet driveway. I was so busy 

Suddenly, I crashed into a broad chest. The impact knocked me off balance, my high heels slipping on the wet floor.

A strong arm shot out, catching me around the waist before I hit the wet marble. He pulled me hard against his chest to steady me.

I gasped, looking up through the pouring rain.

Soaking wet black hair fell over a handsome face. Cold grey eyes stared down at me like he was looking at something he’d stepped in. Rain dripped from his jawline onto my shirt.

He looked at my wet veil, then at my face, and let out a laugh.

“So you’re the Sinclair girl,” he muttered, his hand gripping my waist tighter than necessary. “I expected a princess. You look more like a drowned rat.”

My blood boiled instantly.

I didn't care who he was. I had been dragged away from my dying nanny, threatened with murder by my own mother, forced to play twin to a sister who hated me, and locked up for two weeks like an animal. I was exhausted, terrified, and pushed way past my limit. I was not about to let some arrogant jerk in a fancy suit talk to me like I was dirt.

“Get your hands off me!” I yelled over the sound of the thunder.

I shoved both hands against his chest with all the strength I had left. He was built like a wall, but the sudden force caught him off guard, making him take a step back on the slippery stone.

“Watch your tongue,” he warned, his voice turning dangerous as his grey eyes narrowed. “You don't know who you're speaking to.”

“I don’t care if you’re the president,” I snapped, stepping right his space, my chest heaving as the rain soaked through my dress. “You were sprinting around the corner like a blind idiot. You ran into me, you ruined my dress, and then you have the nerve to insult me? Learn some basic manners before you talk to me, you arrogant prick!”

The man froze. For a second, he just stared at me in disbelief, like nobody had ever raised their voice at him in his entire life.

Then, slowly, a dangerous smirk spread across his face. His grey eyes lit up with something intense.

“You’ve got a big mouth for a girl who’s only just arrived.”

“Get out of my way,” I spat, shoving past his shoulder so hard he had to turn slightly.

I gathered my gown and walked into the house without looking back once.

Inside, the foyer was dead silent. 

A suit-clad butler was standing near the doors.

“Welcome to the Callahan Estate, Miss ,” he said smoothly, acting as if I hadn't just screamed at someone on the front steps. “Please, follow me.”

Inside the small clutch bag tucked into the folds of my dress, my fingers brushed against the folded piece of paper where I had written down every detail of Willow’s phone call.

Travis Sterling. The Swiss bank. The $10 million.

That paper was my only shield. If this family was as dangerous as my parents said, I needed to keep my head down, sign the contract and make sure Granny survived her surgery.

The butler led me down a long hallway lined with thick carpet. At the far end, he pushed open two massive mahogany doors and stepped aside.

“Please, go inside,” he said.

I took a deep breath and walked in.

I stood near the door, waiting anxiously for the old patriarch to walk through the door. The idea of becoming the bride of an old crone made me sick to my stomach. But I was willing to do anything for my grandmother. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall. When the door opened, I was taken aback by the sight of three men. But even more, I realized the man in the middle was the stranger from the driveway.

He had changed out of his wet jacket, now wearing a black shirt with the top buttons undone, rolled-up sleeves showing broad, muscular forearms. His dark hair was still slightly damp, brushed back from his forehead. His icy grey eyes locked onto mine the second he entered, that same dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

To his right stood a man who was even broader, built like a fighter. He had sharp facial features, curly dark hair, and brown eyes that scanned me like he was checking for weapons. His posture was strict and tense, oozing raw power.

To the stranger's left stood the third man. He was taller and more muscular, with tattoos running down forearm. But carried himself with a calm confidence. He had shorter curly hair, slicked back, and green eyes that felt like they were looking straight through my skull. He wore a perfectly tailored grey suit and held a thick leather folder in his hands.

The three of them stood together at the end of the table. They looked unstoppable. Powerful, dangerous, and impossibly handsome in a way that made the air in the room feel thick. 

“Well, well,” the grey-eyed stranger said, his deep voice carrying easily across the room. He walked over to the chair on the left side of the table and sat down, leaning back comfortably. “Look who made it inside.”

The broad fighter-like man crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes fixed on me. “She’s soaking wet, Noah. Did you throw her in the fountain?”

Noah. So that was the name of the arrogant prick from the driveway.

“She ran into me,” Noah said, never taking his eyes off mine. 

The green-eyed man in the grey suit didn't smile. He simply placed the folder on the table and tapped it once with his finger.

“Let’s get straight to business,” he said coldly. “We don't have time to waste on small talk.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to calm down. 

“Yes, of course.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to take a step toward the table. I refused to let them see me shake. I put on the cold, arrogant face I had practiced for two weeks, using Willow’s voice.

“Where is Mr. Callahan? I was told I’d be meeting my husband today.”

I looked past the three of them toward the empty chairs, expecting the old man.

Noah raised an eyebrow, a laugh escaping his lips. “You’re looking at him.”

I frowned, glancing between the three of them. “Which one of you? Where is the head of the family?”

The green-eyed man opened the folder and slid a thick stack of legal papers across the table toward me. A silver pen rested on top of the front page.

“Our grandfather passed away three months ago,” the green-eyed man said, his gaze watching my reaction closely. “We run Callahan Holdings together.”

My heart skipped a beat. They were his grandsons. My parents had lied to me—or Willow—about who was calling the shots.

I picked up the pen. The top line of the contract read: BINDING MARITAL ALLIANCE AND ESCROW ASSET TRANSFER.

I swallowed. The moment I signed this, the $10 million would lock into the account, Willow would try to steal it, and my time would start ticking.

“Okay,” I said, “Which line do I sign? Which one of you am I legally marrying?”

Damon leaned forward. 

“You aren't picking one of us, sweetheart,” Damon said quietly.

I froze. “What?”

He reached out and turned the final page of the contract toward me. He pointed his finger at the bottom of the paper, where three signatures were already signed in black ink:

Damon Callahan

Noah Callahan

Elijah Callahan

“Our grandfather’s will was very specific,” he said. “To keep full control of Callahan Holdings and unlock the family trust, the alliance required a Sinclair daughter to marry into the bloodline.”

“And the three of us share everything,” the second added. “We don't split assets, and we don't divide power.”

He stood up slowly from his chair, walking around the edge of the table until he was standing just inches away from me. The heat radiating off his body made my breath catch in my throat.

He reached out, his long fingers gently catching my chin and tilting my head up so I had to look into his piercing grey eyes.

“You aren't here to marry one person. You’re here to be the wife to all three of us.”