Chapter 3 SOLD TO A GHOST

NIRELLE

"Lucien Vexley?" I ask again, and she nods with a pout on her face. "It can't be." I trail off, my eyes darting around the room for my escape. I had to escape; there was no way I would get married to Lucien, even if my death was demanded.

Lucien Vexley was the name of wealth in the city; every high-class person knew who he was, but the only catch was that no one knew what he looked like. He was the shadow businessman. He dealt with so much money that people said it was his way of protecting himself.

There had been rumours that he must be a beast since he is so shy about showing himself in public spaces. He was a man who rose to the position of authority so suddenly about three years ago, and nothing about him was known. The name Vexley became a household name quite instantly. There were rumours that he only came out at night, but I always thought that to be a bit far-fetched. Many people said he disguised himself among us to gather intel and rise through power. People say he must be ugly or a gruesome murderer who tried to hide in the shadows. I do not care what they say or how he looks or what he is up to; I just know that I can be his bride.

I remember when a woman had come out to say she was the Vexley bride-to-be and how she had come out all by herself to confess that everything she had said was a lie; after that, nothing was heard of her again. The rumours about him were quite massive; it scared me for him. I wondered how he was able to sleep at night after reading and hearing what everyone had to say about him.

"How can I marry a man I do not know?" I ask, mustering the courage to be ready to take flight. I weigh my options on how far I would be able to go. Would Enoch shoot me before I could make it to the black steel gates at the entrance? Will I be locked up in the basement once again? Maybe any of that would be a better option for me. "You can't possibly do this," I say, hoping that there would be a place to reason with them regarding the matter, but the expression on her face made me know this was final and even out of her hands. Even if she wanted to help, there was nothing she could do about it.

"Your father is the one who decides what can possibly happen," Yvette said to me, and I shook my head. Tears fall from my eyes as if on command. I could not remember the last time hot tears trailed down my face. I had stopped crying when I realised that there was nothing I could do about my situation, but this was different.

"Why do I have to marry him?"

"Your father wants to do so much business with him that it would take us from top twenty to top ten," Yvette said smugly. The atom of sympathy I had seen on her face was entirely wiped off.

"Of course, it's only about money to you. I could not be useful to you, and so the next thing is to sell me off for some bucks," I scream at her. I do not know if I might have lost my mind, but that is what my mind tells me to do.

Yvette closes the gap between us and grabs my elbow. She holds it and presses down until I feel like she has stopped the blood flow in them.

"Your father is giving you a chance to be called Mrs. Vexley, and you think of it as a form of punishment? How stupid can you be? Do you know how many people want their children to be associated with him?" she asks me.

"Why don't we send you, or maybe we can send Cory? Since it is just a contract and nothing more, I am sure that Cory would..." A slap resounded in my ear again. My entire face was full of bruises at this point. How was I supposed to stand in front of a crowd and get married with this face? "You can hit me all you want, but I would never give in. I can't marry him; I won't," I scream and throw the dress to the bed before making a run for the door. I notice she doesn't go after me, and I realise as soon as I open the door the reason why.

Two hefty-looking men stood by the door; there was no way I would be able to get a step farther from where I stood. "Don't be an idiot and come sit," Yvette said to me. I turn back to her; this time, tears fall again, and I feel them turn cold against my skin.

"Please, you can't do this; this is wrong," I plead as one of the men takes hold of my hand and pulls me further into the room. He drops me on the chair and then bows before leaving my mother and me. She begins to rub makeup on my face to cover up the bruises, and I continue to beg, but no matter how much I beg, it seems like I am just wasting my time.

"Mom, please."