Chapter 5: Compromise

The room felt strangely hollow now. Only the soft clinking of china broke the silence as the maids cleared away abandoned teacups and untouched plates of biscuits. Barrister Dash remained seated at the far end of the table, giving the two women the privacy to speak, while the three men continued standing near the entrance exactly as they had from the moment they walked in.

Her mother crossed the room and lowered herself onto the velvet sofa beside her. For a while, neither of them spoke. She simply reached for Salma's hand and held it.

"You know, Salma..." she said gently, her thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of her daughter's hand. "You could at least think about it."

Salma let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

"Think about it?"

"You don't have to make a decision today."

"I don't have a decision to make." Salma's voice was flat. "Father already made it for me."

The words hung heavily between them. Her mother sighed, lowering her eyes for a moment.

"I won't pretend your father was right. He had no business forcing something like this on you." She paused before looking back at Salma. "But you also know how his mind worked. Once he believed something was necessary, there was no changing it."

Salma swallowed hard.

"He never listened."

"No," her mother admitted softly. "He listened... he just always believed he knew better."

That hurt even more because it was true. Salma felt her chest tighten as her gaze drifted to the stack of marriage contracts still lying on the mahogany table.

Three contracts. Three strangers. One year. Everything she had worked for reduced to a bargain she had never agreed to.

"He completely ignored me," she whispered. Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it. "He ignored everything I wanted... everything I am."

The tears she'd been fighting since the reading of the will finally spilled over.

"My whole life..." she said, brushing angrily at her cheeks, "he kept trying to fix me. Every time he introduced another politician's son or another billionaire's nephew, he thought I'd eventually change."

Her mother gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "My baby..."

"He knew I loved women."

"I know."

"He knew." Her voice cracked.

"And he still did this." For the first time that morning, Salma stopped trying to be strong.

She leaned into her mother's embrace, her shoulders trembling beneath the weight of everything Arthur had left behind. Her mother stroked her hair in slow, comforting motions.

"Your father became obsessed," she said quietly. "Not with controlling you... with protecting what he'd spent his entire life building. Somewhere along the way, he convinced himself the two were the same thing." She sighed. "You were the only biological child he ever had. In his mind, the Wellington name could only survive through you."

Salma closed her eyes. "I love Aria." The words came out barely above a whisper. "We were supposed to get married in December."

A sad smile flickered across her face before disappearing.

"She'd already started sending me pictures of beach resorts. She wanted a destination wedding. She even joked about how she'd probably cry before I did." A tear rolled down Salma's cheek.

"We talked about adopting after a year. She had names picked out..." She gave a shaky laugh. "She had our entire future planned before I'd even decided what flowers I wanted."

Her mother's heart ached at the sound of it. "Aria loves you."

"I don't know if she can love me through this."

"You won't know unless you tell her."

Salma shook her head. "How do I even explain it?" she asked bitterly. "How do I tell the woman I'm supposed to marry that my dead father has ordered me to marry three men first?"

Neither of them had an answer. After a long moment, her mother spoke again.

"If she truly knows your heart, she'll understand that none of this was your choice."

Salma laughed through her tears. "Heck, I don't even want children." She pulled away, wiping furiously at her face. "Did Father ever ask me what I wanted? Did he ever stop to think that maybe I didn't want to carry on his precious bloodline? He just decided what my life should look like, tied my inheritance to it..." Her voice hardened. "...and then he died."

She pushed herself to her feet so abruptly that the sofa shifted behind her. "I'm not doing this."

Her mother stood immediately and caught her hand before she could walk away. Standing beside Salma's tall frame, she looked almost delicate, yet there was quiet strength in the way she held on.

"Don't make this decision today," she said softly. "You're grieving. You're angry. You don't have to accept your father's wishes this very minute."

She squeezed Salma's hand. "Take the time to know them. Endure one year if that's what it takes. When it's over, you can walk away from all three of them and go back to the life you've always wanted."

She looked into her daughter's tear-filled eyes. "You're the sole heiress of the Wellington Group, darling." Her voice remained gentle, but unwavering. "Start acting like one."

At her mother's word, Salma swallowed the lump in her throat, taking a deep breath, she wiped the tears from her face, adjusted her blazer, and sat down, she turned her eyes toward the three men who had been waiting with calmly and patiently for her to make a move.

"Introduce yourselves," she commanded, her voice dropping into its usual authoritative tone. She leaned back against the cushions, a dark, cynical smirk touching her lips as she muttered to herself, "I might as well have some fun while at it."

The first man stepped forward immediately. He was caramel-skinned, hailing from Brazil, with striking hazel eyes and a thick head of dark, curly hair. He had a tall, stocky build that completely filled out his black suit, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and completely dripping with confidence.

"I am Adam," he said, holding her gaze without a single hint of intimidation. Salma looked him up and down. He was undeniably easy on the eyes, and his bold energy was exactly what she needed to kick this circus off. Smiling coldly, she looked right at him and handed him his terms.

"Won't be a bad idea if we marry first. In three weeks' time, on a Tuesday evening." Adam looked thoroughly pleased with himself. He gave a sharp, respectful nod and turned to follow a server who immediately led him up the grand staircase to show him to his designated wing of the estate.

The moment Adam left the room, the second man stepped into the light. He had pale, porcelain skin, stark white-blond hair, and the sharpest, greenest eyes Salma had ever seen in her life. His jawline looked like it was carved from marble, framing perfect cupid-bow lips, and his lean, chiseled abs practically strained against the fabric of his white button-down shirt. When he spoke, his name came out in a thick, musky baritone that sent a sudden, strange rush of heat straight between her legs.

"Shane," he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers like a predator tracking prey, Salma let out a breathless involuntary giggle, completely caught off guard by the intensity of his vibe. Beside her, her mother gave an immediate nod of approval.

"Oh, I really like Shane," the older woman laughed, nudging Salma’s shoulder. Salma, now genuinely invested in the sheer absurdity of the game, smirked back. She leaned forward, holding Shane’s deep gaze.

"On a Thursday evening Shane, you will be my husband."

Shane flashed a cute, unexpected dimpled smile that completely contrasted his dangerous look. He walked directly over to her couch, taking her hand delicately in his and pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers for a single second. He stood up properly, turning on his heel to follow another server upstairs, leaving Salma a blushing on the sofa.

"Oohhhhh, hot," her mother gushed loudly, fanning herself to Salma's absolute embarrassment. "Arthur certainly had good taste in men."

The third man finally stepped forward, Salma’s eyes had been curiously fleeting toward him the entire time they had been in the parlor. He was skinny, at six foot, he standing at the same height as her, and he possessed a remarkably soft feminine demeanor. He had kind warm brown eyes, long brown hair that fell perfectly past his shoulders, and his fingers were manicured to perfection.The moment he spoke, his voice came out sweet, sleek, and comforting. The sheer ease of his presence made Salma stand up from her seat, walked over and took his soft, well-manicured hands directly in hers.

"Well, Father was actually considerate enough to bring one that would make me curious huh?" Salma cackled loudly, turning back to her mother in complete awe.The man smiled, his posture elegant.

"I like you, Devon," Salma said, a playful, flirting tone bleeding into her voice as she patted his hand. "In fact, you are going to be my very first husband. Monday evening, Devon."

Devon gave a graceful nod and turned to go with the maid. Salma watched him walk away, noticing the slight, deliberate twist to his steps that made his waist flare out with effortless style. With an amused nod, she sank back into her seat, picking up her crystal glass to enjoy the remaining red wine with her mom.