Chapter 2 Forced Marriage (1)

I hadn't decided what I'd say.

I climbed the front steps slowly. The porch light was still on. It felt like nothing had changed here, like the world hadn't just fallen apart a few hours ago.

But the moment I opened the front door, I knew something had changed.

I heard Voices.

I walked inside and saw them in the living room.

My father stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, his posture tense.

Beside him, seated with her legs neatly crossed and a glass of wine in hand, was my stepmother.

Dressed in silk, eyes cool, and lips curved in a polite smile like I hadn't just caught her naked in bed with my fiancé.

"Emily," she greeted like nothing happened.

I stopped in the doorway. My chest tightened. "You're back."

"Of course," she said smoothly. "Your father needed me."

He turned to me then, his face was drawn, serious. But not angry, he wasn't even suspicious.

"Come sit," he said.

I didn't move.

"There's something important we need to discuss," he added. "Together."

"I'm tired," I muttered.

"It won't take long."

I looked at him, then at her, she didn't flinch.

I walked to the couch and sat.

My father cleared his throat. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm going to get straight to the point."

I looked at him, still unsure if what was going on.

"I've made arrangements for your marriage."

The world stopped spinning.

My voice barely worked. "What?"

He exchanged a look with her, then faced me again. "It's to Marco Martini."

I blinked. "The mafia guy?"

"He's a businessman-"

"He's a criminal!" I snapped. "And I'm supposed to marry him?!"

"This isn't a decision we made lightly," he said quickly. "Our family is in serious trouble. I've tried everything, Emily. But this... this is the only way out."

I turned to her. "You knew about this?"

Her smile just slightly. "Of course I did. It's what's best for the family."

I stared at her in disbelief. "You set me up."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said calmly.

"You-you knew I went to see Jake!"

"And you didn't like what you found?" she asked, her tone deceptively sweet. "That's unfortunate. But let's focus on what matters."

My hands curled into fists. "You don't get to decide what matters to me."

"I'm not the one making decisions here," she said, flicking her gaze toward my father. "He is."

I turned to him. "Dad. Please. Tell me this is a sick joke."

He looked heartbroken, but not uncertain. "Emily... I owe people. Dangerous people. Marco is offering protection. He'll erase the debt. No more threats."

"So you're selling me?"

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that!"

He took a step forward. "I know how this looks. But he's not going to hurt you. He said he'd treat you with respect."

"He doesn't even know me!"

"He doesn't need to," her voice cut in. "He needs the right wife, the kind who won't ask too many questions. The kind who knows her place."

My head whipped toward her. "You unbelievable b-"

"Enough!" my father barked.

I shut my mouth, shaking.

"You're moving into his estate this evening," he said, more quietly now. "The car will be here at four."

I stared at him like I didn't recognize him. "So that's it? After everything... you're just handing me over?"

"You'll be protected," he said, voice raw. "You'll be secure. This is the best I can do for you now."

"No, it's the best you can do for you."

He was taken aback by what I said.

I stood. "I'm not your bargaining chip."

"You think I wanted this?" he shot back. "I didn't have a choice!"

"You always had a choice. You just didn't pick me."

I turned and stormed upstairs before he could say another word.

I packed in a daze.

Just a bag and one duffel. I didn't even think about what I was throwing inside, shirts, jeans, a toothbrush, maybe some socks. None of it mattered.

At exactly four o'clock, a long black car rolled up outside.

A tall man in a black suit stood waiting by the door. "Miss Harper?"

I swallowed. "Yeah."

"Come with me."

I walked past my father without saying goodbye. I didn't even look at her.

The drive was silent. Trees blurred past the windows as we moved farther from the city, the roads twisting into unfamiliar territory.

It felt like a countdown, not toward a beginning, but an end.

Eventually, we pulled through an iron gate and up a stone driveway.

At the top of the hill stood a mansion. It looked cold, grey, enormous. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a fortress.

The front door opened as I stepped out.

A butler greeted me. "You'll be shown to your quarters. Mr. Martini will speak with you at dinner."

I was led through hallways of stone and polished wood, past rooms, but I didn't look inside.

When the guest room door closed behind me, I finally let the silence sink in.

This was real, I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't engaged anymore, I wasn't even heartbroken anymore. I was someone's possession.

And the worst part?

There was no way out.