Crystella
Books have always been my sanctuary.
In a world built on expectations, and legacy, I found my escape not in the walls of mansions or the allure of power, but in stories. Paper and ink became my refuge. Through them, I traveled to worlds where love wasn't transactional, where families didn't trade warmth for respect, and where the heroine always got her happy ending. Sometimes, I thought if I read enough of those stories, I might find a way to write my own ending too.
Tonight, the house was quiet—too quiet for comfort. It was the kind of silence that carried weight, like the calm before a storm. I had just finished Colleen Hoover's Verity, a novel so twisted, so mind-bending, that for a moment, I questioned if I belonged more in the pages of fiction than in the cold reality of my life. Fiction, at least, made sense. It had structure, an arc, a purpose. Real life? Well, that was another story.
I glanced at the clock—3:50 a.m. I should have been asleep hours ago, but sleep had always been elusive. It didn't matter if I had the finest sheets money could buy or the most luxurious silk pillows; there was no escaping the nightmares. They weren't nightmares of monsters or shadows, but of memories—haunting, relentless memories.
Stretching, I decided to head downstairs for some warm milk. Maybe that would help settle the unease that buzzed beneath my skin. As I descended the stairs, I caught sight of Davis in the dimly lit kitchen, his tall frame bent over the counter. He held a glass of water, his expression as heavy as the air between us.
When he saw me, he didn't offer his usual cool nod of acknowledgment. Instead, he smiled—a smile that threw me off balance, if only for a second. Not because of any swooning romantic notions, mind you, but because it was unexpected. Davis Carter never smiled at me, not like that.
"Can't sleep?" I kept my voice low, careful not to break the fragile quiet between us, where every word carried the weight of what we weren't saying.
He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging just enough for me to catch the glimpse of weariness beneath his usual cool demeanor. His gaze, usually steady, flickered briefly, as though searching for the right words but not finding them fast enough.
The cool air that drifted through the cracked window reminded me of the hospital. The sterile scent, the harsh light—how could I forget? It was the beginning of everything... The day my mother gave me life and yet withheld so much more.
His eyes lingered on mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something—something vulnerable, almost hopeful. But it disappeared just as quickly.
Instead, he shook his head, taking a slow sip from his glass. "No, just needed some water. You?"
"Milk," I said simply, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. "It helps."
I wasn't sure what surprised me more—that we were having a conversation, or that I didn't feel the usual urge to run back upstairs and pretend this marriage wasn't happening. Our marriage. It still felt surreal to think of us that way—as husband and wife.
If only the papers we'd signed months ago carried the weight of real emotions.
But no. This wasn't a marriage of love or choice. It was a marriage of convenience. Of survival. A necessary evil crafted by two families more interested in preserving wealth than nurturing their children. My grandmother had brokered the deal, her cold pragmatism always tinged with something more—something I never fully understood until now.
Davis set his glass down, turning to face me. His dark eyes met mine, searching for something. Maybe understanding. Maybe escape. "You know," he started, his voice hesitant, "it's funny how two people can share a life and yet not know a damn thing about each other."
I froze for a second, my hand tightening around my glass. There it was—the vulnerability I rarely let anyone see. He wasn't wrong. In fact, he was more right than he realized. We had been living together for months, going through the motions of married life, but we were strangers, connected only by paper and circumstance.
I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "I suppose that's the price we pay for keeping up appearances."
His gaze dropped, as if the weight of those words pressed down on him. "Appearances," he repeated, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.
I studied him for a moment, noting the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He wasn't the perfect image of calm and control that everyone believed him to be. He was... tired. Worn out by this charade, just like me.
"Mind if I sit?" I asked, nodding toward the barstool next to him. He didn't object, so I slid onto it, resting my elbows on the counter. We sat in silence for a while, listening to the ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the old house.
It was strange—this shared quiet. It felt like a truce of sorts. A small, fleeting moment of peace in a battlefield disguised as a marriage.
"I didn't ask for this," I finally said, breaking the silence. I hadn't meant to, but the words slipped out, raw and unfiltered. "None of it."
He looked at me then, his eyes softening just a little. "Neither did I."
I nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. There it was, the truth that we had both been avoiding. We were both trapped, both pawns in a game we didn't want to play. But we were in it together now, for better or for worse.
As I took in his expression, I felt the weight of my grandmother's words return. You're the strongest of them all, Crystella. You're the only one who can carry this name with pride.
But pride had become a burden. The Powers legacy was as heavy as it was grand. The estate, the businesses, the endless line of expectations—they had all been left on my shoulders. I had inherited everything, but it had come at a cost.
Davis watched me quietly, his dark eyes holding something like empathy. For a moment, I wondered if he, too, had felt the weight of inheritance in his own way. Maybe that's why neither of us had walked away when we had the chance.
I looked towards the window and said finally in a whisper "It's not exactly easy to trust someone who's only here because of a contract,". The truth felt raw, exposed.
Davis nodded slowly. "Fair enough. But for what it's worth, I'm not here to make your life miserable. I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that this marriage of convenience could somehow become... bearable. That the loneliness I felt wouldn't consume me completely.
