Chapter 3

“Oh my,” her father-in-law said, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Deep lines creased his face as his eyes glinted with cruel amusement.

“Charles didn’t tell you?”

Beatrice turned to him, confusion knitting her brows. A slow, cold unease crept into her chest, tightening around her ribs.

“Tell me what?”

“So you didn’t tell her,” he continued, now facing his son. “You didn’t tell her how you made her sign those papers, without her knowledge?”

Charles stood frozen near the wall, head bowed, shoulders stiff, like a child caught in the act. His fingers curled slowly into fists, the knuckles whitening.

Beatrice’s heart skipped painfully. A cold shiver crawled down her spine and settled at the base of her neck.

“What is he talking about, Charles?” Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “What papers did I sign without knowing?”

Her father-in-law let out a low chuckle, dry and deliberate.

“Will you tell her,” he said coldly, “or should I explain how you tricked your own wife into signing away her rights?”

Rights.

The word hit her like something solid.

Beatrice took a slow step toward Charles. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick and hard to breathe.

“What is your father talking about?” she asked, shaking her head as if refusing the possibility. “I never signed anything to give up my daughter. So what papers is he talking about?”

He laughed again, louder this time, clearly enjoying her confusion.

“Why don’t you tell her, Charles? Or should I do it, since you don’t seem man enough to speak?”

His wife grabbed his arm sharply.

“That’s enough. You’ve said more than enough. Leave them.”

“Leave them?” Beatrice laughed bitterly, the sound breaking in her throat. Her nails dug into her palm. “There’s nothing to leave. I just want the truth.”

She turned back to Charles, eyes blazing, tears already gathering but refusing to fall.

“What did you do?”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Did you go behind my back?” she yelled, her voice cracking. “Did you forge my signature? What exactly did you do?”

She grabbed his shirt, her fingers trembling violently.

“Talk to me, Charles!”

He swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I made you sign the papers.”

The world tilted. Her knees weakened for a second, and she had to lock them to stay upright.

“I had no other option,” he rushed on, words tumbling over each other. “I knew you’d never agree, so I…”

He stopped. Shame flooded his face.

“I drugged you. M…made you hallucinate. Then I made you sign while you weren’t in your right senses.”

The air left her lungs as flashes of images began flooding her mind.

Her mouth went dry. I remember everything now, she muttered.

For a moment, she couldn’t even blink.

Then, the sound of a slap echoed sharply through the room.

“How could you?” she screamed, her palm stinging, her hand shaking uncontrollably. “How could you do that to me?”

She shoved him hard.

“You are not my husband! Where is the man I married? That man would never give his daughter away, never!”

Tears streamed freely now, hot and unstoppable.

“Family always came first to him. But you?” She pushed him again. “You’re greedy. You’re cruel. You’re a stranger.”

Charles didn’t resist. He stood there, shoulders slumped, guilt written across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll accept any punishment.”

“Sorry?” Beatrice laughed hollowly, the sound empty. “Your apology won’t bring my daughter back.”

The landline rang.

The sharp, piercing sound sliced through the tension.

Beatrice flinched violently as she rushed over to pick up the call. Her hands trembled as she reached for it.

“Hello?” Her voice was rough.

“Mum.”

Mary’s voice.

Beatrice’s knees nearly buckled in relief. She gripped the table edge.

“Mary, my baby. Are you okay? Where are you? I’ll come and get you…”

“Mum, I’m fine,” Mary said softly. “There’s no need, I’m home.”

Beatrice frowned, confusion tightening her features.

“But I don’t see you.”

Mary laughed lightly, but it sounded forced.

“I’m in my new home now.”

Beatrice’s fingers tightened around the receiver until her knuckles turned white.

“New home?”

“Yes. My husband, Mr. Lipton… he brought me here.”

Her chest constricted.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Mary admitted quietly. A knock sounded in the background.

“Mum, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Mary…”

“Bye, Mum. I love you.”

The line went dead.

Beatrice stared at the receiver long after the dial tone faded.

“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Charles rushed toward her.

“Was that Mary? Is she okay?”

Beatrice turned slowly, her eyes dark, swollen, unforgiving.

“Like you care.”

She stepped closer, her voice low and steady now, more dangerous than before.

“Pray my daughter never gets hurt, Charles. Because if she does, I will destroy you. I will make sure of that.”

She walked away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room.

Alexander Lipton’s Mansion

Mary and Alexander sat across from each other in the dining room. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain.

Mary forced herself to swallow.

“Can we talk?” she finally asked.

“Manners, Miss Andison,” Alexander said calmly, not looking up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lipton, but…”

“It can wait, Miss Andison,” he interrupted coolly. “Or should I say Mrs. Lipton?”

Her grip tightened around her fork. Her stomach twisted.

“Table rules must be observed,” he continued. “No conversation while eating.”

“Understood, Mr. Lipton,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“Alexander.”

She looked up quickly.

“Yes?”

“We’re married now,” he said evenly, folding his napkin with precision. “I don’t want us living like strangers.”

But we are strangers.

He stood, adjusting his cufflinks.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow we get our marriage certificate.”

His gaze lingered just a second too long.

“I expect you to look your best.”

He walked away.

Mary stared at her untouched plate, her appetite vanished. The food tasted bland.

The Next Morning

A knock woke her.

Her eyes flew open. For a second, she didn’t know where she was. Then, the high ceiling, the unfamiliar walls, the heavy curtains reminded her.

“Coming,” she called, her voice slightly hoarse.

She opened the door to Butler Brooks, holding a neatly folded dress.

“Good morning, Miss Andison. The young master sent this. Breakfast is ready.”

