Betrayed Into His Arms

3.

Marcus didn't even give Ophelia a chance to pull her trembling hand away.

The instant the pen left the paper, he snatched the contract from her fingers as though he feared she might change her mind. His eyes scanned every stroke of her signature before a slow grin spread across his face.

"There," he murmured, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "Finally."

For the briefest moment, his expression almost resembled that of a proud father and then it vanished.

The warmth drained from his features, replaced by the cold, calculating mask Ophelia had known for years. Whatever affection had flickered across his face had never been meant for her. It had been reserved for the signed document in his hands.

To Marcus Black, that contract was worth far more than his own daughter.

He carefully rolled the parchment and tied it with a silk ribbon before tucking it beneath his arm. "Get yourself together," he ordered without looking at her. "You're meeting Mr. Hawthorne today."

Ophelia slowly lowered the pen onto the desk, how does she tell her Dad that she just f****d a CEO overnight and signing some marriage papers the next morning.

Her fingers still trembled.

Meeting him groom?

The words echoed through her mind like a death sentence. She stared blankly at the floor while Marcus walked out of the study and the door clicked shut.

...

Outside the study, Veronica folded her arms elegantly.

"So?" she asked.

Marcus lifted the rolled contract with a smug smile. "She signed."

Veronica's lips curled upward. "I knew she would."

A sharp laugh escaped Helen. "I told you she wouldn't dare refuse."

Marcus adjusted his suit. "I'll take her to the Hawthorne estate now. Edmund wants everything finalized before tomorrow."

Without another word, he strode toward the front entrance.

The heavy front doors closed behind him. The engine of his luxury sedan roared to life before disappearing down the long driveway.

The moment the car vanished beyond the gates… Veronica and Helen looked at one another and then both burst into laughter.

Helen wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Poor Ophelia."

Veronica smirked. "She's finally useful."

Helen leaned against the marble pillar. "Imagine sacrificing your whole life just so mine can begin." Her laughter echoed through the foyer.

Veronica gently fixed a loose strand of her daughter's hair. "Everything we've done has been for your future, my girl."

Helen pouted. "It still isn't fair."

Veronica frowned. "What isn't?"

Helen crossed her arms. "Charles…my dream man." Her voice carried unmistakable disappointment. "He didn't even look at me during the charity gala."

Veronica blinked. "You mean to tell me you're still thinking about him?"

"I spent months preparing!" Helen snapped. "I wore the perfect dress. Every influential family was watching. He walked right past me as though I didn't exist."

Her frustration boiled over. "He didn't even spare me a glance."

Veronica studied her daughter for several seconds.

Then she sighed. "I thought you were joking."

Helen's brows knitted together. "Mother..."

Veronica stepped closer before lowering her voice. "You don't know how much planning went into last night."

Helen frowned. "What do you mean?"

Veronica looked around to ensure no servants lingered nearby. Only then did she whisper, "I put something in Charles Montgomery's drink."

Helen froze. "...You what?"

Veronica nodded.

"The opportunity was perfect."

Her expression hardened. "He rarely attends social events, and he certainly doesn't stay long. I knew we would never get another chance like that."

Helen stared at her mother in disbelief.

"I expected you to follow him once the medicine took effect."

"I tried!" Helen's voice cracked. "I lost him after he left the ballroom."

Veronica clenched her jaw. "You were supposed to be the woman who walked out of his suite this morning."

Helen's eyes slowly reddened.

"You mean..."

Veronica nodded once. "If everything had gone according to plan..."

"...I'd have become Mrs. Charles Montgomery." Helen covered her mouth, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "My biggest opportunity..."

Her shoulders shook violently. "...is gone."

Veronica wrapped an arm around her. "We don't know that."

"No!" Helen cried. "Somebody stole my place in hs bed."

Her voice echoed through the foyer. "It should've been me." Her tears became uncontrollable. "I would've had everything."

Veronica gently stroked her daughter's hair. "We'll find about that b***h who took your chnace." Her eyes darkened. "And when we do..." A dangerous smile appeared on her lips. "...she'll regret ever crossing us."

...

Meanwhile… The drive to the Hawthorne estate felt endless.

Ophelia sat quietly in the back seat, her hands clasped tightly together. Neither she nor Marcus spoke.

Outside the tinted window, towering iron gates slowly appeared. They stretched open with an ominous groan. Beyond them stood a mansion that looked less like a home and more like a fortress.

Manicured gardens that somehow felt lifeless. Every inch radiated wealth, every inch suffocated her.

The car rolled to a stop beneath an enormous portico.

Marcus stepped out first. "Come."

Ophelia obeyed.

The butler led them through lavish hallways decorated with priceless paintings and glittering chandeliers.

The entire house carried an icy stillness that settled deep inside her bones.

Then a loud crash shattered the silence.

A porcelain teacup exploded across the marble floor.

"You useless fool!" The furious roar made Ophelia jump. She instinctively turned toward the sound.

An elderly man sat in an enormous armchair. Despite his expensive tailored suit, age had hollowed his face.

His silver hair was neatly combed back, sharp eyes glittered beneath heavy brows. He leaned on an ornate cane. One trembling maid knelt before him, shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm... I'm sorry, sir..."

"You spilled my tea."

"I-I'll clean it..."

"You've already ruined my morning."

Without another word, he struck the marble floor beside her cane with enough force to make her flinch violently.

Marcus immediately hurried forward.

To Ophelia's horror… Her father dropped to both knees. "Mr. Hawthorne."

His forehead nearly touched the floor. "Please forgive yesterday's misunderstanding."

Ophelia stared. Her father… The proud man who demanded absolute obedience at home...was bowing like a servant.

Edmund Hawthorne barely acknowledged him.

"So."

His cold gaze landed on Ophelia. "This is the girl."

Every instinct in her screamed to leave, instead, she lowered her eyes.

"Lift your chin."

She obeyed.

Edmund studied her for several long moments before giving a satisfied hum. "You'll do." Those two words wrapped around her like chains.

Marcus immediately smiled. "I'm honored you approve."

Edmund waved a dismissive hand. "The wedding will be tomorrow."

"So soon?" Marcus asked, though his grin never faded.

"I dislike waiting."

"Of course." Marcus nodded eagerly. "Tomorrow it is."

Not a single time did either man ask Ophelia what she wanted.She stood silently between them, feeling less like a daughter and more like another item being negotiated.

As preparations began, a passing servant accidentally brushed against her.

Red wine splashed across the front of her dress.

The young servant gasped. "I'm so sorry, Miss…"

Another maid hurried over.

"This way."

She lowered her voice.

"We'll help you clean up."