Chapter 1

My father' s Medal of Honor sat in a velvet box on my dresser, a heavy weight in my small, rented room.

It was a constant reminder of sacrifice, of honor, of a life lived for others.

My mother coughed in the next room, another wracking sound that tore through our thin walls and my thinner composure.

The medical bills were a mountain, and my job as a part-time librarian barely covered the foothills.

Then Eleanor Thornton called.

Her son, Ethan, golden boy of the Thornton dynasty, was in a coma.

A polo accident, they said. Grim prognosis.

Eleanor didn' t waste time on pleasantries.

"Sarah, your father was a great man, a true hero. Our families have known each other, distantly, for years."

I waited, my hand tightening on the phone.

"Ethan needs a wife," she stated, her voice like chilled steel. "Someone respectable. Stable. To manage his affairs, his care. To ensure the line, should the worst happen, or the best."

The implication hung heavy. An heir.

"My family is offering a solution to your... current difficulties," Eleanor continued, her tone softening, but only just. "A marriage. All your mother' s medical expenses covered. A secure future."

My mother' s cough echoed again.

"Why me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Your reputation, child. Untarnished. The daughter of a Medal of Honor recipient. It lends a certain... dignity to a trying situation."

Dignity. As if I were a piece of furniture she was acquiring.

My own family, what little was left, mostly aunts and uncles, wrung their hands.

"It' s a hard thing, Sarah," my aunt Mary said, tears in her eyes. "But your mother..."

The unspoken words filled the room: your mother is dying, and this is her only chance.

So, I agreed.

I, Sarah, daughter of a hero, was sold to a comatose man from a powerful family to pay for my mother' s life.

The wedding was a quiet, somber affair in Ethan' s hospital room, a mockery of vows whispered over the rhythmic hiss of his ventilator.

Eleanor smiled, a victor' s smile.

I felt nothing but the cold weight of the ring on my finger, heavier even than my father' s medal.