The young master.

“Thank you,” Mary said, forcing steadiness into her tone as she took the dress. The silk felt cool against her fingers.

He bowed and left.

Mary closed the door and leaned against it. The wood felt solid against her back. She exhaled slowly, but the air didn’t seem to go deep enough.

Her heart felt heavy. Not fast. Not wild.

Just heavy.

And for the first time since arriving, fear didn’t just hover around her.

It settled.

She dressed slowly. The silk slid over her skin too smoothly, like it belonged to someone else. She stared at her reflection for a moment.

You agreed to this. I really don’t know how long I can go on.

Mary descended the stairs one careful step at a time. Her fingers brushed the bannister, not because she needed support, but because she needed something steady.

Morning light streamed through the tall windows. For a brief second, she almost looked normal. Like a bride.

Almost.

Then, the silence shifted.

The staff had gone quiet. She felt their eyes on her before she heard them.

“Our new Mrs. is so beautiful.”

“Oh my gosh, look at her skin.”

“I’m already jealous.”

“She looks like a model.”

Mary heard every word. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Her steps faltered for half a second before she straightened her spine deliberately.

Don’t shrink, Mary. It's just admiration, nothing else.

She lowered her gaze only slightly and kept walking to the dining room.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Alexander looked up once. His gaze skimmed over her dress, face, posture—measured, assessing. Then he turned the page of his newspaper.

No greeting. No visible reaction. Just the quiet flip of paper and the faint clink of porcelain as he lifted his teacup.

Greetings received, he muttered.

Mary stood there a second longer than necessary. Something tightened in her chest, but she swallowed it.

Okay.

She sat down.

The scraping of her cutlery against the plate sounded too loud. She forced herself to eat even though her throat felt tight.

Across from her, Alexander checked his watch. Effortless. Unbothered.

After breakfast, they left for the Civil Affairs Bureau.

The Car Ride

The silence inside the car pressed against her ears. No music. No conversation.

Mary stared out the window as the city blurred past. Her fingers twisted tightly in her lap until her knuckles ached.

Am I really doing this?

Her throat felt dry. Can I really sacrifice my happiness for my family?

Her heart pounded harder. I’ve never been with a man before.

The thought made her stomach tighten. Does this mean… tonight ?

A chill ran through her arms. No. Not like this. Not to a man I don’t love.

Her head began to throb faintly. Should I run?

Her gaze flicked to the door handle. She calculated automatically—distance, timing, and speed. Could I make it?

Alexander glanced at her briefly, then looked away. He adjusted his cufflinks calmly, as if nothing in this car concerned him.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

Her stomach dropped. Her palms were damp.

“If I say I’m feeling unwell,” she asked quietly, turning to him, “will you reconsider?”

He gazed at her. His expression didn’t change. But his eyes hardened slightly.

“No.”

The word was calm. Final.

“I…I don’t feel good,” she whispered.

“The Bureau opens in five minutes,” he replied flatly, already reaching for the door. “Use the time to pull yourself together.”

He stepped out. The door shutting made her flinch.

Outside, Alexander leaned against the car. He lit a cigarette, inhaling slowly. Controlled. Composed. As if this were just another business appointment.

His phone rang.

“Selene.”

“Alex! Didn’t you miss me?” the woman’s voice chimed through the open air.

“I’m busy.”

She laughed lightly. “I’ll be back in the country soon. Be nice to me when I return, okay?”

“Sure.”

The call ended.

Inside the car, Mary sat frozen. Her thoughts scattered around. Her chest tightened sharply now, almost painfully.

I thought I was ready. I’m not.

Panic rose fast, hot, and suffocating.

“No… no…” she whispered, rubbing her temples.

A knock tapped the window. Alexander gestured. Time.

She inhaled slowly, adjusting her dress, muttering to herself, I agreed to do this. She opened the door herself this time.

---

Civil Affairs Bureau

“Mr. Lipton!” An official laughed. “Who would’ve thought you’d finally get married?”

Alexander gave a polite smile. Polished. Controlled.

“And now I see why,” the official added, glancing at Mary.

Mary forced a polite smile. If only you knew.

Minutes later, they walked out with the documents. The paper felt heavier than it should.

Alexander stopped walking.

“I know you don’t want this marriage,” he said calmly. “Neither do I.”

Mary tightened her grip on the documents. The edge pressed into her palm.

“We’re both doing this for people we love,” he continued. “You for your family. Me for mine.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “I’m the eldest grandson. The company rests on me. They think I need a wife to secure the legacy.”

His smile was faint. His eyes were not.

“Your family needed help. I needed a bride.”

Mary’s jaw tightened. This was never a marriage from the start; this was a negotiation.

“So this is why I was forced to return,” Mary said quietly.

“Yes.”

He faced her fully now.

“Now, Mrs. Lipton, there are rules,” he said, checking his wristwatch .

Her chest tightened again, but this time, she held his gaze.

“You don’t leave without my knowledge.”

“You return before ten.”

“You take bodyguards when you go out.”

He checked his watch briefly before continuing.

“And don’t interfere with my business.”

He paused.

“I also like my wife composed and obedient.”

The word landed slowly. Clean. So possessive.

For a split second, something flared in her chest. Not fear. Not this time.

Her jaw tightened. You may control the contract, but you will not control me.

She said nothing. He turned and walked away. The car pulled off, leaving Mary standing alone.

The wind brushed against her face. The marriage certificate trembled slightly in her hands.

Is this marriage… or a cage?

Her breathing felt shallow. If this was a cage, she would learn where the locks were.

She pulled out her phone and dialled a number, her hands trembling.

After two rings…

“Hello?”