OUR SECRET CONTRACT

Chapter two: AGREEMENT

*NADIA’s POV*

Some beggars hovered around picking the money scattered all over the pavement.

*notification*

From S💗: say something N

From me: sorry I was trying not to die. Some assh#le almost ran me over with his car.

From S💗: omg call me when you get home.

The yellow cabs lined up across the street. Just a wave of my hand and a driver parked in front of me and put my bags in the trunk. My destination was straight to my fathers house. The only property he has left, I thought to myself.

The empty posts and cold breeze welcomed me. My footsteps echoing in the house that never felt like home.

“Nadia?” My father called out.

Rolling my eyes I responded.

He had a smile on his face as though he forced it on to welcome me.

“Please cut the act, I know you’re not pleased. Where is grandpa?” I asked.

He chuckled a little bit. Shaking his head from left to right.

Then he spoke again.

“Your grandfather is perfectly fine. He’s not the reason you’re here.”

Confusion spun all over my face.

His eyes widened a bit like he noticed my confusion. Then suddenly his reaction shifted, he couldn’t care less.

He spoke again.

“Look, Nadia, I know we’ve had our differences but we’re still a family whether you like it or not.”

I kept quiet to let him speak. Wondering where he was driving at.

“You are to get married to Jeremiah Thompson in 3 months. His parents and I have arranged it.” He said.

“Over my dead body!” My voice erupted.

My confusion quickly turned into anger. I dragged my suitcase wanting to leave.

“You have a responsibility to this family. And you must fulfill it.”

His words irritated me.

Responsibility.

What does he know about responsibilities

I scuffed and continued to roll my box.

“You know she would’ve wanted this”

I paused mid step. This time my anger engulfed me.

“No no no no. You don’t get to say what she would’ve wanted.” I continued, “Not after abandoning her!”

My eyes turn red. Holding tears from slipping down.

My whole body burned with rage.

“You know deep down I’m right..your moth-“

“YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED” I yelled at the top of my voice cutting him off.

The tears I desperately tried to hold slipped down my face.

The empty halls filled with my voice.

I saw my father almost frightened. The last time I saw an emotion on him was ages ago. Before mom died.

He became cold after her passing. So seeing a look of fright on him came as a shock to me.

I stormed off to the Mausoleum behind the house, where mom was layed to rest.

The only place that could calm the anger inside of me.

Warm tears rushed down my cheeks, every step I took.

The gates of the mausoleum were open, grandpa already inside. He looked at me as if he was waiting for me.

Dorota, his caretaker, stood beside him.

I rushed towards him and dropped at his feet. The force from my movement caused his wheelchair to shift a little.

I buried my face into his laps as he brushed my hair with his palms. Comforting me.

For the first time in a long time, I felt real genuine love.

Not long after I got there Dorota left, giving us space.

I stayed away from home for a very long time, hiding from my reality. Pushing the pain and grief in my soul away. Thinking if I didn’t confront it, it would disappear.

Grandpa kissed my head softly before he spoke.

“My princess, what’s troubling you?”

I wiped the tears running down my face and held the rest from dropping while still staying silent.

“Is it the marriage arrangement?” He continued.

I raised my head up, surprised and confused yet again. How could the sweet caring grandfather I knew be in on whatever selfish plans my father has.

“Nadia” he said, soft and gentle. Almost as if he knew he had disappointed me.

“Your family needs you now, more than ever” grandpa continued.

He tried to place his hand on my head again but I retracted.

In that moment, Dorota returned just in time to take grandpa for his medicine. Saving us from the awkwardness that was about to spun.

“Think about the marriage Nadia” he said while Dorota pushed his wheelchair away from the mausoleum.

Sitting on the cold floor I could think to myself. It seemed like everyone is waiting for me to explode. Throwing an arranged marriage at me but no body wants to tell me why I should agree.

After a while, the cold from the floor began to creep into my bones, forcing me to stand. The silence inside the mausoleum felt heavier than before, as if the walls themselves were pressing in on me. I brushed the dust from my dress and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Maybe I had been too harsh. Maybe I should at least listen.