Outside the grand windows, the Powers Estate stretched out in every direction. The manicured lawns, the towering trees, the house that had been my prison for so long. My grandmother had always said I was strong enough to carry this legacy, but at what cost? The ghosts of my family lingered here, their whispers clinging to every wall, every hallway.
I turned away from the window and faced Davis. For the first time, I saw him not as an adversary, but as someone navigating the same treacherous waters I was. Maybe we didn't have to be enemies. Maybe we could find a way to survive this together, if only for a year.
"I'll try," I said softly. It was the best I could offer him.
He nodded.
As I sat there in the kitchen, the silence between Davis and me was thick with unspoken truths.
I took another sip of my milk, but it didn't do much to calm the knot in my stomach. It never did. No amount of warm liquid could soothe the ache of old wounds, the kind that ran deeper than any contract or business arrangement.
I found myself staring towards the grand windows of the sitting room once more, staring out at the vast estate. It was hard to believe that everything outside those panes of glass now belonged to me—or at least it would, if I kept up my end of the bargain. A legacy as weighty as the moon, as heavy as my own name. Crystella Luna Powers.
The Powers name carried an air of privilege, success, and wealth. But it also carried the cold sting of neglect. My family had always been known for their achievements, their ruthlessness in business, their ability to turn everything they touched to gold. What people didn't know was how much they had to sacrifice to maintain that gilded image.
Especially when it came to me.
I had always been an anomaly in the Powers family. From the moment of my birth, I was different. Unwanted. A complication. My mother's pregnancy had been difficult, her labor even more so. She had never forgiven me for it.
It wasn't that she had ever said the words, not directly. I was always reminded of it in the way my mother's eyes never quite softened when they landed on me, in the way she hovered at the edge of my life like an outsider, and in the way she never once called me by my name in the affectionate way that other mothers did.
But it wasn't until I was older that I learned the truth of it all—that my arrival into the world had been anything but easy. I had come too early, my tiny body struggling to breathe, to survive. The doctors had told her she might not make it—neither of us might. That the chances were slim, that even if I survived, I might not be... whole.
I had heard the stories whispered through the halls of the Powers Estate—how my mother, Laurel, had labored for hours, how the doctors had circled her bed with grim expressions, preparing for the worst.
And though we both survived, something between us didn't. That thread of connection, the bond I had seen between other mothers and their daughters, was frayed before it ever had the chance to take root.
She had been alone when I was born, my father away on some business trip, and I sometimes wondered if that was the moment she decided that I wasn't worth the effort. My Grandmother told me that my mother refused to hold me in those first few days, leaving me in the care of the nurses.
"You're strong, Crystella," she had said to me once, her voice firm but not unkind. "You come from a long line of women who have endured far worse. Never forget that."
It was one of the few moments of vulnerability I had ever seen from her. My grandmother was a woman of steel, unbending in her beliefs, unyielding in her expectations. She was the true head of the Powers family, even though my father held the title. And when she looked at me, she didn't see the fragile child my mother did. She saw potential.
That's why, when I was barely 8 years old, she took me from my mother's care and brought me to the estate. She claimed it was for my own good, that the estate would give me the stability I needed to grow. But I always suspected it was because she saw in me a chance to mold someone in her image—someone who wouldn't make the same mistakes as her children.
The estate became my world, and my grandmother became my guide. She taught me everything—how to navigate the complexities of high society, how to hold my own in a room full of powerful men, and most importantly, how to keep my emotions in check. "Weakness is a luxury we cannot afford," she would say, her voice cold but with an edge of something almost like regret.
And so, I learned. I learned how to smile without warmth, how to speak without revealing too much, and how to love without needing anything in return. I became the perfect Powers heiress, the one who would carry on the legacy with pride.
But there was one thing my grandmother couldn't teach me—how to fill the void left by my mother's absence. No amount of lessons or lectures could erase the longing I felt for a mother who saw me as a burden, not a blessing. I had tried to bridge the gap between us, to find some common ground, but it was always in vain. My mother remained distant, her love as unreachable as the stars.
The day of the will reading was one I would never forget. It was the day my grandmother's influence became inescapable, the day I realized just how tightly she had woven me into her plans. I was Twenty-one, freshly graduated from a prestigious university, and ready to take on the world—or so I thought.
The will reading took place in the grand library of the estate, the room filled with the scent of old books and polished wood. My father sat at one end of the long table, his expression unreadable, while my siblings—two in total, all older—fidgeted uncomfortably. They had never been close to me, more like distant relatives than family. I was the outsider, the unexpected child, the one they never quite knew what to do with.
My grandmother had been sick for months, her once formidable presence reduced to a shadow of itself. But even in her weakened state, she had been meticulous in her final arrangements. My grandmother had given me everything—strength, confidence, a place in this family—but even she couldn't shield me from the price of it all.
The house had felt so empty after that, the halls too silent without the sound of her voice echoing through them. The funeral had been a blur of black suits, whispered condolences, and cold, impersonal grief. The lawyer, a man I had only seen a handful of times, cleared his throat and began to read.
