Chapter 2

Mary returned to the bar, her steps slower and heavier. The brief encounter outside lingered in her chest like an unfinished sentence. She could still feel the weight of his gaze, the calm authority in his voice, the unsettling certainty with which he had looked at her, as though she were something already decided.

She shook her head lightly.

Enough.

Tonight wasn’t about strangers or sharp-eyed men in expensive suits. Tonight was about forgetting.

The music wrapped around her as she stepped fully inside, the deep bass vibrating through her bones. Gold and crimson lights blurred together, dancing across the polished floor. The scent of alcohol and expensive perfume clung thickly to the air.

She exhaled slowly. It wasn’t the drinks making her unsteady. It was her emotions.

She bent down, picking up her handbag and phone from the table, fingers tightening around them as if grounding herself. All I needed was one night to forget, she muttered to herself. Just one.

She turned to leave.

“Hey, beautiful.”

The voice was loud. Too close.

Mary stopped. A familiar unease slid down her spine as she looked up. A group of men stood in her path, blocking the exit. Their eyes lingered where they shouldn’t, smiles stretched too wide, too confident.

The man in front, with dirty blond hair and a lazy grin, stepped forward.

“You look lonely,” he said over the music. “How about we keep you company?”

Mary’s grip tightened on her bag. “I’m fine,” she replied, forcing politeness. “I was just leaving.”

She tried to slip past them.

A hand clamped her wrist, and she felt a sharp pain.

“Hey, let go!” Mary cried out frantically.

“Relax,” the man said, tightening his grip. “No need to rush.”

The grip crushed her wrist. Red marks appeared on her pale skin. “Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“You’re hurting me.”

The man laughed.

"It doesn't have to be bad," he said softly. "Come with us. You'll be okay." His friends laughed, moving closer. Mary felt a surge of fear. This wasn't a request, it was a threat.

Alexander Lipton watched from above, his eyes fixed on the scene below through the dark glass of the VIP section. He saw her return to the bar, her steps hesitant, her body language screaming tension, just like when she bumped into him earlier. Now, some guy had her wrist clamped. Alexander's gaze turned icy, his instincts kicking in. He leaned back, calm and deliberate, and lit a cigarette, the smoke swirling around him.

"Careless," he murmured, his voice low and lethal.

The man across from him, Mr. Robin froze, papers scattered around him. "Mr. Lipton, is there a problem?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

Alexander slammed his hand on the table, making Mr. Robin jumped. The sharp sound echoed through the room.

Alexander stood up, crushing his cigarette with a sharp jab. He grabbed his jacket, the leather creaking softly. "Redo the contract," he said, his voice measured and controlled. "It's unacceptable." He turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing.

Downstairs, Mary’s pulse thudded unevenly. "Let go of me," she said again, her voice firmer now. The man leaned in closer, his breath hot on her skin.

Then, a voice sliced through the bar like a knife. "How dare you touch the woman under my protection."

The music faltered, conversations died, and everyone turned to stare. Mary felt her body lock up. The grip on her wrist vanished. Alexander appeared, his expression unreadable, his movements smooth and deadly.

The blond-haired man sneered. "The woman under your protection?" he spat. "Who the hell are you?”

Alexander's gaze locked onto Mary, taking in the tension in her jaw, the fear she was trying to hide, and the bruises forming on her wrist. A spark of anger ignited within him. He stepped in front of her, a silent shield, his body radiating protection.

"Move," he said, his voice low and menacing.

The air vibrated with tension. One of the men laughed, but it was a nervous sound.

"And if we don't?" he sneered.

Alexander's lips curled into a humourless smile. "Then you'll regret it," he said, his voice steady with promise. Mary’s breath came shallow as a chill ran down her spine.

The blond man charged, his fist flying. Alexander moved with deadly precision, catching the man's wrist and twisting it with a sickening crack. The man screamed as Alexander kneed him in the chest, sending him crashing into a table. Glass shattered, and panic screams erupted.

