The pen trembled between my fingers.
I stared at the signature line...that thin black line that would bind me to Victor Hawthorne for three years. The words above it blurred: "contractual obligation, mutual agreement, terms and conditions". Legal armor around what should have been a promise made in love.
My hand wouldn't move.
"Miss Greene?" Mr. Bennett's voice seemed to come from underwater. "Is everything alright?"
I looked up. Charles watched me with something like pity. Victor sat across the desk, still as marble, his dark eyes fixed on my face. Waiting. Always waiting, like he had all the time in the world while mine bled away second by second.
"Yes." The word scraped out. "I'm fine."
"Liar."
I pressed the pen to paper. The scratch of ink against document sounded too loud, too permanent. With each loop of my name, I felt Emily Greene slip away, leaving behind someone I didn't recognize. Someone who sold herself to save the people she loved.
"Emily Hawthorne."
The name looked wrong. Foreign.
"Excellent." Mr. Bennett gathered the papers with practiced efficiency, as if he married desperate women to cold billionaires every day. "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne."
Victor gave a single nod, his gaze never leaving my face. "Thank you, Charles. That will be all."
Charles moved toward the door, then paused, glancing back at Victor with a pointed look that seemed to say "you're forgetting something".
Victor's jaw tightened. He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small velvet box, setting it on the desk between us with the same care he might use to move a chess piece.
"One more thing." His voice was flat, mechanical. "You'll need to wear this."
I stared at the box, my stomach twisting.
"Open it," he said when I didn't move.
My fingers felt numb as I lifted the lid. The ring inside caught the afternoon light and threw it back in blinding flashes, a diamond so large it seemed obscene, around it were smaller stones that probably cost more than everything I'd ever owned combined.
I couldn't take my eyes off the ring. It was beautiful in the way a glacier was beautiful…cold, untouchable, something that could cut you if you got too close.
"I don't…" My voice cracked. "I can't wear something like this."
"You will." Victor pushed the box closer to me across the desk. "People will expect to see a ring. This arrangement needs to appear legitimate."
Charles was still hovering by the door, watching the exchange with an expression I couldn't read.
With shaking hands, I lifted the ring from its velvet nest. The metal was cold, the diamond so heavy it made my hand tremble as I slid it onto my finger. It fit perfectly, of course it did. Victor was nothing if not thorough in his transactions.
I looked down at the ring, this million-dollar symbol of a marriage that meant nothing. The diamond glittered mockingly, beautiful and hollow.
"It's too much," I whispered.
"It's necessary." Victor's eyes were hard. "You're Mrs. Hawthorne now. People will be watching, judging, looking for cracks. This ring tells them there are none."
Charles cleared his throat softly. "I'll leave you both to settle in."
The door clicked shut with terrible finality.
Silence crashed over the room. I twisted my hands in my lap, the left one now weighted with Victor's ring…digging my nails into my palms until the bite of pain gave me something to focus on besides the man watching me like I was a puzzle he'd purchased and intended to solve.
"Well." Victor's voice broke the silence. "I suppose you should get settled in. Dinner is at seven. I trust you can find your way to your room?"
"Dismissed." Like an employee after a meeting.
"Yes." I stood too quickly, my chair scraping against the hardwood. "I can manage."
I turned toward the door, desperate for escape, for air that didn't taste like expensive leather and regret.
"Oh, and Emily?"
I froze, one hand on the doorknob.
"There's something waiting for you in your closet. I expect you to dress appropriately for dinner."
The door handle bit into my palm. I didn't turn around. Couldn't let him see my face. "Of course."
I fled.
The ring caught on the door handle as I yanked it open, and I had to stop, extract it carefully from where it had snagged. Even leaving required permission from this piece of jewelry now permanently attached to my hand.
---
I made my way through the winding corridors. As I approached mom's room, I heard Lily's laughter echoing down the hall, and some of the tension in my chest eased.
"This. This is why."
I found them by the window, Mom sitting in the cushioned chair Jenkins had positioned to catch the afternoon light, Lily dancing circles around her with Mr. Hops clutched under one arm.
"Mommy!" Lily launched herself at me, her small body crashing into my legs. "Did you see? I have a princess bed! With a canopy and everything, and there's a window seat where I can read, and the bathroom has a tub shaped like a seashell!"
I laughed despite everything, ruffling her curls. "That sounds amazing, sweetheart. Are you happy here?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "It's like a castle! But..." she lowered her voice to a whisper, "where's the prince?"
I felt a pang in my chest. How could I explain this situation to a seven-year-old?
I crouched down to her level. "Honey, Mr. Hawthorne…he's going to be part of our family now. But he's not feeling well, so we need to be very understanding, okay?"
Lily nodded solemnly, always quick to show empathy. "Okay, Mommy. Can I make him a get-well card?"
Something cracked in my chest. "That's a beautiful idea, baby. Why don't you start on that? I need to talk to Grandma for a minute."
