I just thought you should know.
Underneath, there’s a link, probably spam. My thumb hovers over the delete button. Any other day, I’d block the number and move on. Today, though, I welcome any distraction.
I clink the link, which opens onto the Toronto Tea’s homepage, where I see a massive picture of my fiancé. He stares at the camera, his cold blue eyes narrowed. I scroll down to the headline and gasp.
The Villain of Sequel’s Cruelest Plot
By: Peppermint
We already know that James Keller has a block of stone where his heart should be, but his newest scheme is low, even for him. The ice king plans to take a queen this weekend,getting married in a small ceremony. Of course, there’s no love involved. Just money, power, and greed.
Keller teamed up with Victor Matthews, the CEO of Pages, to arrange a marriage between the Villain and Matthews’ daughter, Maura. Apparently, Mr. Matthews has always planned to sell off his daughter to the highest bidder, and no one can pay as much as the Villain can. Of course, there’s not a literal bribe, but an old-school promise of combining empires. Once the marriage is official, the real union can start—the one between companies.
Maura might be walking down the aisle of her own free will, but does she know the truth about the man waiting for her at the end? Does she know that all he has to offer her is cruelty, greed, and indifference? Does she even realize how much more she deserves? For years, Mr. Matthews manipulated his daughter into believing her only future was marrying a wealthy man, despite her own promising career as an artist. Now, poor Maura will be forced into a lonely marriage with a heartless scion to satisfy her father’s ambition.
Here’s hoping Miss Matthews pulls a runaway bride at the ceremony. We at the Toronto Tea would be happy to lace up your tennis shoes.
It feels like I’ve just swallowed a jug of ice water. This can’t be happening. The private details of my life are plastered all over the internet. Peppermint basically announced that my father sees me as little more than a pawn in his games instead of as a beloved daughter. The Tea didn’t mention the contract, but it still boiled down my marriage to a business transaction, one where my husband only wants me for the money I can bring him.
The humiliation hits me at my core.
The worst part is, I’ve been reduced to some cautionary tale. Apart from my “promising career,” which is a stretch, considering I’ve only made a few thousand dollars from mypaintings, the whole blog paints me like some pathetic pawn, being moved around by powerful men.
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I scroll down to read the comments. I’m sure there are plenty of people talking about what an idiot I am for signing the contract.
What kind of father would want his daughter married to a guy she has no relationship with? Doesn’t he give a shit about her happiness?
A billionaire seriously has to buy a woman to marry him? Heinous loser behavior.
So messed up. She’s a person, not a trading card.
Run, Maura, run!
The sentiments repeat themselves as I scroll down, strangers in the comments who are somehow furious on my behalf. It’s…unsettling, to say the least. They’re angrier at my father for setting up this contract than I ever allowed myself to be.
I guess my expectations of him were low enough that the whole thing didn’t surprise me. If I let myself be angry every time my father treated me more like an object than a person, I’d be constantly brimming with rage. I don’t want to waste my limited time on this planet being angry.
There’s a single knock on the door, loud and firm. I know instinctively it’s not my hair and make-up team. I head to the door and peer through the peephole. James stands outside, already in a tuxedo, his dark hair combed back neatly. He looks so perfectly handsome, you could set him on top of a wedding cake. I’m not surprised to see him. I might not be supposed to see him until the ceremony, but that Toronto Tea article is exactly the kind of thing that would prompt an emergency visit.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
“Good morning, Maura.” His voice is perfectly neutral, not warm or upset.
“Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” I joke weakly.
“I don't believe in luck.”
“What do you believe in, then?”
“Effort and strategy.” A crisp, practiced answer that tells me this isn't the first time someone asked him this question.
“Spoken like a true corporate villain.” I tilt my head. “Do you also believe in monologuing about your evil plans while the hero escapes?”
Something flickers in his expression—amusement, maybe. “Only if it’ll lead to a more cinematic ending.”
I step aside and gesture for him to enter. My father rented out the entire inn, but it’s still probably better for us to have this conversation in private. If Peppermint’s article proved anything, it’s that there are sources hiding in plain sight.
James’s tall form fills the small space, his black tuxedo a stark contrast to the pale wallpaper and furniture. I can smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne, something citrus-y. He doesn't take a seat on the lumpy sofa. He stands near the window, the view at his back.
