"You're selling me off like property."
Amelia Donovan's voice cracked as she stood in the middle of her father's study, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The walls felt like they were closing in—lined with books and years of success that were now nothing but dust. Her father didn't flinch at her outburst. He sat behind his desk, composed and cold, as though this was just another business deal.
"Amelia," he said, folding his hands neatly in front of him, "you're not being sold. You're being saved."
"Saved?" she snapped, the tears burning behind her eyes. "By marrying a stranger? A man twice my age with the emotional capacity of a rock?"
"He's thirty-two," her father corrected flatly. "And he's your only option."
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Right. Because prison or poverty aren't dramatic enough. You needed to make sure your daughter was humiliated on her way down."
"Watch your tone," he said sharply. "You think I wanted this? You think I enjoy watching my daughter throw tantrums like a child while everything I built crumbles beneath my feet?"
Amelia blinked rapidly, fighting to stay upright. "You should've thought about that before gambling everything we had on a fake merger."
He stood now, walking toward her with slow, heavy steps. His once-proud shoulders now hunched with the weight of disgrace. "This isn't just about me. Your mother… she's barely holding it together. The media's on our necks. The creditors want blood. Andrew Reynolds is the only one who can pull us out of this mess."
Her stomach turned at the mention of his name.
Andrew Reynolds. Billionaire. Cold. Calculating. The man who ruined competitors with a smile and buried them with a handshake.
"And all I have to do is marry him?" she asked, her voice hollow. "What a generous man."
There was a pause. Her father couldn't meet her eyes.
Amelia's heart dropped. "Wait. You already agreed to it, didn't you?"
He didn't answer.
Her knees buckled slightly. "You already signed the deal. You offered me up like a pawn and just hoped I'd fall in line."
"It was the only way."
Silence stretched between them. The walls of the study blurred in her vision.
"You should've let us fall," she whispered. "At least then I'd still be free."
The wedding was scheduled for two days later.
There was no gown fitting, no bridesmaids, no music rehearsal. Just a contract and a time.
The morning of the wedding, Amelia stared at herself in the mirror. The dress was simple but expensive—ivory silk, off-shoulder, with a modest train. It clung to her like a secret. Her hair flowed in soft waves, pinned to one side with a diamond clip that didn't belong to her.
Nothing about this belonged to her.
She barely heard her mother's quiet knock.
"It's time."
Her mother's eyes looked tired, red-rimmed and pleading. "Please, Amelia. Do this for the family."
Amelia didn't answer. She followed.
The ceremony was held in Andrew's private estate.
Lavish. Cold. Impersonal.
Just like the man himself.
When Amelia walked down the aisle—alone—she felt the weight of every eye on her. There were no guests, only witnesses. No friends. No music.
And at the end of the aisle, stood Andrew Reynolds.
He was tall. Immaculately dressed in a black suit tailored to perfection. Dark hair. Sharp jawline. And eyes like frozen steel. He didn't smile. He didn't even blink.
He simply watched her, like a transaction about to be signed.
She stopped in front of him, her throat dry.
The officiant began the vows, his voice echoing through the empty room.
"Do you, Andrew Reynolds, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do."
His voice was calm. Flat. Like he was ordering wine.
"Do you, Amelia Donovan—"
She froze.
Her heart pounded so loudly she almost didn't hear the priest repeat her name.
Everyone was waiting.
Andrew's gaze never wavered.
And then her father's words echoed in her mind: "He's your only option."
Amelia swallowed her pride. Her anger. Her fear.
"I do."
The car ride to his mansion was suffocating.
Amelia sat as far from him as the backseat would allow, her hands twisting the hem of her dress.
Andrew didn't say a word.
He lit a cigarette and cracked the window.
"Do you smoke?" he asked, finally.
She blinked at him. "No."
"Good," he said, exhaling slowly. "I don't like women who smoke."
She turned her head toward the window, the heat rising in her chest. "Then why did you offer?"
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
The mansion was everything she expected and worse.
Grand. Gleaming. Lifeless.
Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. And silence.
A maid showed her to her room. Not their room—her room.
They would not be sleeping together. That much was clear.
Once she was alone, Amelia sat on the edge of the massive bed and stared at the wall.
No celebration. No warmth. Just a cage lined with velvet.
Later that night, she wandered the halls.
She didn't know what she was looking for—maybe proof that this was all a mistake.
Then she found it.
The study.
The door was slightly ajar.
She pushed it open quietly.
Papers. Files. A safe. A laptop still open.
Her curiosity got the better of her.
She stepped inside.
The screen showed an email thread. The subject line read: Donovan Holdings—Liquidation Approval
Her heart stopped.
She clicked on it.
"Per agreement, initiate asset absorption post-marriage. Client unaware of full terms. Maintain discretion."
Her eyes widened.
There was a PDF attached. A contract. With her father's signature.
And Andrew's.
Except… the signature wasn't her father's. Not really.
She knew his handwriting. This one was forged.
"No…" she whispered.
The door creaked.
She spun around.
Andrew stood in the doorway, his face unreadable.
His eyes fell on the screen behind her.
And then, slowly, his lips curled into a slight, terrifying smile.
"I see you've made yourself comfortable."
Amelia backed away, her breath catching in her throat.
"You lied to us," she whispered. "You destroyed my family."
Andrew stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
"No, Amelia," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "I saved you. Now, you belong to me."
And before she could move, before she could scream, he reached for the laptop—
—and shut it.