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What he’s offering for my sister is so stunning and impossibly generous that, for a fleeting, traitorous second, I feel a dizzying wave of hope. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted for her. What I’ve worked myself to the bone for. But I’m not a fool; agreeing to marry Vance Ashford is signing a deal with the devil. Kierra will get the life I’ve always wanted for her, but I’ll be sacrificing mine.
“And if I refuse?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
His smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, emotionless mask. “If you refuse, I will make a single phone call. I have friends on the Crestwood alumni board and the scholarship review committee. It would be a shame if a clerical error were to discover that Kierra’s application had a few… discrepancies. An embellished extracurricular. A slightly falsified recommendation. Just enough to have her scholarship revoked. You know what happens then, don’t you, Sophia? Your brilliant, ambitious sister ends up waiting tables to pay for a degree she can no longer afford to complete. Her pre-med dreams die in a puddle of spilled beer and customer complaints.”
Pure and blinding rage courses through my veins, erupting in my chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming and suffocating. “Try me,” he threatens, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “And that’s just for her. For you, it’s so much simpler. The Ashford Group has significant holdings across this city. Real estate, finance, tech, media. My name is on a dozen boards. I will make it my personal mission to ensure you never work again. I will blackball you from every meaningful company in Chicago. You won’t be able to get a job managing a coffee shop, let alone a career in business. I will crush you, Sophia. I will grind your ambitions to dust and scatter them in the wind.”
I’m shaking, my entire body trembling with terror and fury so potent, I can barely think straight. “That’s… blackmail. It’s illegal. I’ll sue you. I’ll go to the police.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that echoes in the vast, empty space. “Go ahead. Please. Show me a single lawyer in this city who will take a case against me. Show me a single police detective who will investigate a claim against the head of the Ashford empire. Those laws are for little people. They don’t apply to people like me. I own this city, sweetheart. I own the people who run it.”
Like he wants to own me.
“This isn’t a negotiation, Sophia.” He gestures to the papers before me. “It’s a transaction. And it’s the only one on the table. Sign it, and your sister gets the world. Refuse, and you both get nothing. Worse than nothing: you get my wrath.”
“I need to think about th—”
“Think fast. You have until the end of this meeting to make a decision.”
I stare at the contract, my vision blurring with unshed tears of helplessness. He has all the power. He has Kierra’s future in his hands, and he’s squeezing. I think of her face, her brilliance, and her dream of saving lives. I think of all the sacrifices I’ve made, all the years of working two jobs, skipping meals, and putting her first. Always first.
Am I willing to let it all be destroyed out of pride, sacrificing her future to protect my own dignity? The answer is a hollow, resounding no.
Swallowing a defeated sob, I step forward. My fingers tremble as I pick up the folder. It’s a marriage contract, drafted by his army of lawyers. It’s ironclad; a lifetime commitment. It details everything he said: the trust fund, the tuition, the non-disclosure clauses that would silence me forever.
I flip through the pages, my eyes scanning the clauses without really reading them, my mind a fog of despair. There are stipulations about public appearances, about cohabitation, about presenting a united front, and producing an heir. It’s not a marriage; it’s a business merger of the most personal kind.
My hand shakes so badly I can barely hold the expensive, heavy fountain pen he offers me. I place the nib against the paper, and it glides effortlessly across the heavy, cream-colored stock, the ink flowing in smooth, deliberate strokes. I sign my name for the last time as Sophia Bennett, each letter feeling like another piece of my life slipping through my fingers.
The moment the last cross of a t is complete, the atmosphere in the room shifts, as though the contract has taken on a life of its own. I’ve just signed a deal with the devil. And with that final stroke of ink, Sophia Bennett ceases to exist.
Vance watches me, his expression unreadable. When he takes the contract from my trembling hand, his fingers brush against mine with a deliberate, proprietary touch that makes my skin crawl. He places it in a leather portfolio with an air of finality, the snap echoing like a death knell to my freedom.
“Pleasure doing business with you, wife,” he says, the word a deliberate, cruel jab. “My lawyer will have the official copies delivered to your apartment this afternoon, along with another set of documents for you to sign. The marriage license and a few other minor legalities.”
I can only stare at him, my throat too tight to form a coherent response. The reality of what I’ve just done crashes down on me in a tidal wave of despair.
I’m marrying Vance Ashford, a man I despise. A man who just held my sister’s future hostage to force my hand.
He picks up his glass of whiskey, swirling the contents thoughtfully. “There’s the small matter of logistics,” he continues, his tone casual, as if we’re discussing a merger and acquisition, not the complete and utter annihilation of my life. “The will is quite specific about cohabitation and this being a legitimate marriage. That means you’ll live here. With me.”
My head snaps up, a fresh wave of panic washing over me. “Here? Live here? I-I can’t. I have my apartment. My lease—”
“Will be dealt with,” he cuts me off, his voice leaving no room for argument. “My assistant will arrange for your lease to be terminated and for a moving company to pack and transport your belongings. You’ll be moved in by the weekend.”
“The weekend?” I choke out. “Th-That’s two days away. I can’t just—”
“You can,” he states, his stare hardening. “You will. You’ll reside in my home. And by the end of the weekend, you’ll be my wife.”
I nod mutely, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness. I’m a puppet, and he’s just cut all my strings, except for the one he holds.
He seems to sense my surrender, my utter defeat. A slow, cold smile curves his lips. He takes a step closer, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the expensive, vanilla-laced scent of his cologne, mingling with the sharp aroma of whiskey. He reaches out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is deceptively tender, a stark contrast to the brutality of this meeting.
“Now, there’s one last detail to discuss.” His voice drops to a low, intimate murmur that vibrates through my bones. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I brace myself, my entire body tensing for the final, humiliating blow. “The marital bed. I’m sure you’re wondering about the arrangements.”
My mind races, searching for a sliver of leverage, a way to negotiate this one small piece of my autonomy. “I… I can’t,” I stammer, my voice cracking. “I can’t… share a bed with you.”
