A CONTRACT MARRIAGE

The soft chime of wedding bells echoed through the air. Gwynne Sinclair stood at the end of a long aisle, her white dress glowing under the sunlight that poured through the church windows. Her heart raced. At the other end, a man waited — tall, graceful, his face hidden by the light. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to him. Just as he was about to lift his head and show her his face— Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm clock shattered the magic. Gwynne’s eyes flew open. The dream faded into the dim little room that smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and home. She sighed, pressing a hand to her chest. “It’s just a dream,” she whispered, half laughing at herself. “A wedding? Seriously, Gwynne?” But as her gaze drifted to the packed suitcase by the door, the smile vanished. Today wasn’t about love or dreams. It was about leaving. Outside, the morning sun spilled over the small Sinclair farm — their land, once so green and alive, now dry and wounded from the pests that ruined their crops. Her father, Ashton Sinclair, stood by the old pickup truck, tightening a rope around a crate of fruits that barely looked worth selling. Her mother, Isabel, stood beside him, eyes red but smiling bravely. “Gwynne,” Isabel said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her daughter’s face. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart? The city is harsh. We can manage somehow. You don’t have to go.” Gwynne shook her head, forcing a small smile. “Mom, you’ve both done enough for me. I can’t just sit here and wait. I’ll find a job, even if it’s small. Once I save enough, I’ll pay for my tuition. And when the farm’s back on its feet, maybe I can come home.” Ashton sighed, his rough hands resting on her shoulders. “You remind me so much of your mother when she was your age,” he said, his voice thick with pride and worry. “Stubborn and full of fire.” Isabel chuckled through her tears. “That’s our girl.” Gwynne bit her lip to keep from crying. “I’ll be fine, Dad. I promise.” Ashton pulled her into a tight hug. “No matter how far you go, you’ll always have a home here, Gwynne. Don’t forget that.” “I won’t,” she whispered against his shoulder. When the bus finally came, she turned one last time to see her parents waving from the dirt road — her mother holding a handkerchief to her face, her father’s arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Gwynne smiled through her tears and waved back. Someday, she promised herself, I’ll make you proud. I’ll come back — stronger than before. And as the bus rolled toward the city, the dream of a faceless groom returned to her mind. She didn’t know who he was or what it meant — but somehow, deep in her heart, she felt that her story was only beginning. The bus rumbled for hours, carrying Gwynne farther and farther from the little town she had always known. When it finally rolled to a stop, she pressed her forehead to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. The city stretched out before her — endless rows of towering buildings that gleamed beneath the afternoon sun. Cars and buses darted across wide streets, and people hurried past each other, their faces full of purpose. Gwynne stepped off the bus, clutching the handle of her suitcase. The air smelled faintly of smoke, coffee, and something metallic she couldn’t quite name. So this is the city… she thought, her heart fluttering between fear and excitement. Everything was new — too bright, too fast, too alive. “Alright, Gwynne,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “Let’s find that new beginning.” She had barely taken a few steps down the sidewalk when a commotion caught her attention. “Watch where you’re going, old man!” a woman’s sharp voice rang out. Gwynne turned toward the sound. A crowd had gathered a few meters away. In the middle of it lay an old man, his frail body trembling. He was wearing a faded hospital gown and clutching his chest, a spilled cup of coffee beside him. A furious woman stood over him, her elegant dress splattered with brown stains. “You ruined my clothes!” the woman screamed. “Do you have any idea how expensive this is?!” “I-I’m sorry,” the man stammered, struggling to sit up. “I didn’t mean to. I slipped…” The woman raised her hand as if to strike him. Without thinking, Gwynne dropped her suitcase and rushed forward. “Stop!” she shouted, stepping between them. She caught the woman’s wrist before it could fall on the old man. Her heart was racing, but she refused to back down. “Please,” she said firmly. “He said it was an accident. You