Contracted Bride

Chapter 12

Ella stood by the large windows of the east wing, gazing down at the gardens. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear laughter from the household staff preparing for tomorrow’s grand engagement party — a celebration that had her name in bold letters but felt as hollow as the polished floor beneath her feet.

Her fingers absently traced the edge of the glass. She couldn’t shake the constant thought gnawing at her: What would Mother say if she knew?

The doctors Charles had assigned — top specialists with intimidating résumés — were confident they could keep her mother stable. They came with their white coats, expensive medical kits, and polite nods, attending to her with efficiency that spoke of years in the field. Nurses worked in shifts, never leaving her side. The machines monitoring her heartbeat hummed, the rhythmic beeping a fragile reassurance that life still clung to her.

But all this care came with a price — one Ella knew her mother would see straight through.

Her mind replayed the image of her mother’s warm eyes, the way she would look at Ella when she had done something questionable but thought she could hide it. Her mother had always known, always.

Now, she imagined waking up to those eyes again, only to watch them harden with disappointment when she learned about the “marriage” — the charade, as Ella called it in her own head.

Charles’s footsteps sounded behind her, deliberate on the polished floor. “You’ve been standing here for quite a while,” he said.

She didn’t turn. “Thinking.”

He came closer, his reflection appearing beside hers in the glass. Tall, composed, impeccably dressed even in something as casual as an unbuttoned shirt and slacks. “About tomorrow?”

“No,” she replied quietly. “About my mother.”

He sighed — not impatiently, but like a man who had expected this conversation. “She’s receiving the best care money can buy, Ella. I’ve made sure of it.”

“I know you have, that’s… part of the problem.”

His brow furrowed. “Problem?”

She turned to face him, folding her arms against her chest like she needed to shield herself from his steady gaze. “When she wakes up, she’s going to ask questions. She’ll want to know how I can afford all this — the doctors, the nurses, the mansion… the engagement.” Her throat tightened around the word. “And what do I tell her? That I’m in a marriage that’s not real? That I sold my name for her treatment?”

Charles’s jaw tightened. “Sold? That’s a harsh way to put it.”

“How else should I put it?” she asked, frustration flickering in her tone.

He didn’t answer right away, instead walking past her to the window she’d been staring out of moments ago. His hands slipped into his pockets as he looked out, his shoulders straight. “You agreed to this, Ella. And I’m holding up my end of the bargain. Your mother is alive because of it.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” Ella’s voice cracked despite her attempt to sound firm. “What if she wakes up and tells me to end it? To walk away from the contract? Will you let me?”

Charles turned, his eyes locking with hers. For a brief moment, there was something in them — not the cold calculation she was used to, but a flicker of something else. Fear, maybe. Possessiveness. “I’m not in the habit of letting go of what I’ve claimed,” he said.

“Claimed?” She asked.

“You’re mine until this arrangement ends. And even then…” “Let’s not borrow trouble, Ella. Focus on tomorrow. Your mother is being taken care of. That’s what matters.”

She wanted to argue, to push back against the way he made it sound so simple. But the truth was — she needed him right now. The bills alone could crush her without his help. And the thought of her mother being moved to some understaffed, underfunded hospital was unbearable.

Still, that didn’t make the shame any lighter.

That evening, she went to her mother’s room. The air smelled of antiseptic from the diffuser the nurses had placed on the nightstand. Machines hummed, their displays glowing in the light. Her mother lay motionless, her skin warm, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Ella sat beside the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her mother’s forehead.

“Hi, Mom,” she whispered. “I don’t know if you can hear me… but tomorrow’s the engagement party. It’s… not real, you know? Not really. I just—” her voice broke “—I just needed to make sure you’d still be here when I woke up in the mornings.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, landing on her mother’s hand. She squeezed it gently. “Please don’t hate me when you wake up. Please.”

The door opened, and one of the nurses — a middle-aged woman with kind eyes — stepped in to check the IV line. She glanced at Ella with a smile. “She’s stable tonight. That’s a good sign.”

Ella nodded, but said nothing.

The next day, preparations for the engagement party began before dawn. The mansion was transformed into something out of a magazine —gleaming brighter than usual, flower arrangements in every corner, catering staff moving with military precision. It was all so beautiful, so extravagant… and so wrong in Ella’s eyes.

Charles’s family would be there. Influential people. Investors. Politicians. The kind of crowd that didn’t believe in coincidences — or humble beginnings. They would all assume she was exactly what she appeared to be: the fiancée of a wealthy, powerful man.

By mid-morning, where she’d gone to escape the chaos inside.

“You’re avoiding the stylists,” he said.

She kept her eyes on the roses. “I needed air.”

He studied her for a moment. “You’re worried again.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” she asked. “If you were in my place?”

“I don’t play pretend,” he said. “I create realities.”

“That’s the difference between us,” she murmured. “You can change things with money. I can only… survive them.”

He stepped closer, his tone lowering. “And I’ve given you the means to survive. In return, I expect you to play your part. Perfectly. Tomorrow is important, Ella — not just for me, but for my family. There can’t be any… cracks in the performance.”

She finally looked up at him, her chest tight. “And if my mother wakes up before tomorrow night and tells me to walk away?”

His expression didn’t change. “Then you’ll have to decide whose voice you’ll listen to — hers, or the one keeping her alive.”

That night, Ella barely slept. She dreamed of her mother sitting up in bed, eyes filled with both love and disappointment, telling her to come home — away from the tiles floors, away from Charles’s grip. In the dream, Ella reached for her, but Charles’s hand was on her shoulder, holding her back.

When she woke in the light of dawn, her pillow was damp with tears.

The nurses came and went. Her mother remained still, her condition unchanged. Ella kissed her forehead before heading to the dressing room where stylists and makeup artists waited with brushes, gowns, and curling irons.

The engagement dress — an elegant silver gown with intricate beadwork — hung by the window. It shimmered even in the morning light, looking every bit like something a princess would wear.

“Breathtaking,” one of the stylists murmured when Ella finally put it on.

Ella looked at herself in the mirror. The reflection was flawless. Not a single hair out of place, makeup done to perfection, the dress hugging her figure like it had been made for her alone. She looked like she belonged in Charles’s world.

But inside… she felt like an imposter.

She took a deep breath, whispering under her breath, Just get through the night.

By the time guests began arriving, the mansion was alive with music and laughter. Cameras flashed, champagne flowed, and the air buzzed with polite conversation and whispered speculation. Charles moved through the crowd with practiced ease, shaking hands, exchanging smiles.

When he finally took Ella’s hand to lead her to the center of the room, every eye turned toward them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Charles’s voice carried easily over the murmurs, “thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate a union that means more to me than you can imagine.”

Ella smiled, because that’s what she was supposed to do. But in the pit of her stomach, the unease only grew. Somewhere upstairs, her mother lay between life and death, completely unaware of the spectacle unfolding in her daughter’s name.

And Ella knew — sooner or later — the truth would come crashing down.