Fanny felt her heart stutter in her chest.
"Fanny, I want you to meet Jacob Vanders," Grandmother Imelda said brightly, as if she were announcing the arrival of an old family friend.
The name fell into the air like a guillotine.
Jacob Vanders.
She'd seen him in enough magazine spreads to know exactly who he was—the billionaire who could make or break entire industries with a flick of his pen. A man known for his cold-eyed acquisitions and the clinical way he disposed of anything that didn't serve his ambitions.
Her mouth went dry as she stared at him. Jacob Vanders. Sitting in her grandmother's dining room like he owned the place.
Oh God, she thought, he probably does.
"What…what are you doing here?" she managed, her voice raw with disbelief.
Jacob set his glass down with an infuriating calm, studying her as if she were some mildly interesting curiosity. "Having dinner."
"That's not what I meant." She turned to her grandmother, her pulse hammering at her throat. "Granny, why is he here? What's going on?"
Imelda's hands fluttered together, excitement brightening her eyes. "Darling, there's no reason to look so stricken. This is a wonderful opportunity. I've sold the estate to Jacob."
Fanny felt the words like a slap. The words came out like she was announcing that she sold chocolate bars to a stranger talking down the street.
"You…sold the estate?" she echoed. "You sold our home?"
Imelda reached across the table to touch her hand, but Fanny pulled back, her chest heaving.
"It isn't as though I had much choice," Imelda said quickly. "Maintaining this place has become impossible. But Jacob has agreed to very favorable terms."
She felt Jacob's gaze on her, cool and impassive. Like he was watching a minor inconvenience play out before dessert.
Her voice rose, brittle with outrage. "Favorable? You sold our family home to a stranger—"
"He isn't a stranger," Imelda said. "He's going to be your husband."
For a moment, Fanny couldn't speak. She looked from her grandmother to Jacob and back again, waiting for someone to laugh, to say it was a grotesque joke.
But no one laughed.
"You're insane," she whispered.
Imelda lifted her chin, a matriarch to the last. "If you refuse the marriage, Fanny, you forfeit your inheritance. Everything. The house, the trust, your mother's jewelry. It all reverts to the foundation."
Her ears rang. Hot fumes blew from them like a choo-choo train.
"You can't do that."
"I can," Imelda said, her voice soft but unyielding. "It's perfectly legal. My lawyers have drawn up the papers. You've never held the deed in your name, and the estate is mine to dispose of."
Fanny's hands trembled at her sides. "So this—this is all some elaborate transaction? You sell me off like livestock, and he gets the house and the land?"
Jacob finally spoke, his voice deep and unsettlingly calm. "It's hardly livestock, Miss Dawson. Think of it as…a merger."
His eyes held hers without apology, without even the courtesy to pretend he cared about the destruction he was causing.
She hated him. She hated him so viscerally she could taste it.
"You smug bastard," she hissed.
Imelda's mouth tightened. "Fanny, don't be vulgar."
But she couldn't stand there for another second. The walls felt too close, the air too thick. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the dining room, shoving past the butler who tried to intercept her.
Outside, she stumbled into the garden, her vision swimming. She pressed her hand to the cold stone of the balustrade, dragging in ragged breaths.
Everything was gone.
Her home. Her childhood. Her trust that her grandmother—her own family—would never betray her.
And all because of Jacob Vanders, sitting at her grandmother's table like he already owned it.
She spat in distaste and disgust. The way he felt so…so entitle about it made her stomach churn.
Her plans, her perfect life, her singlehood— everything is crumbling down all because of a stupid decision. Marry him? She didn't even know him in person. They didn't bother to talk things out with her or even ask if she had any plans of getting married.
It wasn't like she did, but at least hearing her opinions would have been better.
And if she wanted to even get 'married', it wouldn't be with someone she barely knew and loved.
His face!
Fanny fought back the hot tears that were about to pour down her cheeks. The tears felt so hot that her cheeks felt like it was burning.
The garden hadn't changed in years. The hedges were still trimmed with obsessive precision, the marble cherub by the fountain still held its chipped flute, and the wind still rustled the roses like whispered secrets.
But everything felt different now. Like the estate had already started erasing her.
Fanny stood stiffly at the edge of the stone path, arms folded tight across her chest as the last of the sunlight bled into dusk. Goosebumps formed on her skin due to the cold, but she didn't move.
Footsteps crunched behind her. Heavy. Measured. But she didn't have to turn. She already knew.
"You're not sulking, are you?" the low voice said. Smooth and deep, with a hint of amusement that made her clench her teeth.
Jacob Vanders stepped beside her, hands tucked in the pockets of his charcoal overcoat, eyes scanning the garden like he was bored. He didn't look at her, not at first.
"I'm thinking," she snapped.
"You should," he said. "You have about sixteen hours left."
She turned towards him sharply. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Enjoyment is irrelevant." He finally looked at her, those steel colored eyes unreadable. "This isn't about feelings. It's about leverage. You either marry me and retain your inheritance, or you don't and walk away with nothing."
His tone was dry, serious, matter-of-fact, like he was explaining how taxes worked.
"You make it sound like choosing between red wine and white," she muttered.
Jacob's brow lifted, almost lazily. "I've had more complex wine pairings than this conversation."
Fanny's chest burned. She took a step towards him, her voice low and bitter. "You don't believe in love, do you?" She eyed him.
"I believe in contracts. Commitments with terms and expiration dates. Love…" he gave a soft snort, "...is just the lie people tell themselves so they don't notice when everything falls apart."
She stared at him, disgust rolling through her. "You're unbelievable."
"No," he said simply. "I'm realistic and practical. And you should be too." He stepped a little closer, his voice cool like steel dipped in ice. "Your grandmother built your future on a condition. She gave you a day to decide whether pride is more important than your legacy. I don't care which you choose. If anything, it's easier for me if you walk away."
"If you ever think you will be able to buy me or my inheritance, you are so dead wrong!" Fanny hissed. "You don't care"
"I care about outcomes. You either step into this deal with your eyes open, or you go home and start figuring out how to rebuild your life from scratch. But don't mistake your anger for power, Fanny. That's just fear wearing a loud coat."
She wanted to slap him. She wanted to scream till the windows shattered and the whole world heard how wrong this was.
But deep down, beneath all the rage, was something she didn't want to admit.
He was right.
"Think it through. Or don't. Either way, my life doesn't change." He said and stepped back with a slight nod.
He walked away, hands tucked into his pockets in the cold and composed stride he had first walked in.
***
The sky had gone full indigo by the time Fanny wandered back to the house. Her feet moved on instinct, her mind spiraling.
Inside, Imelda waited with a cup of tea and a face lined with cheerful finality.
"You have until tomorrow evening," she said gently, but firmly. "Then I'll move forward with or without your decision. I hope it's with you, darling. I truly do."
Fanny didn't answer. She climbed the stairs in silence, ignoring the warmth of the chandelier, the creak of the old floorboards, the comforting ghosts of her childhood that lingered in the wallpaper.
She didn't sleep. She paced. She cried. She stared at her reflection and hated the war playing out in her own eyes.
To walk away meant starting over, empty-handed. To say yes meant binding herself to a man who didn't care whether she loved him or loathed him—because to him, this wasn't a marriage. It was a transaction.
And if she agreed, she was the payment.
By morning, her voice was hoarse, her soul empty. But she walked to her grandmother's study with her chin high and her fists clenched.
Because she wasn't ready to let them erase her.
Not yet.
"Fine you win! I agree."
Fanny said with pain in her voice.
"I will marry… Jacob Vanders."