The black car arrived just after Friday noon.
It parked outside the dorm building without honking, without any announcement. Sleek, matte black, windows tinted so dark they looked like polished stone. It didn't look like a car—it looked like a verdict.
I stood at the window, heart pounding, as a man stepped out of the driver's side. He was tall, lean, and dressed in all black: gloves, sunglasses, even the collar of his coat high enough to hide his face.
He didn't move toward the building. He just stood there.
Waiting.
"I don't like this," Ariana said behind me. "You don't know where they're taking you. You don't even know these people."
"I don't have a choice," I whispered.
Ariana's voice cracked. "Then let me come with you."
I turned to her. She looked so small in that moment, clutching her phone like it was a weapon. Her eyes were glassy, full of fear she was trying to hide. The strongest person I knew suddenly looked breakable.
And that made the decision even harder.
"No," I said gently. "It could be dangerous."
"I don't care," she snapped. "What if something happens to you? What if they try to hurt you? You think I'm just going to wait here and hope for a text?"
I moved toward her and took her hands in mine.
"I need you safe," I said. "I need someone on the outside. Someone who can pull me out if things get worse. I don't trust them, and I can't trust Uncle Vincent. But I trust *you.*"
She shook her head, blinking back tears. "I hate this. I hate that they're doing this to you."
I pulled her into a hug, burying my face in her shoulder.
"I hate it too."
---
The driver didn't speak.
He opened the rear door and waited as I stepped into the car, my fingers trembling around the strap of my bag. The moment the door shut, the car glided away from the curb in eerie silence.
I looked back once.
Ariana stood on the steps, arms crossed over her chest, her face set in stone. A silent promise.
*Find a way out. Or I will.*
---
The drive lasted almost two hours.
No radio. No music. Just the low hum of tires on asphalt and my thoughts screaming inside my skull.
Where were they taking me?
Was I about to be locked away, paraded like property? Would they try to threaten me, force me to sign something new?
My fingers found the edge of the marriage contract in my bag. I hadn't signed it. Not yet. But it didn't matter. The signature was ceremonial. Symbolic. The contract had already been made—years ago. I was simply fulfilling it.
A pawn moved across the board.
When we finally slowed, I lifted my head and stared out the window.
We were no longer in the city.
The estate was enormous. Iron gates opened with a soft hiss as we passed through, revealing manicured gardens, towering trees, and a mansion that looked like it had been carved from shadow and marble.
Not a single window was open. Not a single sound escaped.
It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a trap dressed in elegance.
---
The driver led me up the steps but didn't enter.
The massive double doors opened before I could knock.
Standing in the grand foyer was a woman in a pale blue dress. Her hair was pinned in an elegant chignon, and pearls shimmered softly around her neck. She looked nothing like I expected.
She looked… kind.
"Zoey," she said softly. "Welcome."
Her voice was gentle, warm—even maternal. She stepped forward with a smile and opened her arms slightly, hesitating just enough to give me a choice.
I didn't move.
"I'm Helena Marrow," she said, dropping her arms with no offense taken. "Ethan's mother."
So this was her. The matriarch of the family that had signed my life away.
She didn't look cruel. She looked like someone who belonged in a different world entirely—someone who should be hosting afternoon tea, not orchestrating arranged marriages.
I managed a nod, then, slowly, "Mrs. Marrow."
"You must have a lot of questions," she said kindly. "Come. Let's talk somewhere more comfortable."
She extended a hand—not with force, but with invitation. I hesitated, then placed my trembling fingers in hers.
Her touch was cool. Steady. Unexpectedly comforting.
"I hope the drive wasn't too long," she said as she guided me inside.
---
The sitting room was warm, with soft yellow light and cream-colored furniture. There was tea waiting. Lemon slices. Honey. Biscuits. It was so... normal. Too normal.
"Is this your way of softening me up?" I asked. "Offering me tea before you remind me I'm about to marry a stranger?"
Helena didn't flinch. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at me with steady eyes.
"No, Zoey. This is my way of reminding you that you're still human. And that I see you."
I sat stiffly on the edge of the couch. "Why haven't I met him yet?"
Helena's expression shifted. A flicker of pride. A flicker of sadness.
"Ethan is abroad," she said. "Pursuing one of his doctorates. This one's in Political Psychology. His third."
Third?
I blinked. "He... he knows about this, doesn't he? The contract?"
"He does," she said quietly. "But he's not the type to oppose his grandfather's legacy. Not publicly. Not yet."
The words made my blood go cold. "So I'm being delivered like a gift. And he's not even here to receive it?"
"You're not a gift," Helena said, firmly. "And you're not invisible to him, Zoey. You're known. You're just not... understood yet."
I studied her face. "Then why did you let it happen?"
"Because," she said, her voice breaking ever so slightly, "your father saved my son's life."
That silenced me.
She nodded slowly, eyes misting. "Years ago, when Ethan was still a boy, he suffered from a rare neurological condition. Your father's research—what he built, what he discovered—made a difference no one else could. And when we couldn't pay, when we couldn't *repay* what he had done... your grandfather offered something instead."
My stomach turned. "Me."
"I don't agree with it," she said, voice firmer now. "But I understand it. And I'm not here to lie to you. You're right to feel angry. Trapped. Furious. You should feel all of it. But there's no way around the contract. If you walk away, your father's debt falls on you. Millions. With interest."
I clenched my jaw.
"I don't care," I whispered. "I'll work. I'll fight. I'll—"
Helena shook her head gently. "They'll crush you before you start. The Marrow Board has no sympathy. To them, this is business."
"Then why are *you* being so kind to me?"
"Because," she said softly, "I know what it means to be a girl with no say in her future."
The words sank deep.
I stared at her, my heart tight and my throat aching.
"Do I get to meet him?" I asked.
"In time," she said. "I promise."
Helena stood, smoothing her dress, and walked toward the door.
"I've prepared a room for you. You'll be safe here, Zoey. As long as I'm alive, no harm will come to you."
She turned one last time before leaving.
"I'm not your enemy," she said quietly. "Even if the world makes me look like one."
And then she was gone.
Leaving me alone.
In a mansion built on secrets.
Trapped by a contract I never signed.
Waiting for the man I was promised to.
---
To be continued.