MY HUSBAND'S BESTFRIEND

Chapter 2

JANE POV

I barely slept at all that night.

Except for the constant ringing of the monitors and the sporadic shuffle of the nurses outside, the medical center room was unusually quiet.

As I sat next to my mother's bed, I observed her slow, weak breaths rise and fall in her chest.

Her face was pale and her body looked weak under the thin hospital sheets.

As I squeezed her icy hand, tears pierced my eyes. I was necessary to her. The procedure was necessary for her.

And accepting my father's offer was the only option to obtain the funds. I was ill. I felt as though I was being choked by the weight of everything.

It felt like a death sentence to marry a man I had never met, a man my own step-sister had turned down. However, what option did I have?

"What should I do, Mom?" I thought. as I pushed her fingers against my forehead. She didn't respond.

She was unable to. I was the only thing that could save her. I had made up my mind by dawn. “Yes, I would. I'd wed Andrew Jackson.”

The initial drive felt even more burdensome than the one returning to my father's estate.

My skin felt damp, although the early air was crisp.

My gut twisted in knots as I gazed blankly at the metropolitan streets that passed by. My legs felt like lead as I stepped out of the taxi it stopped up in front of the imposing mansion.

I was going to sign my freedom away. I inhaled deeply before ascending the magnificent steps and passing through the gates.

The massive oak door flew open before I could even knock.

"Ah, you came back," exclaimed the haughty Clare to welcome me.

She leaned against the door, her arms reduced and a winning look on her face.

Disregarding her, I entered. With a tone full of laughter, she said, "Your father is waiting for you in his study."

"You ought to move quickly. He dislikes being kept waiting.

I refused to let her get to me, so I gritted my teeth and strode by her. Before me loomed the study doors.

After a moment of hesitation, I opened them. Mr. Robert sat behind his huge desk and looked at me.

"Jane," he uttered with ease.

"I assume you’ve made your decision."

I took a deep breath. "I’ll do it."

A smile curved his lips. "Good girl."

My gut turned with disgust.

He reached for the drawer, pulled out the document, and pushed it in my direction.

"This is the contract. I will pay for all of your mother's surgery-related medical bills in exchange for you marrying Andrew Jackson in Clare's place."

As I reached for the paper, my fingers shook. He thrust a pen into my hand before I could even read the details.

"Sign." I paused.

"Or walk away," he stated, his voice growing gloomier.

"And let your mother die." A harsh breath came out of my mouth. Unshed tears obscured my vision. I then signed my name with a trembling hand.

Mr. Robert withdrew the contract as soon as the ink was dry and put it back in his drawer.

He declared, "It’s done," in a contented tone.

"You will be Andrew Jackson’s wife by the end of the week."

A shiver went through my body. Now there was no going back. — The days that followed went so quickly.

Mr. Robert got right to work setting things up. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, I was briefed on what was expected of me and fitted for a costly wedding gown.

"You are going to be the perfect wife," my father's assistant told me as she showed me around the estate.

"Andrew Jackson is a very important figure. All you have to do is obey and stay out of trouble.

I hardly paid attention. One question dominated my mind: What sort of man was Andrew Jackson?

For what reason did Clare decline to wed him?

What little I knew about him described him as strong, cold, and merciless.

In the business world, a man was dreaded. And he was going to marry me shortly.

I caught a cold as I stood in front of the mirror, reflecting on my wedding dress.

This was hardly a romantic tale. This was a business deal. — I sat by myself in my tiny apartment and gazed out the window the night before the wedding.

My life will not be mine tomorrow. A knock on the door was heard.

I got up and opened it with a skip in my heart. The assistant to Mr.

Roberts was standing there with a tiny envelope in his hand. She handed it to me and remarked curtly, "This is from Mr. Robert," before turning to go.

I opened the envelope after staring at it. There was a note inside. "Consider this a gift before your wedding."

I took out a single piece of paper from the envelope, confused.

My stomach fell the instant my eyes scanned the words. It served as evidence that my mother's surgery had been paid for. As I read the receipt, my hands began to shake.

The procedure was planned for tomorrow morning, which also happened to be my wedding day.

My eyes were burning with tears. I had completed the task.

My mom would be spared. But at what price? With my heart racing, I held the paper close to my chest. I will be Jane Jackson tomorrow.

I was going to marry a man I had never met tomorrow.

And now it is impossible to avoid it.

"Do you, Jane Robertson, take Andrew Jackson to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

The priest's words seemed as far apart as underwater language, but they had a great influence on the Cathedral of Luxury.

My heart hit my chest and my hands were smooth with sweat under the thin tips of my gloves. I turned to my future husband, Andrew.

He stood upright next to me and was not impressed. His carved pine tree remained rigid, and his permeated blue eyes looked as if this moment hadn't played a role. That's because I didn't do that. It wasn't love. It had to do with the store.

A contract sealed not with pen, but with wedding vows. There was a long, oppressive hush.

The media, politicians, prominent visitors, and business magnates all weighed down on me like a hundred eyeballs. The world saw what they thought was a perfect union as cameras flashed.

The lump in my throat was swallowed.

I hardly raised my voice above a whisper.

"I do."

Andrew's face was unreadable when he remained silent.

He replied in a cold, icy voice: "I will do it." There was applause in the hall. The priest smiled friendlily. "You can kiss the bride now."

I tensed up. Andrew's expression was unreadable as he faced me. For a moment, I believed he would just ignore the custom. Instead, he leaned closer.

His lips were vibrant, cold, and barely touched.

It was only for a moment, but he put on his heels and went down the hallway without waiting for me.

I had a sharp pain in my chest. I was nothing to him, even on the day of our wedding.

A lavish but impersonal celebration was held.

A gentle violin melody was performed in the background in a golden chandelier that illuminated the giant hall.

Everyone in the room was wearing elegant and affordable clothes and the air was filled with roses and champagne scents when we roasted our "happiness". However, after I got married, I felt alienated.

Instead of rejoicing, Andrew stayed out of the way, talking business.

I sat alone at an elegant table, grinning at the guests who controlled me, but I honestly didn't feel any comments.

One woman insisted, "You must be thrilled," while grasping my hand with real concern.

I feigned a courteous grin.

"Of course." She went on to say, "Andrew is an incredible man,"

"Yes, cold, but strong. He achieves his goals. An uncontrollable chill went through my body.

I was aware of that beforehand. Just like clockwork, Andrew showed up next to me.

He placed his hands firmly on my waist and muttered "excuses" in a strict tone.

He led me past my guests, through the gorgeous doors, through empty corridors without saying anything else.

Confused, I turned to face him.

"What are you? "Listen carefully, Jane. His blue eyes were dark with something unreadable, and his voice was low.

"You are now my wife. However, this marriage should not be misunderstood.

I took a deep breath. "And what exactly is it?"

"A contract. Nothing more. Heat rose in my chest as I tightened my fists.

"A contract where I’m expected to be your wife in public but nothing for you in private?"

He clenched his jaw. "Exactly."

I laughed resentfully. "So why did you even get married to me?

How about we wait for Clare?

Something flared in his face, something unreadable, at the mention of her name. Flatly, "Clare made her choice," he remarked.

"And now, so have you." Though I knew it wouldn't matter to him, I wanted to protest and tell him that I had no other option and that my only purpose in being here was to save my mother.

Andrew Jackson was a self-centered individual who didn't care about anything else. But why, when I brought up Clare, did I notice that glimmer of something?

He leaned in a little before I could continue. In a cautionary manner, not an intimate one.

"I have one rule, Jane."

He spoke in a cold tone. "Do not betray me."