She skipped off toward the art supplies Jenkins had thoughtfully stocked in her room, already singing to herself about dragons and castles and happy endings.
I sank into the chair beside Mom's. She reached for my hand immediately, her grip weak but warm.
"How are you feeling?" I searched her face for signs of pain. "Is everything okay? Do you need anything?"
She nodded, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's more than okay, Emily. The nurse they've assigned to me is wonderful, and this room... I haven't felt this comfortable in years."
The tears I'd been holding back since signing my name burned hot. "Good. That's good, Mom. I want you comfortable. I want you both happy."
She squeezed my hand, her gaze sharpening. "And what about you, sweetheart? Are you happy?"
I hesitated, not sure how to answer. "I'm... I'm doing what needs to be done. For all of us."
Mom's eyes filled with understanding and a touch of sadness. "Oh, my brave girl. Just remember, sometimes the things we do for others can lead us to our own happiness. Keep your heart open, Emily. You might be surprised by what you find."
---
Moments later, I made my way back to my new bedroom, a spacious suite that felt more like a luxury hotel room than a home.
Everything carefully curated, expensive, cold.
But it was the closet that stole my breath.
I stood in the doorway, hand pressed to my mouth, staring at rows upon rows of designer clothes I couldn't name. Dresses, slacks, blouses, shoes lined up like soldiers, handbags arranged by color.
A note was pinned to an emerald green dress, the fabric so fine it seemed to shimmer in the light.
"Wear this for dinner. V"
I ran my fingers over the silky fabric, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. On one hand, I felt like a child playing dress-up in someone else's clothes. On the other, a small part of me couldn't help but feel excited at the thought of wearing something so beautiful.
As I slipped on the dress, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. The woman staring back at me looked like a stranger, elegant, polished, every inch the society wife I was now expected to be. But her eyes, my eyes, told a different story, filled with uncertainty and a touch of fear.
---
At precisely six fifty-eight, I made my way to the dining room, my steps hesitant in the unfamiliar high heels. Victor was already seated at the head of the long golden table, his wheelchair tucked neatly beneath it.
"You're punctual," he said by way of greeting, his eyes sweeping over me. "The dress suits you."
"Thank you," I murmured, taking the seat to his right. "It's beautiful."
He nodded, then turned his attention to the butler who had appeared silently at his elbow. "We'll have the first course now, Jenkins."
The meal that followed felt like performance art. Everything designed to impress, to intimidate, to remind me exactly how far I was from the world I knew.
I picked at my food, each bite turning to ash in my mouth.
"I trust your family is settling in well?" Victor's voice cut through the silence.
I nodded, grateful for a topic of conversation. "Yes. Thank you. Lily's thrilled with her room, and my mother..." I swallowed hard. "She's more comfortable than she's been in years."
A flicker of something, satisfaction, perhaps, crossed Victor's face. "Good. I've arranged for the best care for your mother. Dr. David Emerson will be visiting tomorrow to assess her condition and continue her treatment plan as needed."
I felt a lump form in my throat. "That's... that's very kind of you, Victor. Thank you."
He waved off my gratitude with a dismissive hand. "It's a practical matter, Emily. Your mother's health and your daughter's wellbeing are now tied to the success of our arrangement. It's in my best interest to ensure they're taken care of."
His words, delivered in that cool, detached tone, served as a stark reminder of the reality of our situation. This wasn't a fairytale, and Victor Hawthorne was no Prince Charming. This was a business transaction, nothing more.
The questions started during the second course. Where I'd gone to school, What I studied, My favorite books, foods, colors, At first, I thought he was trying to make conversation. But as the interrogation continued, I realized this was an assessment. He was cataloging my gaps, measuring how much work it would take to transform me into an acceptable society wife.
"Your table manners are adequate." he remarked at one point, causing me to freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
"But we'll need to work on your knowledge of wine, your conversational skills for social situations." He dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "I can't have you embarrassing me at functions."
Heat flooded my cheeks, shame and rage tangled together. "I may not know much about wine," I said carefully, setting down my fork before I did something stupid, "but I can assure you, I'm quite capable of holding a conversation."
One eyebrow lifted. "Is that so?" Something like amusement touched his eyes. "We shall see."
By the time dessert arrived, I felt scraped raw. Every word, every glance, every subtle criticism had peeled away another layer until I sat there exposed, inadequate, trying desperately to remember why I'd agreed to this.
"I have work to attend to." Victor pushed back from the table as Jenkins cleared the final plates. "You're free to do as you please for the evening. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the house. Tomorrow, we begin your... education in earnest."
He wheeled away without looking back.
I sat alone in that cavernous dining room, surrounded by luxury I'd never wanted, and carrying a name that felt like a weight I couldn't shake.
"Mrs. Emily Hawthorne."
I closed my eyes.
This was my life now. Three years of this. Three years of being shaped and molded and critiqued until I fit into the box Victor Hawthorne had designed for his perfect, purchased wife.