don’t have to hurt him.” The woman glared at her, clearly offended. “Who do you think you are, meddling in other people’s business?” Gwynne’s hands trembled slightly, but she held her ground. “I’m someone who can’t just stand by and watch.” The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Unbelievable.” With a dramatic toss of her hair, she turned and stormed away, muttering under her breath. As the small crowd began to disperse, Gwynne knelt beside the old man. “Are you alright, sir?” He blinked at her, surprised by her kindness. “Thank you, young lady… You didn’t have to step in like that.” Gwynne smiled softly. “If I didn’t, who would?” She helped him up, brushing the dust from his sleeve. For a moment, she glanced at the hospital bracelet still around his wrist — a small, white band with fading letters. “Do you have somewhere to go?” she asked gently. The old man hesitated, his eyes distant. “I… I was trying to find my way back. But I guess I got lost.” Gwynne nodded, her heart softening. The city might have been big and strange, but one thing she knew for sure — she couldn’t ignore someone in need. “Don’t worry,” she said, steadying him. “Let me help you.” Gwynne smiled kindly, reaching out a hand to help the trembling old man to his feet. “There you go, sir,” she said softly. “Just lean on me. We’ll find someone to help you.” But before her hand could touch his, a deep, commanding voice thundered through the air. “Let go of him!” The sudden shout made Gwynne flinch. She looked up, startled, as several men in dark suits appeared out of nowhere, moving swiftly through the crowd. Their presence made people step aside immediately, whispering among themselves. At the center of the group strode a tall, broad-shouldered man in an expensive charcoal suit. His dark hair framed a chiseled face — handsome, but cold as ice. His eyes locked onto Gwynne with sharp suspicion. He looked every inch of power and authority, someone used to being obeyed. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice deep and edged with anger. Gwynne’s heartbeat quickened. “I—I was just helping this old man. He fell—” “Helping?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Or trying to kidnap my grandfather?” “What?” Gwynne’s jaw dropped. “No! That’s not true! He was on the street alone—I just wanted to—” “Sir Damien,” one of the suited men said firmly, “we found her with Mr. Chase in the middle of the street. He was wearing a hospital gown.” Damien Cole’s expression darkened. “So you expect me to believe that a stranger just found him and decided to help out of the goodness of her heart?” Gwynne swallowed hard, fighting to steady her trembling voice. “Yes! Because that’s exactly what happened. He looked lost—he said he slipped and spilled coffee on someone, and people were yelling at him. I couldn’t just walk away!” “Enough,” Damien snapped. “Take her.” “What? No—please, listen to me!” Gwynne cried as two of his men grabbed her by the arms. Panic rose in her chest as she struggled to free herself. “You’ve got it wrong! I didn’t hurt him! I was only trying to—” But her words were cut short when Mr. Chase suddenly swayed and gasped for breath. “Grandpa!” Damien’s tone changed instantly, his face twisting with alarm. He lunged forward, catching the old man just before he collapsed completely. “Call an ambulance—now!” he barked to his men. Gwynne’s eyes widened in horror. “He needs help! Please, let me—” “Stay back!” one of the bodyguards ordered harshly, tightening his grip on her. Within moments, the sound of sirens filled the air. A white ambulance screeched to a stop beside them. Paramedics rushed out, lifting Mr. Chase onto a stretcher as Damien followed closely, his expression dark with worry and rage. Before stepping inside the ambulance, Damien turned to his men, his voice sharp and cold. “Bring her with us. I want answers.” “Wait!” Gwynne cried, struggling as the guards dragged her toward a sleek black van parked nearby. “You’re making a mistake! I didn’t do anything wrong!” But no one listened. The door slammed shut, sealing her inside. Through the tinted window, Gwynne caught one last glimpse of Damien — his strong figure silhouetted against the flashing red lights as he climbed into the ambulance with his grandfather. Her heart pounded. Everything had happened so fast. I just wanted to help… How did it turn into this? As the black van pulled away, the city lights blurred into streaks outside the window. Gwynne pressed her shaking hands together, terrified and confused. She had come to the city with dreams of a new beginning — but fate had other plans.