I watched Kai saunter away from the door, pleased with his delivery of the bizarre news.
I took a moment to compose myself, stepping into the small bathroom to splash cold water on my face. The cold shock was a necessary anchor after the emotional turmoil of the afternoon.
I sighed, braced myself, and started walking toward the dining room. I had to know what game my mother was playing now. This unexpected niceness was more unnerving than her typical cruelty.
I descended the staircase and entered our humble dining area. My father, Leo, looked up and offered me a genuine smile.
"Lila, come sit down and eat," he instructed, his voice warm.
I looked at my mother, Rose, fully expecting her to immediately counteract his invitation with a sharp comment or an order to stay in my room. She said nothing. She didn't even look at me. She simply ignored me altogether, focusing on her plate.
My frown deepened. This utter silence, this lack of complaint, was profoundly unsettling. What was she planning?
I sat down at the table, taking the empty chair. I began to eat, but I couldn't focus on the food. My mother continued to tolerate my presence without comment, maintaining her unnatural silence. Her behavior was deeply concerning.
The last time I had been permitted to sit at the dining table and eat with the rest of the family was when I was nine years old. This sudden shift felt like the ominous calm before a terrible storm.
After dinner, driven by habit, I automatically reached for the plates to take them to the sink.
"You don't have to do it," my mother said, her voice surprisingly soft. "I will do it myself."
I stopped dead, turning to stare at her. Had my mother been possessed by a ghost? I must have been staring, mouth agape, because she finally looked up, catching my expression of utter amazement.
"What kind of mother would I be," she said, her voice strained but still controlled, "if you're leaving home to get married next week and I drown you in housework?"
The realization hit me instantly. Ah, I finally understood. She must truly fear Mr. Dalton if she was willing to suspend my domestic servitude just to keep me in perfect condition before his arrival.
She wanted to present him with an undamaged bride. Since she was suddenly willing to give me a holiday, there was no way I would insist on working.
I simply turned and walked back to my room, ready to enjoy this bizarre, short-lived reprieve.
That week was a revelation. I finally understood that my mother was capable of being "nice," but her kindness was strictly transactional, appearing only when she had something significant to gain.
Throughout that entire week, I did nothing at home. Rose stopped me from all my part-time jobs, telling me there was no longer any need for me to work outside the house; my father could take care of the family financially now.
It was absurd. All of a sudden, the money my father earned, which had supposedly been insufficient to feed the four of us before, was now miraculously enough to sustain the entire household.
I also noticed that she did not once hit me. The mother who constantly sought ways to make my life miserable suddenly ceased her campaign of torment and began treating me like a genuine human being for the first time in my life.
My father wore a continuous, relieved smile that week, clearly enjoying the temporary cessation of hostility. Even my brother, the insufferable Kai, though not overtly kind like my parents, stopped looking for trouble with me. He didn't jab me with mean words or snide comments.
That week was, without question, the most peaceful week I had ever experienced. It led me to wonder just how powerful my soon to be husband must be—powerful enough to compel my family to treat me like a fragile egg, someone they dared not risk harming.
And exactly one week after that initial terrifying visit, the man returned to our house.
That morning, I had already packed my small bag and was simply waiting. I was ready to leave. When my mother came into my room, her face plastered with a nauseatingly fake smile, to announce, "Mr. Dalton is here," I drew in a deep breath and followed her down the stairs.
I saw the man's handsome, imposing features once again after a week. He was just as striking,and just as unnerving.
The moment he saw me, he completely ignored me, his gaze fixed on my father, who was practically groveling at his feet.
"I'm leaving now," he stated flatly.
He immediately turned and started moving toward the front door. He stopped on the threshold, then turned back, his brow furrowed as he looked at me.
"Why aren't you following me?" he asked.
I had a defiant retort ready on my tongue: Well, you didn't tell me to follow you. But a strong, visceral instinct told me to hold my tongue.
I have always trusted my instincts, and that inner voice screamed at me to be silent and compliant. I bit back the words, shut my mouth, and immediately started walking behind him.
Unlike his previous visit, when he had arrived with an entourage and two cars, this time there was only one car parked outside. It was a luxurious, pitch-black sedan—a Rolls-Royce Ghost.
He opened the passenger door, slid into the seat, and left the door open for me. I quickly climbed in and sat down beside him.
I looked back at my parents' house. My father had come outside and stood watching, his expression tinged with a look of genuine sadness.
My mother and my brother, however, were both beaming, looking as if they had finally succeeded in ridding themselves of a troublesome plague.
I closed my eyes and quickly turned my head away, unwilling to look at them anymore. I heard my soon to be husband's voice—nice, firm, and undeniably dangerous—speak to the driver.
"Drive."
The car began to move, carrying me away to places unknown.
I couldn't help but feel Scared, a dreadful sense of fear pooling at my stomach . I knew nothing about this man. I didn't know what he did for a living, and I wasn't even certain if he genuinely intended to marry me, what if he takes me away from my parents house only to sell me to another person or worse kill me.
The fact that he hadn't so much as glanced at me or spoken a single word since I entered the car was not helping my anxiety.
I kept silent, entertaining myself by watching the buildings and the world rush by through the window.
Suddenly, I heard that dangerous voice speak again.
"Take this. Sign on it."
I finally turned toward Mr. Dalton, my soon to be husband. He was holding out a file to me.
Curiosity overriding caution, I took the file and opened it. Inside, I found a contract—a marriage contract.
I scanned the terms quickly, my eyes immediately catching the most important clause: we would only be married for five years.
A profound frown creased my forehead. My father had certainly not mentioned this crucial detail. What was going on?
Perhaps he noticed my expression, or perhaps my slow reaction annoyed him. I heard him grumble under his breath.
"What? What's wrong? You don't want to sign it? I've already stipulated in there that I will be responsible for you for these five years and will make sure you don't lack anything. So why are you hesitating?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dalton…" I started, trying to formulate my surprise into a question.
He cut me off instantly. "Sebastian."
I paused, confused. "Pardon?"
He repeated the name, a slight frown crossing his face. "My name is Sebastian."
"Fine, Sebastian," I said, gathering my nerve. "You see, this caught me by surprise because my father never mentioned anything about this being a contract marriage.
Although I'm honestly relieved that I will be able to leave this marriage in five years, I just don't understand why you want to marry me at all if you don't even need a permanent wife in the first place. Why don't you just let me go, okay?"