The Deal in a Wedding Dress

Celeste

The rain hammered against the cracked windows of our Victorian mansion like an unwelcome visitor demanding entry. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching droplets race down the surface while thunder rumbled overhead. How fitting that even the heavens seemed to weep for our family's misfortune.

Our once-magnificent home stood like a tired old lady, her bones still elegant but her skin weathered and worn. The wallpaper peeled at the corners, and the hardwood floors creaked with every step, telling stories of better days when the Andrews name meant something in this small town. When our textile factory employed half the residents and our family dinners filled this dining room with laughter instead of worried whispers.

"Celeste, sweetheart, come sit down."

Dad's voice carried a weight I'd never heard before, heavy with something that made my stomach clench. I turned from the window to find him slumped in his worn leather chair, the one Mom had begged him to replace for years. His graying hair looked disheveled, and his usually kind eyes held shadows that frightened me. The strong man who used to lift me onto his shoulders and promise me the world now looked as fragile as autumn leaves.

"What is it, Dad?" I settled onto the faded velvet sofa across from him, smoothing my simple cotton dress. Even in our reduced circumstances, Mom had taught me to maintain dignity. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

He attempted a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "In a way, I suppose I have. The ghost of our family's future."

He cleared his throat, unable to meet my gaze. "The textile business... it's over, Celeste. Completely finished."

My heart stopped. We'd known things were difficult—creditors calling at all hours, suppliers refusing deliveries, employees let go one by one. But completely finished? "What do you mean?"

"We owe two million dollars." The words fell from his lips like stones into still water, creating ripples of shock that spread through my entire being. "The bank is foreclosing next week. Everything—the factory, this house, even your mother's jewelry—it's all gone."

I felt the blood drain from my face. Two million dollars. The number was so enormous it seemed impossible, like trying to count the stars in the sky. "But surely there's something we can do? Another loan, or—"

"There's only one option left." Dad's hands trembled as he reached for an envelope on the side table. "A business proposition from Killian Hart."

Even I, sheltered as I was in our small town, knew that name. Hart Industries dominated the financial pages, and its CEO was legendary for his ruthless business dealings and cold demeanor. But what could someone like him want with our failing textile company?

"What kind of proposition?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.

Dad's eyes finally met mine, and I saw something that terrified me—shame mixed with desperate hope. "He wants to marry you, Celeste. A contract marriage for one year. In exchange, he'll clear all our debts and save the family business."

The room spun around me. Marriage? To a complete stranger? "But Dad, why would he—I don't understand. He could have anyone. Why me?"

"I don't know his reasons," Dad admitted, running his hands through his hair. "His lawyers contacted me last month. Apparently, he needs a wife for business purposes—something about appeasing investors who prefer their executives to appear stable and settled. He researched suitable candidates and somehow settled on you."

I stared at him in disbelief. "He researched me? Like I'm some kind of... product?"

"The lawyers mentioned your reputation in town. Your volunteer work at the children's hospital, your art scholarship to State University before we had to... before you came home to help with the business." Dad's voice grew quiet with guilt. "They said you have the right image. Clean, wholesome, educated but not threatening."

The clinical description of my life made me feel hollow inside. Reduced to bullet points on someone's research file, my dreams and hopes condensed into marketable qualities. I thought of the art classes I'd abandoned, the paintings that now gathered dust in my childhood bedroom, the teacher who'd said I had real talent.

"What kind of man needs to buy a wife?" I whispered, more to myself than to him.

The absurdity of it all made me laugh, a bitter sound that echoed in our increasingly empty home. "A business arrangement. How romantic."

"Celeste," Mom's soft voice drifted from the doorway. She appeared pale and fragile in her faded blue dress, leaning against the frame for support. Her illness had worsened these past months, the stress taking its toll. "You don't have to do this. We'll find another way."

But we all knew there was no other way. I could see it in Dad's defeated posture, in Mom's worried eyes, in the way our once-proud home seemed to crumble a little more each day.

"What about Lily?" I asked, thinking of my seventeen-year-old sister upstairs, probably sketching in her room, blissfully unaware of our crisis.

"She could finish school properly. Maybe even go to university," Dad said quietly. "Hart's offer is... generous. Beyond just clearing our debts, there would be a substantial settlement."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of three generations of Andrews family legacy pressing down on my shoulders. This house had sheltered my grandparents, my parents, and now faced destruction because of debts I didn't create but somehow inherited.

"One year?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

"One year," Dad confirmed. "The contract is very specific. You'd live in his penthouse, attend social functions as his wife, but after twelve months, you're free. With enough money to secure your future."

I thought of my dreams—studying art in Paris, painting landscapes that captured the beauty I saw in everyday moments, maybe opening a small gallery someday. Those dreams seemed laughably naive now, as distant as the stars outside our rain-streaked windows.

"I need to see him first," I heard myself saying. "Before I agree to anything."

Dad nodded, pulling out his phone with shaking fingers. "His office is in the city. I can arrange a meeting for tomorrow."

That night, unable to sleep, I crept downstairs to Dad's study and found the business magazine he'd left open on his desk. Killian Hart stared back at me from the glossy pages—sharp jawline, dark hair perfectly styled, and eyes like winter storms. Cold. Calculating. Utterly without warmth.

He looked like the kind of man who'd never known want, never felt the gnawing anxiety of unpaid bills or the shame of watching your parents sacrifice everything for their children's sake. Everything about him screamed power and control, from his expensive suit to the way he commanded the camera's attention even in a simple headshot.

Those eyes seemed to see straight through the photograph, judging me, measuring my worth like a commodity to be bought and sold. What kind of man needed to purchase a wife? What secrets hid behind that controlled expression? And more terrifyingly, what would he expect from me in return for saving my family?

I traced the edge of his photograph with my fingertip, wondering what I was truly agreeing to. Tomorrow, I would meet the man who could save my family—or destroy what remained of my heart. The man who saw me as nothing more than a solution to his business problem, while I saw him as either my salvation or my doom.

The rain continued its relentless drumming against the windows, washing away the last vestiges of the life I'd always known, preparing the ground for whatever strange new existence awaited me in the towers of glass and steel where Killian Hart ruled his empire.