Mr. billionaire's chosen wife

Savannah The afternoon light was perfect and my brush was moving and my music was loud enough to drown out everything else and for a little while I was completely and perfectly free That is the thing about painting. It asks nothing of you except your attention and in return, it gives you a world that belongs entirely to you. No stepfathers. No stepsisters. No mother who looks through you like glass. Just color and light and the quiet hum of something you made yourself I was on the balcony like I always was on Sunday afternoons, canvas propped in front of me, headphones in, brush in hand. Three days of work and I was almost there. One more stroke, maybe two, and it would be done I did not hear Rosa until she tapped my shoulder I pulled one headphone free and turned and there she was, smiling at me the way she always did, warm and unhurried, like I was worth smiling at Rosa our housekeeper the woman who has treated me like a daughter more than my own mother has. The only warmth for me in the Sanders' mansion "My pretty Annah" she said, leaning in to look at the canvas with wide delighted eyes "what magnificent artwork are you working on now" "Almost finished" I said "three days and I am nearly at the last stroke" "Nearly" she repeated with a slow shake of her head "every time I come up here it is always nearly with you" "Perfection takes time Rosa" She laughed and folded her arms "Well, perfection can come downstairs. Lunch is ready" And just like that all the warmth went out of the afternoon I felt it leave my face. Rosa saw it too because her smile softened into something gentler and a little sad "Anna baby" she said quietly "you cannot dread sitting with your family forever" "I know" I said, setting my brush down slowly "but I can dread it for the time being" "Come and eat you silly goose" she said with a light laugh and taking one last glance at my artwork behind me she left the room She left me to it and I stood there on the balcony staring at my options I looked at the railing. Then I looked at the door. Then I looked at the railing, then at the door again, and I genuinely considered jumping. The fall from this height probably would not kill me but it would leave me with multiple broken bones then at least I would have an excuse not to sit through another lunch where no one acknowledged I existed I chose the stairs. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly I stopped in my en suite to freshen up and stood in front of the mirror longer than I needed to. Fair skin. Big Light brown eyes that gave nothing away when I trained them right. My eyes would have been my favorite feature about myself if I hadn’t shared them with my evil stepsister, Serena. Long blonde hair that I kept locked in a bun because Serena had a very particular gift for making me feel ridiculous about it when I left it down and I had stopped giving her the material I looked like my father. I had been told this my whole life and I believed it because the alternative was believing I belonged to this house and this family and that was something I had never been able to make myself do I pushed the thought of him away and went downstairs The Sanders mansion was beautiful. I will give it that. High ceilings and marble floors and light that poured through tall windows and landed on expensive things. Walking down that staircase you could almost believe you were in a home Almost. Too bad it was filled with monsters By monsters, I mean my family They were already at the table when I walked in. Peter at the head of it the way he always was, settled into his chair like a king who had earned his throne. My mother beside him, beautiful with brown eyes shining, brown eyes that Serena and Serena inherited from her. And Serena, draped across her seat like she was posing for something, who looked up when I came in and gave me the slow deliberate once-over she had perfected over years of practice. I wondered what I had ever done to make her dislike me the way she does. No one said hello. No one pulled out a chair. I sat down and folded my hands in my lap and waited for it to be over Lunch was what it always was. A performance starring Serena with a captive audience of two and one uninvited guest they had forgotten to remove from the seating chart. Serena couldn’t stop talking about herself per usual, the Italy campaign. The photographer. The spring brand deal. My mother's eyes lit up at every word of it and Peter nodded along proudly and satisfied and I sat there eating quietly like furniture that had learned to use cutlery It was going terribly per usual Then Peter's phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen. I watched his face because I had learned a long time ago to watch this man's face very carefully and what I saw made the food turn cold in my stomach The color left him. All at once, like something had reached in and pulled it out He stood abruptly "excuse me" and walked out without another word Serena turned to my mother immediately "Mom what was that about" My mother was already folding her napkin "I am going to find out" and then her heels were clicking sharp and quick down the hallway and Serena left the table next without sparing me as much as a glance and found myself sitting alone at a table set for four I excused myself to no one and went back upstairs to my painting It was waiting for me exactly where I left it, patient and unfinished, and I stood in front of it and let myself breathe again. I picked up my brush. Found my place. The light was still good. I could still finish today if I focused. One more stroke I was right there. The very last stroke And then my door flew open with a bang Not knocked. Not eased. Pushed wide open like the concept of privacy was something that does not exist in this house as I spun around startled my brush dragged clean across three days of work and I sat there staring at the long ugly line cutting through everything I had been building with legit tears in my eyes I cannot catch a single break in this house. Not one “ Savanah Octavia Knight” My mother stood in the doorway looking past me the way she always did “Yes mother” I replied apprehensively cause the use of my full government name wasn’t something I was used to “Your father wants to see you in his office” she said robotically and left He was not my father. We both knew that I set my brush down and followed her downstairs Peter was at his desk when I came in. He did not look up immediately. He let me stand there for a moment the way he always did, just long enough to remind me of the distance between us, then he leaned back in his chair and looked at me like I was a problem he was finally getting around to solving "Do you know how lucky you are" he began I said nothing "Your mother found me" he said "and I took you in. Fed you. Clothed you. Put you through school. Gave you a roof and a name and a life that your precious father could never have given you" I kept my voice very even "I am grateful for everything you have done for me" "Good" he said "then you will understand that it is time for you to repay that gratitude" Something cold moved through me, what does he mean by that “I’ve found myself in a very tight situation and you are going to help me out of it” “What can I do to help” I asked with curiosity “You’re going to marry Santana de Luca” he said it so casually You say what now?