Deceptive Vows

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

VICTORIA'S POV

As I immersed myself in research, my mind was a whirlwind of information, my laptop screen flickering with details about my impending marriage. Meanwhile, my mother busied herself in the kitchen, preparing an array of dishes and desserts for the occasion.

To my astonishment, I discovered that my fiancé was none other than the great-grandson of Alexander Steelhart, the founding president of IronForge Energy Dynamics. This massive conglomerate, known for its dominance in technology and oil, represented a multi-billion-dollar industry. The current president, my future husband, was Quentin Steelhart.

How on earth did Father manage to convince him to agree to this union?

I was resolute in my refusal to marry. Having sworn off relationships, I felt that proceeding with this marriage would be a betrayal of my own commitment. However, calling off the engagement wasn’t an option; doing so would disappoint my parents, and I couldn’t bear the thought of letting them down.

“Victoria,” my mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

I looked up to meet her gaze. “You don’t look happy, dear. I’m sorry if you feel pressured into this,” she said gently.

Her words rang true. I wasn’t thrilled about meeting my future husband, but I was determined not to disappoint her.

“Mom, I understand,” I said, striving to sound as genuine as possible. “And I am happy. I mean, who wouldn’t be thrilled to be engaged to the nation’s most eligible bachelor?” I forced a smile, though my tone dripped with sarcasm.

My mother, ever the optimist, giggled at my remark. She had an uncanny ability to find the silver lining in any situation, even in the face of my biting sarcasm. “Don’t worry, if you’re not happy with the engagement, you can always call it off,” she said, her smile warm and reassuring.

I blinked, taken aback. Was she genuinely offering me an out? “Really?” I asked, my voice a mix of disbelief and a glimmer of hope.

“Of course not. Now stop being so moody. Your husband-to-be will be arriving soon.”

I winced at the term “husband-to-be.” There was no way I would come to like him, let alone marry him.

As if on cue, my father’s voice resonated from the front entrance. “Oh, you’ve arrived just on time.”

“What a lovely home you have here, Mr. Prescott,” a deep, rich voice responded, filled with elegance and grace.

“Oh, please, call me Marcus. Follow me; my daughter is eager to see you,” my father said, his tone upbeat.

I couldn’t help but growl under my breath at his words. “Victoria, meet your guest,” my father said, ushering me forward.

As soon as I laid eyes on him, I was immediately captivated. He possessed everything a woman could desire in a man—tall stature, ocean-blue eyes, and impeccably styled black hair. Compared to my ex, who seemed like an unrefined swine by contrast, he was undeniably gorgeous. His online photos had not done justice to his striking appearance.

A smile, genuine and warm, spread across my lips as I extended my hand. “I’m Victoria. Nice to meet you.”

He took my hand and kissed it gently, causing me to blush. “Nice to meet you, Victoria. I’m Quentin.”

His response seemed somewhat mechanical, lacking any real emotion.

“Your father has told me so much about you,” I remarked, hoping to impress him with my knowledge of his family. “I’ve heard about Alexander Steelhart.”

His frown deepened at my mention of his great-grandfather. I felt a tap under the table from my mother’s side and saw her frown deeply.

“What did I do wrong?” I wondered silently.

“I’m sorry, Quentin. Surely, she didn’t mean that—” my father began, but Quentin’s sharp interruption cut him off.

“That’s not my father; that’s my great-grandfather, and he’s deceased,” Quentin said coldly, and I finally understood why my mother’s expression had soured.

“Oh, I… I’m so sorry,” I apologized, my tone soft and sincere as I gently held his hand. I was surprised he didn’t pull away.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” he said in a tone that seemed devoid of warmth, and I felt a pang of regret. I didn’t want to upset him further.

“Excuse my daughter, Mr. Steelhart. She can be quite thoughtless at times,” my father interjected.

“Dad!” I exclaimed, shooting him a glare. His words stung, but I had to maintain my composure. “I apologize once more, Quentin. It was an unintentional mistake.”

Quentin’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at me. “It’s alright, Victoria. Let’s move past it.”

I nodded, feeling a wave of relief. “Thank you.”

“It’s been a while since I saw your father. How is he doing?” my father asked Quentin. I noticed the sadness in Quentin’s eyes as he frowned.

Uh-oh, don’t tell me.

“My father is currently undergoing treatment and may not survive,” Quentin’s voice was subdued, and my father lowered his head in sympathy.

“My deepest condolences,” I offered to Quentin.

The room fell into a heavy silence. Though there were no tears, the atmosphere was thick with grief. I realized that my hand was still resting on Quentin’s, and despite his apparent coldness, he hadn’t pulled away.

“Who wants some chocolate cake?” my mother’s bright voice cut through the somber mood as she began slicing a large cake.

She served each of us, and I took a small bite, but Quentin showed no interest in the dessert.

“You don’t like chocolate?” I asked him.

“I don’t have an appetite,” he replied dismissively.

“Oh, I can get you a piece of the chicken—” my mother began to offer, but Quentin interrupted her sharply.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said curtly, turning to my father, who looked like he might choke on his cake.

“So, um… Victoria, the wedding will be in five months,” my father announced, causing my eyes to widen in shock.

“Isn’t that a bit short notice?” I asked, but Quentin quickly answered.

“I can work with that. Five months it is,” he said, his tone suggesting a lack of enthusiasm and a desire to move on.

I bit my lower lip, contemplating how little time we had to get to know each other. Especially given Quentin’s introverted nature, it seemed like a challenge.

For all I knew, I could be marrying a sociopath.

The engagement was shrouded in mysteries. I still couldn’t fathom why Quentin had agreed to this marriage. What kind of arrangement had my parents made, and what leverage did Father use to secure this union?

Before long, I had finished my cake, while Quentin had barely touched his. He merely glanced at me briefly before pulling out his phone.

Great, how was I supposed to get to know him if he remained so disinterested? And One thing was clear: Quentin was far from the man I’d envisioned marrying, yet…