Two more men rushed forward, but Alexander was ready. He turned, his stare sharpening with warning. One hesitated, but it was too late. Alexander slammed him into the wall. The impact echoed sharply through the space. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The last man swung from behind, but Alexander was already gone, ducking low. He seized the arm and, with a sharp jab, drove his elbow into the ribs. A sickening crack filled the air, followed by a scream. It was over in seconds. No chaos, just clinical efficiency.

Mary stood frozen, her chest tight. She'd never seen violence like this: controlled, calm, and terrifying. Alexander straightened, adjusting his cuff like he'd just fixed a broken pen. He turned to the blond man, who was stumbling to his feet, eyes wild.

"You think you can just…”

Alexander stepped closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "If you ever touch her again," he said evenly, "you will never find your hands."

The man's face went white. Security burst in.

"Mr. Lipton…" one began.

"Remove them," Alexander said calmly. "Blacklist them from this club and every establishment I own."

The men were dragged away, leaving silence in their wake. Alexander turned to Mary, and she flinched before she could stop herself. His gaze dropped to her wrist.

"You're hurt," he said, his voice low.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, the lie sticking in her throat.

Alexander draped his jacket over her shoulders. It smelled of smoke and something darker—control. "Come," he said. "We're leaving."

She hesitated. "W…where?"

He stopped and turned to her. "Mary."

Her breath caught. "How do you know my name?" she whispered.

Alexander studied her, the confusion, the fear she masked, the strength she didn’t see. "Because," he said quietly, "I’ve known you longer than you think."

"What does that mean?" she asked under her breath.

As she walked, her mind was a whirlwind of questions. What just happened? Who is this man? Why did he protect me?

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess as Alexander guided her outside with a gentle but firm hand on her back. The cool night air hit her sharply, snapping her out of her trance. A chill ran down her spine as the sounds of the city—distant traffic, muffled music—washed over her.

A black car waited, sleek and menacing, like something waiting in the shadows. Alexander's hand on her elbow sent a spark of electricity through her, making her heart skip a beat. She felt cornered, every exit quietly sealed.

As she hesitated, Alexander's voice was low, icy, but with a strange tranquillity. "Get in."

"No way," she said, her voice firm, "not until you explain…”

Alexander leaned in, his breath whispering against her skin. "This marriage will save your family," he said, his promise calm and deliberate. "And tonight, it saved you."

The words knocked the air from her lungs. "Marriage." The word stuck in her throat. Realization dawned on her like a cold splash. "You’re… from the Lipton family?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Her gaze locked onto his, and she felt a jolt. "You’re him," she said, the truth crashing into her. "The man I’m supposed to marry."

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, brief and unreadable. "It’s Alexander Lipton, Miss Andison," he said, his tone flat.

"You’re lying," she whispered, her pulse quickening.

"I don’t lie."

He straightened. "Get in the car, Mary Andison. You’re coming home with your husband."

Mary collapsed into the back seat beside him, her head resting against the cool glass. The city blurred past, a kaleidoscope of gold and white streaks.

The leather seat was cool beneath her fingers, the engine's hum a distant drone. Alexander typed away on his laptop, calm and focused, as if he'd just ticked another box on his to-do list. His indifference stung; this wasn't just a business deal. It was her life. Mary’s mind seethed in bitter rebellion. How could he be so detached? Snatch my freedom, my happiness, and act like it's nothing?

As the silence stretched, her anger simmered, mixed with fear and a dash of desperation. She felt trapped, with no escape.

Mary shot him a quick glance, then looked away, her cheeks burning with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Can you drop me at the next bus stop?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

His reply was calm, but it carried finality. "That’s not for you to decide, Mary."

Her head snapped toward him, her gaze hardening. "What do you mean?"

He finally looked up, his gaze calm and razor-sharp. "You already know what this is."

"No, I don’t," she shot back, her pulse thudding unevenly.

"Then you don’t have to. You’ll come home with me."

"I haven’t signed the marriage contract," she said, her voice shaking.

