Chapter 1 The Proposal Of Doom

Evelyn's pov

The faint hum of the air conditioner did little to ease the suffocating tension in my father's study. It was a room designed to impress, with bookshelves, towering windows, and a desk that resembled a throne. Today, however, it felt more like the scene of an execution.

I sat in a leather armchair, the material cold against my skin despite the oppressive warmth of the moment. My back was rigid, my hands gripping the armrests as though they were the only thing keeping me grounded. Across from me, my father leaned forward at his desk, his face carved into an expression of grim determination.

"Do you know why you're here, Evelyn?" His voice was calm but carried a weight that made my stomach churn.

I shook my head, though I had an inkling. My father never summoned me here unless it was for something significant or unpleasant.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers steepled under his chin. "You're twenty-four now, and it's time you started contributing to this family."

Contributing. The word hit me like a slap, the implication clear. My worth, my value, was always tied to what I could do for the family.

"I don't understand," I said carefully, my voice tight. "What do you mean by contributing?"

Before my father could answer, my mother, seated beside me, placed a gentle hand on mine. Her touch was soft, yet there was a slight tremor in her fingers. She was trying to steady me or herself.

"Evelyn, darling," she began, her tone laced with forced sweetness, "your father and I have been working tirelessly to secure the future of our company. But there are challenges. And we've found a solution."

I pulled my hand away, my chest tightening. The company. It was always about the company.

"What challenges?" My eyes darted between them. "What kind of solution?"

My father cleared his throat, his expression darkening. "We've arranged for you to marry Liam Harrington."

The words landed like a grenade, blowing apart the fragile sense of stability I'd walked in with. My ears buzzed, and for a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.

"You've what?"

"Arranged for you to marry Liam Harrington," he repeated, as if saying it slower would make it more palatable.

I laughed at a sharp, bitter sound that cut through the thick tension. "This is a joke, right? Some kind of twisted test?"

"It's no joke," he said firmly. "The Harrington family is one of the wealthiest and most influential in the country. This marriage will secure a partnership between our families and guarantee the survival of Carter Enterprises."

I shot to my feet, my fists clenched. "You can't be serious. You're talking about my life, my future, as if I'm just some chess piece you can move around!"

My father stood too, his imposing frame towering over me. "This isn't just about you, Evelyn. This is about our family, our legacy. Do you think I enjoy making these decisions? Do you think I would do this if there were another way?"

I turned to my mother, searching her face for some sign of support. But her eyes were downcast, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Mom?" My voice cracked. "Say something. Tell him this is insane."

Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something regret? Guilt? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Sweetheart," she said softly, "this is what's best for everyone. Liam is a good man. You'll have a wonderful life together."

I let out a hollow laugh. "A wonderful life? With a man I've never even met?"

"He's not a stranger," my father interjected. "You've met him before, at the Harringtons' charity gala last year."

I racked my brain, trying to recall the event. It had been a blur of champagne flutes, glittering gowns, and insincere smiles. But then, an image came to mind a tall, brooding man with piercing blue eyes and an air of arrogance that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room.

"You mean the guy who barely spoke two words to me and spent the entire evening looking like he wanted to be anywhere else?" I spat.

My father's jaw tightened. "Liam is a serious man, and he understands the importance of this arrangement. You could learn from his example."

"Learn from his example?" I scoffed. "You want me to marry a man who can't even fake being polite?"

"This isn't up for debate," my father said, his voice low and dangerous. "The date is set. Six weeks from now."

Six weeks. The room spun, and I gripped the back of the chair for support.

"You can't do this," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You can't force me into this."

"This isn't about force," my mother said, standing as well. "It's about responsibility. You're Carter, Evelyn. With that name comes duty."

"Duty?" My voice rose, trembling with anger. "What about my dreams? My choices? Do they mean nothing to you?"

"Your dreams won't matter if we lose everything," my father snapped.

"Lose everything?" The words echoed in my mind, sharp and jarring. "What are you talking about?"

My mother placed a hand on my father's arm, as if to steady him. "We're not in a position to explain all the details right now, but you need to trust us, Evelyn. This marriage is our best chance."

I stared at them, my parents, who were supposed to protect me, to support me. But in this moment, they felt like strangers cold, calculating strangers who cared more about their company than their daughter.

Without another word, I turned and stormed out of the study, slamming the door behind me. My breath came in ragged gasps as I leaned against the wall, the weight of their words pressing down on me.

Their voices carried through the heavy door, muffled but still audible.

"This will make or break our family," my mother said softly.

The phrase hit me like a punch to the gut. Was this marriage really their only hope?

I stumbled down the hall, my mind racing. Six weeks. Six weeks to marry a man I didn't love a man I barely knew. My pulse thundered in my ears as the full weight of their betrayal settled in.

This wasn't just a proposal. It was a sentence.

The question now wasn't whether I could go through with it. It was whether I had any choice.

The house seemed colder as I retreated to my room, my sanctuary. But even here, the walls felt like they were closing in. I paced the floor, my thoughts churning.

How could they do this to me? How could they expect me to give up my life for their business?

I sank onto the bed, my head in my hands. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them away. I wouldn't cry. Not for them.

Instead, I would find a way out of this.

Because if this marriage was my parents' only hope, then they were in more trouble than they were letting on. And I intended to find out exactly how deep it went.

TBC.