No Choice But You

Sold out

The morning light shone through the thin curtains, straight into my eyes, dragging me awake like an unwanted alarm. I blinked hard, confused for a second, not realizing how late or early –I’d finally slept. My body felt like it had been run over. My back and shoulders ached, stiff from the cold tiles, but I pushed myself up anyway.

I sat for a moment, legs crossed, staring at the ceiling.

My chest felt like it was packed with stones. The betrayal still burned raw in my veins. Three years with Lucas. How long has he been lying? I asked myself, trying to put the math together as if it could change what had been done.

And now my mother....... My mother's life, hanging on a thread all because of me.

I swung my legs off the floor and winced at the dull ache in my knees. One step at a time, I made my way to the bathroom, pulling off my soaked, stinky clothes from yesterday. They went straight into the laundry basket without ceremony.

The shower felt like a small rebellion. Hot water splashed across my skin, loosening the stiffness, washing off the cold and tension from last night.

The tears didn’t come. There was no point in crying. By the time I was out, I looked put together.

I dressed up neatly. Looking in the mirror, I forced a small smile at my reflection. “Strong girl,” I muttered under my breath. “For mom.”

Downstairs, the house was kinda normal. My father sat at the table, papers stacked neatly before him.

Callie sipped tea, while Mia, predictably, was already glued to her phone, chewing gum lazily.

“Morning,” I said flatly.

My father glanced up. Callie raised an eyebrow. Mia didn’t even bother.

“I need the contract agreement,” I said, meeting my father’s eyes.

He studied me, searching for hesitation. Finding none, he slid the folder across the table.

My stomach twisted.

I opened it slowly, flipping through the pages without reading every word. And my eyes caught some clauses.

Clause 2:1 This union is contractual. Emotional attachment, romantic gestures, or personal attachment toward the husband are forbidden.

Clause 3:1 The wife shall not inquire into the husband's business affairs, personal history, or daily schedule.

Clause 4:1 The wife shall maintain professional conduct at all times. Personal or romantic involvement is strictly prohibited.

Clause 5:1 Breach of contract will result in consequences deemed appropriate by the husband.

Compliance with all clauses is mandatory.

After reading the clauses, a part of me wanted to feel relieved. At least no love, no expectations, nor pretending.

But the words felt unsettling.

it didn't feel like freedom , It felt like a different kind of cage. It wasn’t just ink on paper. It was a cage. My mother’s life, my choices, everything I was about to become.

I inhaled, shaking my head slightly, then pressed the pen down. One stroke for her, one stroke for me, one stroke to survive.

“Done,” I said, voice low, almost hollow.

Mia glanced up briefly, eyes flicking from the paper to me. “So… does this mean I get your room?” she asked, smirking. I stared at her, barely controlling the urge to strangle her. Her eyes caught mine, and for a moment, she saw the hatred in there. “Whatever,” I said, my voice low. “I don’t need it.” She shrugged and went back to her phone.

“I’m glad you’re finally back to your senses,” Callie said.

“I hope you keep to your words,” I said, ignoring her, turning to my dad.

“I will,” he said, voice flat and emotionless. “Go upstairs and pack your things. His driver is waiting for you.”

My stomach dropped. “Now?” I asked, surprised. Wasn’t it too soon?

“Yes. Now.” He didn’t flinch. Callie smiled faintly into her tea, as if it were all a game. Mia’s grin stretched a little wider, proud like she’d won a trophy.

I exhaled deeply. I wasn’t a pushover, but my mom’s life depended on this. I had no choice.

“I’ll go pack,” I said, calm, though my chest tightened.

“Good girl,” Callie said in a praising tone. I clenched my jaw. Words like that would have made me throw something if the stakes weren’t so high.

I went to my room and packed quickly. I didn’t have much: a few clothes, some essentials. Done, I dragged my luggage downstairs.

Outside, a white Lamborghini gleamed under the sun, sleek and perfect. A man stood beside it, clearly the driver. My stepmother, Mia, and Dad were already there.

“Woo, the old man must be very rich,” Mia said, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“At least she gets to marry a rich man,” my stepmother laughed, sharing a look with Mia. Dad’s smile was wide, satisfied. “You’ve made me so proud,” he said.

They all looked relieved.

Like I was a problem finally being removed. I guess I had always been the third wheel among them.

“I hope you don’t regret this,” I said, my face neutral and voice flat.

“We won’t,” my stepmother chimed in.

“Not like anyone would want to marry a murderer's daughter,” she continued, smiling. “Be grateful. Your dad did what’s best for you.”

My fingers curled into my palm, nails pressing hard, but I kept my face blank.

“Thanks, honey,” Dad said, gazing at her with a warmth he never gave Mom.

“Aww, you guys are making me blush,” Mia said, rolling her eyes at me. I dragged my luggage past them.

The driver stepped forward. “Ma’am, let me carry that,” he said. Before I could respond, he grabbed it and took it to the car.

I didn’t say another word. I gave my dad one last look before getting into the car. The door closed with a soft click, sealing the space between us. The engine rumbled to life, and drove away.

I didn't look back, because there was nothing left behind worth seeing.