Betrayed By Blood, Bound By Love

Chapter 3

The vastness of the home that towered over Daphne was reflected in the gentle golden light that the magnificent chandelier above cast on the polished marble floors. She felt both intimidated and undeserving of the artificial opulence that pervaded the air. She was at the entrance of a strange, icy, and unrelated world to the life she had experienced. When Elliot Radcliffe consented to save her mother's life, albeit at a cost, he had unlocked the entrance to this world.

He gave her a quick, icy look as soon as she entered, and then ushered her into the living room, where the vast collection of artwork and elegant furnishings only served to highlight her awkwardness. Elliot wasn't the kind of man who indulged in small talk. His sculpted, unalterable jawline exuded a sense of dominance that made her stomach turn.

He nodded stiffly and motioned for her to take a seat.

"Please," he began in a courteous but aloof manner, as if he were reciting a script he had practised over the years. "We're not here to engage in idle chatter."

After a brief moment of hesitation, she sank into the soft armchair, feeling as though the plush fabric might envelop her. Uncertain of the proper stance to adopt in the face of the menacing apparition in front of her, she crossed her legs.

"What are you interested in knowing?" Finally breaking the silence, Elliot asked, although his tone was one of command rather than invitation.

Daphne started to offer a question, but she stopped herself. She was shell-shocked from the past 24 hours, a tornado of feelings and disarray. "I... I'm not sure where to begin."

His lips twisted into a little smirk, but it stayed out of his gaze. His eyes were like a magnifying glass, highlighting all of her imperfections and insecurities. “Start with the obvious. Your mother is the reason you are here.”

Too tired to fight, too exhausted to feel anything but the enormous pressure of her situation, she nodded, her throat tightening.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "I don't want to be here." Her statement's unvarnished honesty lingered in the air, and for a split second, she believed she caught a glimpse of something in his face. She wondered whether she had just shown him a hint of her weakness, but it was gone too fast to interpret. She hastily averted her gaze in an attempt to gather herself.

At first, he didn't answer. He leaned forward a little, his piercing blue eyes examining her as he took a quiet, deliberate breath and folded his hands in his lap. His quietness pressed down on her chest like an unseen weight.

Finally, in a low, tense voice, he stated, "Neither do I." It wasn't compassion. It was a straightforward assertion of fact rather than comprehension.

Daphne blinked, startled. She wasn't prepared for him to come clean about it. She leaned forward slightly and narrowed her eyes as she asked, "So, why are you doing this?" "Why consent to assist?"

The way he shifted in his seat, but his demeanour stayed the same, gave her the impression that he was carrying more than just his pride. She was unable to identify it, but she was sure that beneath his commanding manner lay a man who, despite his wealth and prestige, was as imprisoned by his situation as she was.

He responded slowly, his eyes briefly darting to the roaring fire in the fireplace, "There's no charity here." "It isn't about assisting you. It’s about securing an arrangement."

The way he used the word "arrangement" annoyed Daphne. It seemed clinical and icy, as if it were just a business deal. However, she was not afforded the luxury of taking offence at his aloofness. This was what she needed.

Even though she already knew the answer, she asked, "And what does that 'arrangement' entail?" She had agreed to pay that price.

He clenched his jaw. "You'll marry me," he remarked plainly, as if discussing the weather were as informal as the words themselves. "The specifics have already been decided."

She blinked as the gravity of the situation hit her again. She was pulled under by the weight of his words, which struck her like a tidal wave. This man was unknown to her. This man was not someone she wanted to see. Yet here she was, compelled to enter into a contract based solely on necessity and not love.

Her voice trembled more than she would have liked as she asked, "And if I refuse?" Her heart ached at the idea of leaving, of losing her mother, of leaving this agreement.

He looked her in the eye. "Then your mom passes away."

Although his answer was straightforward, it had the force of a judgment. Daphne understood then that there was no way out. No shortcut.

Daphne sat there with her head whirling after what seemed like an eternity of silence. The man in front of her was giving her a lifeline, but at what price? He seemed so distant and frigid. The idea of her mother wasting away in a hospital bed robbed her of any illusions of choice, even though she wanted to leave and refuse him directly.

She needed to decide quickly.

Elliot shifted in his chair, tapping the armrest with his fingers. Although it was a minor gesture, it suggested something deeper: anxiety, impatience, and frustration. It was the first rift in his otherwise flawless exterior.

"There's more," he replied in a tone that was still cold but had a hint of something she couldn't quite identify. "I'm not a helpless person. This arrangement is what I'm giving because it meets our needs. Although I also dislike it, sometimes sacrifices must be made.

"Sacrifices," she said adamantly again. In her mouth, the word tasted like ash. "It can be put that way."

He said, his eyes hardening a little, "I don't like being forced into these situations." "And you probably don't, too." He gave her a stern look. "This wasn't my choice. However, here we are."

A pause.

Daphne shook her head and remarked, "You're asking me to marry you as a business deal." "Just an agreement, not a proposal. Elliot Radcliffe, tell me why I should believe you.

Even when Elliot's eyes hardened, she was surprised to see how raw they were. Something more human.

"You ought not to," he remarked. "You don't need to."

His voice was as cold as ice water dripping over her, and her heart thumped in her chest. She was more conscious than ever of her helplessness. However, something inside of her resisted giving up even as she sat there with her chin up and back straight.

She muttered, more to herself than to him, "You're right." "There is no reason for me to believe you."

The tension in the room increased like an electric charge as the words hung in the air between them. Elliot, however, did not recoil. He waited for her to continue talking while he sat there.

The quiet was intolerable. As each of their words grew longer than the one before, Daphne found herself keeping track of the seconds that passed between them. She could feel his intense, unblinking stare on her, but she wouldn't take her eyes off of him. She would not allow him to view her as a helpless pawn in his scheme if she were to marry him.

However, the more time she spent in this chilly, overly ideal chamber, the more she concluded that Elliot Radcliffe wasn't a monster. He was a man with his share of problems. He had constructed barriers to shield himself from a world that expected too much of him, and the fissures in his icy exterior were more than just fractures.

As she considered it, her heartbeat accelerated. For Elliot, this was also more than a marriage of convenience. He had something to conceal. Something significant. Deep in her stomach, she sensed it.

She made up her mind and stood up. At first, Elliot kept his eyes on the papers in front of him and didn't glance up. However, when Daphne moved, he looked up and met her stare.

With the words like acid on her tongue, she responded, "I'll agree to your arrangement." She would. She was forced to.

But something else, something more sinister than rage, something that muttered a warning, was racing through her heart. Was she entering into a relationship with a man who had secrets of his own and didn't need her?