The walk back to the house felt longer than usual. Every step dragged with hesitation, but turning back no longer seemed like an option. If everyone expected an answer from me, then perhaps I needed to hear the whole story first.

Father was seated in the sitting room when I arrived, his glasses resting low on his nose and a newspaper spread across his lap. He looked up as I entered, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into something softer.

“Nadia,” he said quietly.

I stood near the doorway for a moment, unsure how to begin. The words felt stuck in my throat, tangled with pride and regret.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

He folded the newspaper slowly and set it aside, as though giving the moment the attention it deserved.

“Come and sit,” he said gently.

I obeyed, lowering myself into the chair across from him. For a moment neither of us spoke. The ticking clock on the wall filled the silence.

“I only want what is best for you,” he began. “You may not understand now, but everything I do is for your future.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted. “Everyone keeps talking about this marriage, but no one tells me why. It’s like my life is being planned without me.”

Father sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“This is not just about marriage, Nadia,” he said.

“There are things you need to know. Things your mother wanted you to know when the time was right.”

My heart tightened at the mention of her.

Suddenly the word responsibility has a weight on me.

“What things?” I asked softly.

He studied my face for a moment, as if deciding whether I was ready.

“This marriage… it was promised long ago,” he said. “Long before you were old enough to remember.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

“Promised?” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said. “And there is a reason we cannot simply refuse.”

I swallowed hard, realizing that whatever I was about to hear might change everything.

“Tell me,” I said. “I want to know.”

Father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as though the weight of the story pressed heavily on him.

“Before your mother died,” he began slowly, “our family was in serious trouble. Worse than you could imagine. The business had collapsed, debts were piling up, and we were close to losing the house… everything your grandfather built.”

I stared at him, stunned. No one had ever spoken about hardship before mom passed. To me, our lives had always seemed steady, untouched.

“It was the Thompson family who helped us,” he continued. “They paid what we owed and kept our name from being dragged through the courts. Your grandfather gave his word that one day our families would be joined.”

My stomach tightened.

“And that joining is me?” I asked quietly.

He nodded once.

“Yes.”

The word hung between us like a sentence passed in a courtroom.

“You promised me before I was even old enough to speak for myself?” My voice trembled despite my effort to keep it steady.

“It was not just a promise,” he said. “It was survival.”

Silence stretched between us again, thicker than before.

“And Mom agreed to this?” I asked.

At that, Father’s expression shifted — something like regret passing over his face.

“Your mother…” he paused. “Your mother believed that by the time you were grown, things might be different. She hoped we would repay the debt another way.”

Hope. The word stung.

“But we didn’t,” I said.

“No.”

I looked down at my hands.

“So now I have to pay for it.”

“You are not being sold, Nadia,” he said quickly. “The man is respectable. Educated. His family is powerful. You will live comfortably.”

Comfortably.

As if comfort could replace choice.

“What is his name?” I asked.

“Jeremiah.”

The name sounded unfamiliar and heavy on my tongue.

“Have you even met him?”

“Once. When you were younger. You wouldn’t remember.”

I shook my head slowly.

“You expect me to marry a stranger because of a debt that isn’t mine?”

His voice softened.

“I expect you to at least meet him.”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, my eyes drifted to the framed photograph on the side table — my mother smiling, caught in a moment that now felt impossibly distant.

“Mom wouldn’t force me,” I said quietly.

Father’s shoulders sank slightly.

“No,” he admitted. “She would have tried to convince you.”

That difference meant more than he realized.

I stood up slowly.

Suddenly the word responsibility has a weight on me.

“I’ll do it.”

“When do I meet him?”

Father looked up, surprise flickering across his face again.

“Tomorrow morning.”

So soon.

As I turned to leave, he spoke again.

“Nadia.”

I paused but didn’t look back.

“You did the right thing coming to talk to me.”

For a moment, I almost believed him.