Chapter 3: Bombshell

The sound of heavy rain violently lashing against my bedroom window woke me, but it was the scream that actually jolted me entirely upright.

My own scream.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. The familiar, comforting blue walls of my bedroom slowly came into focus. The soft, red glow of my digital alarm clock read 5:14 AM.

"Mom," I whispered into the quiet darkness, the terrifying remnants of the nightmare still clinging to my skin like icy cobwebs.

In my dream, she had been standing at the absolute edge of a jagged cliff, her white dress billowing fiercely in a dark, violent storm. I had been screaming for her, running as fast as my legs could carry me, butt she couldn't hear me over the thunder.

When she finally turned to face me, her eyes were entirely empty.

And then she was falling.

I pressed the heels of my palms aggressively against my eyes, taking deep, shaky breaths to erase the image. She had died when I was very young, but the nightmares had gotten so much worse recently. More vivid. More terrifying.

Every time my dad’s heart condition worsened, my brain reminded me exactly what losing a parent felt like.

Now, you might be wondering... *Grace, didn't your dad hear you scream?*

To answer your question: No.

My bedroom is entirely soundproof. Courtesy of me, myself, and I, after weeks and months of begging and requesting my dad to install the panels. Come on, a girl needs her privacy! But honestly? The real reason was much heavier.

I couldn't have my father rushing in, his blood pressure spiking, completely terrified for me every time I had a nightmare. He was sick. His heart was fragile. My absolute biggest priority in life was keeping him completely stress-free.

I glanced at the clock again. I flopped back onto my pillows, clutching the heavy duvet to my chest. On my bedside table, neatly folded into a perfect square, sat General Alexander Reeves's navy-blue handkerchief.

*Then invite me next time.*

His low, gravelly voice echoed in the quiet room. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my racing heart to slow down. I needed to sleep. I needed to focus on nursing school, not the terrifying, thirty-two-year-old Supreme Commander who had paid for my dinner.

By the time I gave up on sleeping and trudged downstairs at 7:00 AM, the rain had turned into a steady, gloomy drizzle.

Dad was already in the kitchen. He was humming a soft jazz tune, pouring two cups of coffee with the kind of cheerful morning energy that completely clashed with the gray weather outside.

"Morning, sweetheart," he smiled brightly, sliding a mug toward me as I sat at the kitchen island. "You're up early."

I took a slow sip of the hot coffee, letting the caffeine hit my exhausted system. "Couldn't sleep."

Dad leaned against the marble counter, holding his own mug. He looked happy, but I noticed the slight, uncontrolled tremor in his hand, and the pale, grayish tint to his skin. It made my chest ache so fiercely I had to look away.

"So?" Dad asked, his eyes gleaming with barely contained anticipation. "How was Lucious?"

"The food was good," I deflected, staring intently into my coffee mug.

"And the honorable?" (My dad calls him that)

I sighed, tracing the rim of the ceramic mug. "He... wasn't what I expected."

"I told you he wasn't terrifying," Dad said triumphantly.

"I didn't say he wasn't terrifying, Dad. The man looks like a weapon in a tailored suit." I bit my lip, my natural shyness making it hard to admit the rest out loud. "But... he was polite. He didn't yell when I spilled water on him."

Dad let out a booming laugh. "You spilled water on him?!"

"It was an accident!" I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "But he just gave me his handkerchief. He even told me to invite him next time."

The laughter instantly stopped.

I dropped my hands, looking up at him. Dad was staring at me, a profound, heavy relief washing over his tired features. It wasn't the look of a father happy his daughter had a nice date. It was the look of a man who had just secured a lifeboat on a sinking ship.

"He said next time," Dad murmured, more to himself than to me. "Richard said he would agree if you passed his inspection."

I froze. My blood ran completely cold.

"Passed his inspection?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Dad... what are you talking about? Whose inspection?"

Dad set his coffee mug down. The cheerful morning energy vanished, replaced by a deep, terrifying seriousness. He walked around the island and sat on the stool directly next to me.

"Grace," he started gently, taking my trembling hand in his. "You know my heart is failing."

"Dad, please don't—"

"I don't have a lot of time left," he continued, cutting off my denial. “I have drained the contracting company's accounts trying to afford the treatments. We are drowning, Gracie. And I am leaving you with nothing."

Tears instantly blurred my vision. "I don't care about the money! I just want you!"

Dad’s voice cracked with raw emotion. "I promised your mother I would protect you. But I can't. I can't protect you from the debt, and I can't protect you from the world when I'm gone."

He squeezed my hand tightly, his eyes pleading with me.

"That is why Richard and I came up with a plan."

My stomach plummeted. "A plan? Richard Reeves?"

Dad nodded slowly. "Richard has power. And his son, Alexander, has absolute authority and wealth. Two weeks ago, I went to Richard. I asked him to protect you.

And Richard... Richard proposed a contract."

"A contract?" I pulled my hand back, my mind completely short-circuiting. "A contract for what?"

"A marriage contract, Grace."

The kitchen went dead silent. Only the sound of the rain hitting the window filled the room.

I stared at him. I stared at him for a solid ten seconds, fully expecting him to laugh and tell me it was a morbid, terrible joke.

"Marriage," I breathed, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "You set me up on a date with the Commander of the Armed Forces... so he could inspect me for a *marriage contract*?"

"It is for your own safety!" Dad pleaded. "Alexander agreed to pay off all the medical debt immediately. He will provide you with a secure home, a monthly allowance, and absolute protection. In return, you act as his wife in public to help soften his ruthless political image when the need arrives. That’s it."

"No," I whispered, shaking my head frantically. "No, Dad. You can't ask me to do this. I'm twenty-two! I'm a nursing student! I can't marry a warlord"

"Grace, he is a good man! He proved it to you last night!"

"He is a stranger!" I yelled, the tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "He doesn't love me! I don't love him! I completely understand where you're coming from but You are treating me like a business transaction!"

"I am treating you like my daughter!" Dad shouted back, his veins protruding visibly,his hand flying up to his chest as his breathing hitched.

He suddenly gasped, his face draining of all color.

"Dad?"

He swayed on the stool, his hand clutching the fabric of his shirt directly over his heart. A terrifying, wet wheeze escaped his lips.

"Dad!" I screamed, lunging forward just as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed heavily onto the kitchen floor.