I slammed the door behind me and twisted the lock with shaking fingers. My breath came in shallow bursts as I slid to the floor, still clutching the folder against my chest like it might disappear if I let go.
I didn't wait. I ripped it open, expecting another letter—maybe a journal entry, something cryptic or half-finished. But this wasn't a letter.
It was a contract.
My eyes scanned the page in disbelief. Thick legal language wrapped around phrases I didn't understand. Until one line cut through the confusion like a blade:
**Marriage Contract between Miss Zoey Carpenter and Master Ethan Marrow.**
I blinked. My mouth went dry. That couldn't be right. I rubbed my eyes and read it again, certain I had misread the names.
But no. There it was.
**Zoey Carpenter.**
**Marriage.**
**Ethan Marrow.**
A harsh, mirthless laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. I sounded like a maniac—unhinged, hysterical.
*Married?* No. That word didn't belong in my vocabulary. Not now. Not like this. I had plans—a future. A career to chase, a life to live. I didn't need a man, and I certainly wasn't ready to be anyone's wife.
This had to be a nightmare.
I pinched myself hard. The sting grounded me.
It was real.
I didn't know how long I sat there, frozen, with the paper trembling in my hands. Time stopped making sense. All I knew was that when I finally stood and opened the door, Uncle Vincent was waiting on the other side like a vulture.
Of course he was.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, that smug, serpentine grin already curling across his face.
"So," he drawled, his voice slick with mockery, "you finally read the letter."
I stared at him, eyes burning. "So that's what you wanted to tell me," I said, my voice shaking with fury.
His grin widened, eyes glinting like those of a predator savoring a slow kill.
"Oh, angel," he said, his tone syrupy and cruel, "that's not all."
From behind his coat, he produced a yellow folder—aged, creased at the corners. My stomach twisted as he peeled it open, revealing pages of legal documents: loan agreements, property liens, debt statements, and at the very top—another copy of the same marriage contract I'd just read.
He let the papers dangle in front of me like bait.
"Your father," Vincent began, his voice low and venomous, "was neck-deep in debt. This house? It's on mortgage. The Marrow Group covered most of his outstanding loans over the past six years. Without them, he wouldn't have lasted a month. All that comfort you lived in? It was borrowed. Bought. Paid for by promises."
I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists.
Vincent kept talking.
"The Marrow Group," he continued, pacing slowly, "has been affiliated with my stepfather—your grandfather—for decades. But the old man didn't want to remain acquaintances. No, he wanted something stronger. He wanted to tie the bloodlines together. He wanted to be *family* with the Marrows."
I could barely breathe.
"When your father's company collapsed," Vincent said, "your grandfather saw a golden opportunity. He approached the Marrows himself, offering the only valuable asset your family had left: **you**."
I recoiled like he'd struck me. "You're lying."
"I wish I were," Vincent said, smirking. "But your father signed that contract. Your grandfather negotiated the terms. And now that they're both gone, the responsibility falls to you. Lucky girl."
I stumbled backward and sank to the floor, my legs no longer strong enough to hold me. My vision blurred, but I refused to let the tears fall. Not in front of him.
This—this was what I inherited? Not memories or traditions or legacy.
But chains.
"This isn't fair," I whispered. "None of this is fair."
Vincent shrugged, indifferent. "Fairness is a fantasy for children. You've lived in a bubble for too long. Fancy toys when you were a kid . Fancy clothes. Top-tier education . All of it paid for by blood money and borrowed time."
I looked up at him, rage simmering behind my grief. "I won't do it. I won't be pawned off to pay someone else's debt."
Vincent threw his head back and laughed—a horrible, echoing sound that made my skin crawl.
"Oh, you think this is negotiable?" he sneered. "You think the Marrows care about your opinion? You're naïve, girl. Your tuition alone could fund a small community . Your father didn't protect you—he *delayed* the inevitable. He wanted you to stay soft. Delicate. Untouched by the truth."
He leaned in close, so close I could smell the smoke and whiskey on his breath.
"In his words, you were too fragile," he said, mocking. "A fairy, he called you. Said you'd break if you ever saw the world for what it really was."
I clenched my jaw, tears stinging my eyes. "He was wrong."
"No," Vincent said, standing to his full height. "He was *weak.* And now, you have to pay for it."
He began walking away but paused in the doorway, turning back with that same unsettling smile.
"This house will be sealed by the end of the week," he said. "And the Marrows? They'll be coming for you."
He disappeared into the hallway, his laughter lingering in the air like smoke.
---
I stayed there on the floor, curled into myself, the contract crumpled in my fist. The silence was suffocating. My body trembled—not from fear, but from fury.
They thought I was a pawn. A pretty little piece in a centuries-old game of wealth and power.
But they didn't know me.
I would find a way to fix this. To pay off the debt. To reclaim my life, my choices, my future.
I wasn't a fairy.
I wasn't fragile.
And I damn sure wasn't anyone's bride.
---
To be continued.