Bound by vengeance, torn by love

The Wedding Contract

ISABELLA'S POV

The wedding took place three days after I signed the contract.

Three days. That's all the time I had to say goodbye to my life. To pack up my apartment. To quit my job. To watch everything I'd built crumble like sand through my fingers.

I didn't tell anyone the truth. The shame of it sat too heavy on my tongue. How do you explain to your friends that your father sold you? That you're getting married to pay off his debts? That you signed away five years of your life because you were too weak to let him face the consequences of his own choices?

So I lied.

The ceremony was scheduled for ten AM on a Tuesday. Judge's chambers in lower Manhattan. No guests was invited. No celebration planned. There would just be a lot of signing on paper.

I took a cab. I couldn't afford a car service anymore since my father had already frozen my accounts. Everything I owned was in two suitcases in the trunk.

The building was old, gray stone. Cold even in the summer heat. I stood outside for a long moment. Stared up at the windows. Wondered if I could still run.

But where would I go? What would I do?

My father's words echoed in my head. Twenty years in prison. My mother's name dragged through the mud. Everything destroyed.

I couldn't let that happen. No matter what it cost me.

The elevator ride up felt like descending. Each floor a layer of hell I was willingly walking into. By the time I reached the fifth floor, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely push the button.

The receptionist looked up when I entered and smiled.

"Isabella Martinez? They're waiting for you in chamber three."

I walked down the hallway. My heels clicked against the tile a little bit too loud.

The door to chamber three was already open. I could see inside. A small room. Wood paneling, american flag in the corner. A desk where a judge sat reading papers.

And him. Damian Cross, standing by the window. Looking out at the city like he owned it, which he probably did.

This was the first time I'd seen him in person. I'd looked him up online after signing the contract and seen his pictures.

But pictures didn't capture the reality of him. The way he filled a room just by being in it.

He turned when I entered. His eyes swept over me once. Taking in my simple white dress, my lack of jewelry. The suitcases I'd left in the hallway because I didn't know where else to put them.

He didn't smile, he didn't greet me either. He just looked at the judge and said, "We're ready."

The judge cleared his throat.

"Miss Martinez. Please come sign the marriage license."

I walked forward on shaky legs, picked up the pen. Stared down at my name already printed there.

I signed and watched the ink dry. Felt the trap close around me.

"Mr. Cross."

Damian stepped forward. Signed his name next to mine without hesitation.

The judge signed as witness. And just like that, I was married. Mrs. Isabella Cross. A name that didn't belong to me attached to a man I'd never spoken to.

"Congratulations," the judge said. The word felt obscene.

"You may kiss the bride if you wish."

Damian looked at me for the first time since I'd entered the room. His eyes were gray, cold and empty of anything resembling warmth.

"That won't be necessary." His voice matched his eyes.

"This is a business arrangement. Let's not pretend otherwise."

The judge looked uncomfortable but nodded.

"Very well. The marriage is legal and binding. You're free to go."

Damian turned and walked out without another word. He didn't wait for me. Didn't acknowledge me. Just left like I was supposed to know what to do next.

I stood there for a moment. Newly married. Completely alone. The judge was already packing up his papers. The clerk had moved on to other documents. I was just standing there invincible.

I followed Damian out, and found him in the hallway checking his phone.

"Your things will be delivered to the penthouse." He didn't look up from his screen.

"A car is waiting downstairs. Get in. Don't make me wait."

Then he walked away. Down the hallway and into the elevator.

I stood there holding my marriage certificate. This piece of paper that said I belonged to someone now. That I'd willingly given up my freedom for someone else's debt.

The receptionist from earlier appeared. Handed me a business card.

"The car is out front. Black SUV. The driver knows where to take you."

I took the card and nodded.

The car was exactly where she said. Sleek, expensive. The driver opened the door without speaking. I climbed in. Sat in silence as we drove through Manhattan.

I watched the city pass by through tinted windows. All these people living normal lives, going to work, meeting friends. Making choices. Free in ways I'd never be again.

The driver pulled up to the entrance of the penthouse. He didn't open my door or help with my bags that had somehow appeared in the trunk. Just waited for me to get out so he could leave.

I managed, barely. I dragged my two suitcases into the lobby where a doorman stood waiting.

"Mrs. Cross. Mr. Cross is expecting you. The elevator requires a key." He handed me a black card.

"This is yours. Don't lose it."

The elevator was glass. I watched the city shrink below me as I rose higher and higher.

The doors opened directly into the penthouse. Not a hallway. Just straight into a living space so large it could fit my entire apartment three times over.

A woman stood waiting, she looked older.

"Mrs. Cross. I'm Elena. I manage the household." She didn't offer her hand.

"Mr. Cross has instructed me to show you to your room and go over the house rules."

House rules. Like I was a child being grounded. Not a grown woman who'd just gotten married.

"This way."

I followed her down a hallway. Past rooms I didn't look into, I didn't want to know what they held. Didn't want to make this place real by acknowledging its existence.

She stopped at a door near the end, opened it and gestured for me to enter.

The room was beautiful.

King-sized bed, attached bathroom. Walk-in closet. Windows with a view of the Hudson River. Everything looked expensive.

"Your belongings will arrive within the hour." Elena pulled out a tablet. Started reading from it like she was going through a checklist.

"House rules are as follows. You are not to leave the penthouse without Mr. Cross's permission and a security escort. You are not to contact friends or family without prior approval. You do not have access to any accounts. Everything you need will be provided. Everything you want must be requested through me for approval."

She paused, cleared her throat, then continued.

"You are expected to attend social functions as Mr. Cross's wife when required. You will dress appropriately. Speak appropriately. Act appropriately. You represent the Cross name now. Behave accordingly."

She looked up from her tablet. Her eyes were hard.

"Breakfast is served at seven. Lunch at noon. Dinner at seven. You will eat what is prepared, no special requests. Mr. Cross works late most nights. Do not wait up. Do not disturb him in his office. Do not enter his private rooms without permission."

I stood there taking it all in. This list of everything I couldn't do, and could do.

"Do you have any questions?" Elena's voice suggested she hoped I didn't.

I had a thousand questions.

But I didn't ask any of them. I just shook my head and watched her leave.

I walked to the window. Pressed my forehead against the cool glass and looked out at the city spread below me.

All those people, all those lives. All that freedom I used to have and took for granted.

I slid down the window until I was sitting on the floor. Knees pulled to my chest. Arms wrapped around myself. Trying to hold together what was left of me.

But there wasn't much left. Just pieces. The scattered remains of a girl who'd made a choice and would spend the next five years living with the consequences.

The sun was setting. Painting the sky in shades of orange and red.

I stayed there on the floor, watching the light fade, waiting for darkness.