I had braced myself for disappointment, certain that whatever my grandmother had left behind would slip through my fingers like everything else in this family.
"To my granddaughter, Crystella Luna Powers, I leave the Powers estate and all associated assets, with one condition: she must marry Davis Carter within six months of my passing, and remain married to him for at least one year. If this condition is not met, the estate and half of my assets will be divided equally among my children and the other half will be sent to charity"
The room had gone deathly silent, the weight of her words settling over us like a heavy fog. My siblings stared at me, their expressions ranging from shock to anger to barely concealed glee. They had always resented me, resented the fact that our grandmother had favored me over them. And now, it seemed, they had been given a chance to reclaim what they believed was rightfully theirs.
I could hardly process what I was hearing. Marry Davis Carter? I had barely known him at the time—an acquaintance at best, a business associate of the family. He had always seemed distant, polite but reserved, a man who knew how to keep his cards close to his chest. And now, somehow, he was supposed to be my husband.
But as I looked around the room, at the faces of the people who had never truly accepted me, I realized I had no choice. My grandmother had tied my future to his in the most binding way possible.
It felt surreal, like a twist from one of the novels I loved so much. A forced marriage, a contract that bound us together for at least a year, or I would lose everything my grandmother had fought so hard to protect. The estate, my business, even my standing within the family—it would all be gone if I didn't comply.
I had been furious at first. How could she do this to me? How could she force me into a marriage I didn't want, with a man I barely knew? It felt like a betrayal. And yet, deep down, I knew my grandmother had her reasons. She had always been strategic, always thinking ten steps ahead. If she had chosen Davis, it wasn't a random decision.
But that didn't make it any easier.
The day of the will reading had changed everything. I was no longer just Crystella Luna Powers, the outcast, the disappointment. I was now the heir, the one who would carry the Powers legacy forward. But that legacy came with strings attached—strings I hadn't fully understood until that moment.
Later, after the shock had worn off and the reality of the situation had begun to sink in, I found myself alone in the library. The shadows stretched long across the floor, the fire in the hearth crackling softly. I stared at the will, the words blurring in front of me.
My grandmother's voice echoed in my mind: You're the strongest of them all, Crystella, she would say, her voice like steel wrapped in velvet. You're the one who will carry this family forward. Not them. You. And I realized just how much my grandmother had trusted me. She had left it all to me—the estate, the businesses, the wealth. All of it. But there was a catch and I wonder why.
She believed in me. And for a time, that was enough. It had to be.
But belief alone couldn't fix everything.
And at that moment, I didn't feel strong. I felt trapped, like a pawn in a game I didn't fully understand. The legacy I had inherited was heavy, the expectations suffocating. And now, I was expected to bind myself to a man I didn't love, all in the name of preserving the Powers name.
Davis had been a surprise in all of this. I had expected him to be cold, distant, as indifferent to this arrangement as I was. But as the months passed, I had started to see glimpses of something else in him—something quieter, more vulnerable. He wasn't just a businessman playing a role in this marriage. He was a man trying to make sense of it all, just like me.
We went through the motions—courting, engagement, wedding—each step feeling more like a formality than a celebration. My siblings watched from the sidelines, their jealousy barely concealed, while my mother remained distant, her approval as elusive as ever.
And so, here we were. Married, but not really. Bound by a contract, but not by choice. Sharing a life, but not love.
Now, months later, I was still grappling the weight of it all. The estate, the businesses, the marriage… It was all so much, too much at times. But I couldn't let it break me. I couldn't let my grandmother down.
As I sat in the barstool of the kitchen that night, the memories pressing down on me like a weight, I realized that I had been trying to escape for so long. But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to make this work. Maybe there was a way to find some semblance of peace in this marriage, to carve out a life that wasn't dictated by the ghosts of my past.
Davis and I had been thrown together by circumstances beyond our control, but perhaps we could find a way to navigate this life together. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't be the kind of love I had read about in books, but it could be something.
Because if there was one thing I had learned, it was that love, like legacy, was complicated. It wasn't always about passion or romance; sometimes it was about survival, about making the best of a bad situation. And that, I realized, was something I could do.
I turned to Davis, his presence a quiet comfort in the otherwise empty house. "So, where do we go from here?" I asked, my voice steady, but with a hint of vulnerability.
He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he answered. "We make it work, Crystella. We make it work."
For the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of hope. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
And tonight, in the quiet of the kitchen, we had shared something—a moment of understanding, a sliver of connection. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be as unbearable as I had feared.
I sighed, sinking deeper into the barstool. The night stretched on, and the weight of the past and the future pressed down on me, but for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel entirely alone.
Not with Davis in the house. Not with the quiet understanding that, for better or worse, we were in this together.
And so, as I sat there in the dark, I allowed myself a small, tentative hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe I could find a way to survive this marriage, this legacy, this life.
Because if there was one thing my grandmother had taught me, it was that the Powers didn't quit.
And neither would I.
And for tonight, that was all I needed.