The Groom Who Ruined Me

Chapter 2

Walking down the aisle had been a blur, but the ride to the Sinclair estate felt like a slow descent into a frozen purgatory.

Clara sat as far away from Alec as the luxury limousine allowed, her face pressed against the cold glass of the window. The city lights quickly vanished, replaced by the towering iron gates of the exclusive hills. The limo wound up a private driveway lined with dark, imposing pine trees until a massive, modern fortress of glass and black steel came into view.

It was Alec’s private estate. Beautiful, expensive, and completely isolated from the rest of the world.

The vehicle smoothed to a stop. The chauffeur immediately opened the door. Alec stepped out first without casting a single glance backward to help Clara with the heavy, heavy train of her wedding dress. She struggled out of the car alone, the delicate lace tearing slightly on the door frame as she hurried to keep up with his long, unyielding strides.

The grand front doors opened into a stark, minimalist foyer of white marble and black steel. It felt more like a museum than a home. Cold. Empty. Dead.

"Where are my things?" Clara asked, her voice echoing in the vast space. She rubbed her bare arms, shivering from the draft.

Alec stopped by a sleek marble table, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and tossing it onto a chair. He turned to face her, his stormy gray eyes tracking the movement of her breath.

"Your clothes from your old life were thrown away this afternoon. You don't need them anymore. You will wear exactly what I provide."

Clara gasped, taking a step forward. "You had no right to do that! Those were my personal belongings! My sketchbooks, my memories"

"You have no personal belongings, Clara," Alec interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, flat register. He walked up to her, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. Before she could flinch, his large hand reached out and unclasped the diamond necklace around her neck. He pulled it away with one swift, smooth motion, his knuckles brushing against her collarbone like ice.

"Everything you wear, everything you eat, and the very air you breathe in this house belongs to me," he said coldly, weighing the diamonds in his palm before tossing them carelessly onto the table. "You are here to pay a debt, not to be comfortable. Go to the guest room at the very end of the eastern wing. Strip off that dress, and don't let me see your face until tomorrow morning."

"The guest room?" Clara repeated, a small, involuntary ray of relief breaking through her terror. "We aren't... sharing a master bedroom?"

Alec let out a sharp, mocking laugh that cut her deeper than any insult could. He stepped closer, pinning her against the wall with his gaze alone.

"Did you flatter yourself into thinking I married you for your body, Clara? I married you to watch you wither away in loneliness, just like my family did because of yours. I won't touch you. Touching you would mean I care. And to me, you are just a ghost paying a fifty-million-dollar invoice."

He turned his back on her, walking toward his private study without another word. The heavy oak doors shut behind him with a definitive, deafening click.

Clara stood entirely alone in the massive, echoing hall. She clutched her bare arms around herself, staring down the dark, seemingly endless hallway of the eastern wing. She was officially a prisoner in a golden cage. But as she took a deep, shaky breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her tears back down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of breaking her spirit on night one.

He won't touch me, she thought, a cold, sharp realization settling into her chest. Good. That means he won't see me searching this house for the truth. That means he won't see me plan his downfall.

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The next morning, the sun had barely risen over the cliffs when a sharp, aggressive knock rattled Clara's door.

She snapped awake, sitting upright in the unfamiliar bed. The guest room was large but completely barren, containing nothing but a bed and a wardrobe. She had spent the night sleeping in a plain white silk robe she found in the closet.The door swung open before she could even answer. A stern-looking woman in a gray housekeeper's uniform stood there, holding a box.

"Mr. Sinclair expects you downstairs in ten minutes," the woman said without an ounce of warmth. "Put this on. The driver is already waiting."

The woman dropped the box on the bed and left. Clara opened it to find a simple, tailored black corporate dress. No jewelry. No accessories. It looked like a uniform.

Exactly ten minutes later, Clara walked down the grand staircase. Alec was standing by the front doors, typing furiously on his phone. He looked immaculate, wearing a fresh charcoal suit. As she approached, his gray eyes swept down her black dress, a look of grim satisfaction passing over his features.

"Where are we going?" Clara asked, keeping her voice as steady as possible. "I thought I was to stay locked in the eastern wing."

"Plans change," Alec said, pocketing his phone and opening the front door. "I'm not leaving you alone in my house to plot whatever desperate scheme your family cooked up. From today on, you work for me."

Clara blinked in shock, rushing down the steps to follow him out to the waiting car. "Work for you? Doing what? I am an artist, Alec, I don't know anything about Sinclair Enterprises!"

Alec stopped just before entering the back seat of the limousine. He looked back at her, a dark, brilliant smirk playing on his lips.

"You'll be my personal assistant, Clara. You will sit in my office, carry my files, and fetch my coffee. I want you where I can see you every second of the day. And more importantly, I want the entire business world to see the proud Clara Hastings serving the man who ruined her family."

He slid into the car, leaving the door open for her. "Get in, wife. Your shift starts now."