Chapter 1

Mary Andison had barely stepped into her family mansion when she heard her name.

“…Mary is finally back.”

Her steps froze. The familiar scent of polish and old wealth wrapped around her, but a sharp awareness shot through her.

“Is this really the right time?” her mother asked, hesitation threading her voice.

Mary’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag, the leather biting lightly into her palm.

“We don’t have time,” her father replied with a weary sigh. “Only she can save us now.”

Save us? From what? Her forehead creased as a faint breeze rustled through the garden.

“The Lipton family has agreed,” her grandfather said sharply. “A marriage alliance.”

The word hit her like a blow.

Marriage. So this was the plan. It was clear now.

“If she marries into the Lipton family,” her father continued, “A&A Corporation survives.”

She felt the ground shake beneath her feet. This is what I had come home for; it wasn't because of love or longing, but for a transaction.

Eight years ago, she would have sworn this could never happen.

A cold weight settled in her gut as the past clawed back, reminding her how little had changed. Ree’s trembling voice echoed in her mind.

“They’re marrying me off, to a man I don’t even know.”

Mary remembered the way Ree had gripped her hands, her fingers icy and desperate.

“Run,” she whispered to her. “Before they turn you into a bargaining chip.”

Mary swallowed hard. Apparently, running had only delayed the inevitable.

Footsteps shifted in the garden, shoes brushing softly against gravel.

“She was raised well,” her grandfather said. “She will understand her duty.”

Duty. So my duty is to be married off to save the company.

Mary, unable to continue listening, straightened and stepped forward.

“Mum. Dad,” she called out softly.

Every voice died. Faces turned toward her—surprise, guilt, panic flickering slowly.

“I’m home,” she said, forcing a smile.

Her mother rushed into her arms, but the warmth she once remembered was gone. I was brought back to be traded. What was the point of running? The answer was obvious.

No one held her eyes for long. Even the air in the garden seemed to pause, thick and unmoving.

She smiled anyway. A careful, obedient smile.

“I will head to my room now. I need some rest after the long flight,” Mary said, excusing herself before anyone could stop her.

The walk to her bedroom felt endless; the marble floor cold beneath her feet, every step heavy with words left unsaid. She couldn't trust herself to speak to anyone, not without breaking down.

Only when the door closed behind her did the heat rush behind her eyes; her breath caught halfway.

Her room looked exactly the same. Eight years gone, yet it felt like she had never left. Her escape seemed meaningless, nothing she did mattered.

Mary crossed to the mirror stand and picked up a framed photograph. Two girls. Two innocent smiles. Ree and Mary, before they knew what the world demanded of them. The faint scent of old paper lingered.

“I guess we were always meant for the same fate,” she murmured.

Her phone rang, vibrating sharply in her hand. Startled, she nearly dropped the frame. She set it down quickly and reached for her phone, her breath hitching when she saw the caller ID.

Ree.

“You’re back!” Ree’s voice burst through the line. “I was already planning how to drag you home myself.”

Mary gave a faint smile. “We never stopped talking.”

“That’s not the same,” Ree said softly. “But now we can fix that. Let’s meet tomorrow. Mia’s coffee shop.”

Mary hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”

After the call ended, she stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary. Whatever waited downstairs, she couldn't avoid it forever.

A knock sounded, firm but gentle against the wood.

“Dinner is ready, young miss,” Marvin said gently through the closed door.

“I will be down in a minute.”

Mary stared at her reflection. Act normal. Act ignorant.

She put on a practiced, empty smile and headed to the dining room.

Dinner felt like a negotiation disguised as a family meal. The soft clink of cutlery echoed too loudly. No laughter. No warmth. The food tasted like ash.

Halfway through the meal, her father cleared his throat. “Mary…”

“I know,” she said, not waiting for him. She had already anticipated his words.

Silence fell in the dining room. The ticking clock on the wall sounded unbearably loud.

“You… know?” her mother stammered.

“I overheard your conversation. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I did anyway.”

Her grandfather’s gaze was steady. “Then you understand what’s at stake.”

“The company is failing,” her father said. “The Liptons offered help…in exchange for marriage.”

Mary nodded once.

“So that’s my role,” she said. “A solution.”

Her mother reached for her. “You’re our daughter…”

“A daughter whom you are willing to hand over to another man,” Mary said softly, her vision blurring. What makes you think you are good parents or grandparents? Can't we find another solution? I can't marry a man I don’t know. I won’t accept this alliance.

Mrs. Andison reached out, trembling. “My love, I wish there were another way,” her voice barely audible.

Mary fixed her gaze on her father, who avoided her eyes. His silence was enough to break her.

She looked down at her mother’s hands clutching hers. You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you? No one spoke.

Her shoulders slumped forward, breaking her mother’s hold. “If marriage is the price,” she exhaled, her voice steady despite her fractured chest, “then I’ll pay it.”

Her grandfather breathed in relief, nodding. “You won't regret this, child,” he said.

Mary stood, a dull ache spreading through her body, her chair scraping the floor. She stepped back, her hands gripping the edge of the table. This is not how I wanted my return, let alone dinner after so long, to be. She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. “I will be off to my room.”

She walked away. No one stopped her. No one followed. A heaviness settled over her with each step.

Once inside, she locked the door and slid down against it, hands trembling as she pressed them to her mouth, muffling the cry clawing at her chest.

I really can't do this, she whispered. Each silent sob tore at her. How could my family hurt me like this? She hit her chest, as if it were the only way to release her anger, frustration, and hurt.

After crying herself into a stupor, she couldn't bear to stay in the house another minute; the air felt stale and unwelcoming. She changed clothes without thinking, grabbed her keys, and left the house. She barely noticed the murmurs behind her as the cool night air hit her skin and the night swallowed her whole.

I need somewhere that doesn't smell like obligation.

City lights blurred past as she drove aimlessly, with no destination in mind. The hum of the engine filled the silence. She pulled up in front of a high-end club. One drink. One night where no one needed anything from her.

Inside, perfume and alcohol clung to the air, bass thumping faintly through the walls. She ordered two drinks, downing them quickly.

The noise grew heavy in her head. Feeling a slight headache and needing air, she stepped outside.

Glancing at the sky, her voice almost lost in the air, she muttered, “Funny. The sky looks perfect tonight. At least something out there is calm.” Her shoulders sagged for a second before she squared them again. If I have to marry a stranger, I need to understand what I am walking into.

She turned to go back in, distracted with her thoughts, and stumbled into something solid.

“Ouch! Can’t you…”

The man turned: tall, broad-shouldered, immaculate in a black suit.

“I’ll call you back,” he said into his phone. Calm. Final.

His gaze dropped to her, not curious. Measuring.

“You ran into me,” he said.

She glanced up, a frown plastered on her face. “You were blocking my way.”

A pause.

Then he stepped closer. Not threatening. Intentional. The faint scent of expensive cologne lingered between them.

“You should watch where you walk,” he said quietly. “The world doesn’t move for you, so don't expect everything to give way.”

Heat rushed through her veins. “I've never expected it to. And maybe you should try manners.”

One dark brow lifted. “Manners.”

She turned away. “Enjoy your night, Mr. Arrogant.”

Behind her, the man watched. Alexander Lipton didn’t smile. He already knew who she was. His phone vibrated. A file glowed on the screen.

Mary Andison, he said under his breath. Who would have thought my long-awaited bride would return today? “This is interesting.”