The door slammed shut, leaving me in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the faint hum of the restaurant beyond the office walls.
I wanted to scream, to tear that contract to shreds. But instead, I sank into the chair, my head in my hands. My life, my freedom, everything I’d known—it had all just been signed away.
This wasn’t marriage. It was a prison sentence.
"Tiffany?" The hesitant voice of my coworker, Carla, broke through my thoughts.
"What is it?" I snapped, then immediately regretted my tone. She didn’t deserve my anger.
She stepped inside, her wide eyes darting around as if she could feel the tension lingering in the air.
"Are you okay? You’ve been in here a while."
"Fine," I lied, standing quickly. "Just handling...something."
The lie tasted bitter, but what could I say? That I’d just agreed to marry a monster to save my family?
I walked past her, I caught my reflection in the small office mirror. My brown eyes were dull, lifeless. The face staring back wasn’t mine—it belonged to someone trapped, someone defeated.
But defeat wasn’t an option. Not yet.
"Just the beginning," I whispered to myself, echoing his words.
If this was the start, I needed to prepare for the storm that was coming. Because if Nathaniel Graves thought I’d let him destroy me, he was wrong. Dead wrong.
"Ah, Tiffany Aldridge, the cunning vixen from a family of thieves."
Nathaniel's words rang through the ballroom like a slap.
My glass of champagne froze mid-air, the golden liquid trembling under the harsh glare of the chandelier.
Gasps erupted around me, sharp and stinging.
My pulse roared in my ears as dozens of eyes turned my way, dissecting me, judging me.
"You’re bold, showing up here," Nathaniel continued, his smirk a blade aimed at my throat. "But then again, boldness runs in your blood, doesn’t it?" My cheeks burned. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in, suffocating me under the weight of their whispers.
This wasn’t just a party—it was a spectacle.
"What are you implying, Nathaniel?" I managed, though my voice betrayed a tremor.
His storm-gray eyes glittered, savoring my discomfort.
"Oh, don’t play coy, Tiffany." He leaned closer, his tone mockingly sweet. "Why don’t you enlighten everyone here about your father’s... creative accounting techniques?"
My stomach churned. My nails bit into my palm, grounding me in the chaos.