"You don’t need to sign," he replied evenly. The weight of his tone pressed against her chest. "Your parents already did."

Her breath caught. Alexander leaned back, his expression giving nothing away. "Whether you accept it or not doesn’t change the outcome. You’re coming home with me."

Mary's anger boiled over. "You’re unbelievable," she snapped, tears spilling down her face despite her fury. "You’re cruel. You have no right!"

"Cruel?" His jaw locked. "Do you think I wanted this arrangement? Your family begged for it. I agreed because it was necessary for my family and my company. Your behaviour from now on will determine how smoothly this ends for everyone."

Mary's thoughts turned inward, a bitter taste in her mouth. My family... my family. I still have to sacrifice it all for them. She mocked herself, feeling helpless and weak.

The irony wasn't lost on her; she'd always put family first, and now she was paying the price. Her jaw clenched tighter, fingers trembling as she dabbed her tears with the back of her hand. "...I understand," she whispered.

The words felt like surrender. Alexander handed her a crisp white handkerchief, his expression unreadable. Mary took it, her fingers brushing against his, and a flicker of rage ignited in her. Why was he so calm? So detached?

Mary dabbed her face, her eyes widening as she saw a huge villa come into view. Tall marble pillars, wrought-iron balconies, and perfectly trimmed hedges. The place looked rich and powerful, making her feel small.

A man in a black suit approached, bowing. "Good evening, Mr. Lipton. Miss Andison." Mary stiffened, her smile polite but forced. Of course, they already knew who she was.

The man's words washed over her, but she caught the phrases "tomorrow's meeting" and "reports are ready." Alexander's voice was calm and detached as he took the file and dismissed the man.

Left alone, Mary felt a chill creep in. An elderly man approached, his eyes kind. "Welcome home, Miss Andison."

Home. The word tasted bitter on her tongue. She'd just escaped one prison, only to walk into another.

"My name is Brooks," he said gently. "I am the butler of this mansion. Please allow me to take you to your room. You may freshen up while dinner is prepared for you and Mr. Lipton."

Her stomach growled, loud in the silence, betraying her nerves. Mary laughed under her breath, resting a hand on her belly. Pull yourself together. "That sounds… good. Thank you."

As she walked, following Butler Brooks, the marble floor seemed to swallow her footsteps, leaving her feeling small and lost. The scent of fresh flowers and lemon polish filled her lungs, bringing a strange comfort in this alien place.

---

Andison Family Home

Beatrice paced the living room, her hands shaking as she wrung them together. Charles tried to calm her, but she couldn't shake the panic, gripping her chest.

"Are you sure Mary's okay?" she asked again, her voice trembling.

Her father-in-law scoffed. "Nonsense. Why are you acting like she's a child?"

Beatrice spun around, her gaze hardening. "What do you mean by nonsense, Dad?"

Charles's father replied, "She's an adult. She understands responsibility."

Beatrice's face crumbled. She hit Charles's chest weakly, tears spilling down her face. "Did you hear that? You won't even say anything? Our daughter doesn't deserve this fate, and it is all your fault. We owe our daughter everything."

Her father-in-law barked, "Beatrice! Where are your manners when talking to your husband?”

She laughed bitterly. "Manners? When my daughter is being sold to a stranger? This is not fair at all. But thank goodness we didn't sign that paper yet.”

Charles's mother said calmly, "Charles already signed the contract, giving full rights over Mary to Mr. Lipton."

Beatrice's voice dropped to a whisper. "What?"

Her knees buckled, but she caught herself. "Tell me it’s not true. Please."

Charles looked away. "I'm sorry."

Her father snapped, "Nonsense. Why are you sorry? You had every right."

Beatrice's anger flared. "And I’m her mother! I also have rights. That document means nothing without my signature. I haven’t signed anything. Go to Mr. Lipton and tell him the marriage is off."

The room fell silent.

A sudden laugh echoed through the house. Beatrice turned. Her father-in-law was laughing, loud, uncontrollable, almost manic.