PHOENIX BOUND

I sighed, my body trembling from exhaustion after crying for what felt like an eternity. The sight of my blotchy, tear-streaked face in the mirror triggered another wave of tears. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so upset; maybe it was the knowledge that the choice I was about to make was a monumental mistake. Regret and pain twisted violently inside me as my mind replayed countless scenarios where I could’ve fixed things, could’ve avoided marrying a man who didn’t even know my name.

"I've read the paperwork. It's legit," Mike Rond, my dad's lawyer, said as he dropped the document, the one that would dictate my entire future, onto the table with a thud that echoed in the silence.

I turned to him, my voice barely a whisper. "There's still no word from my dad's wife? No help at all?" I hated how desperate I sounded, but hope can be a cruel thing, always teasing you with possibilities.

Mike sighed heavily, his expression a mixture of pity and resignation that only made my stomach knot tighter. "Stop waiting on them. They're not coming through. Sign this, and I promise everything will settle. He might even turn out to be a decent guy." He attempted a reassuring pat on my back, the closest thing to comfort I had now that my father was gone.

For the first time, my gaze dropped to the documents sprawled before me. My stomach twisted. "This says I'll be married to him for five years," I blurted out, feeling the disbelief crash over me. I whipped my head toward Mike, searching his face for an explanation. His jaw tightened, signaling he knew the news was as tough for me as it had been for him to deliver.

"I know," he said softly, the weight of the situation settling heavily between us.

"I thought this was supposed to be a short arrangement, maybe a year!" My voice cracked as I threw my hands up in frustration, fresh tears threatening to spill again. "Five years? Mike, that's my entire youth!"

"I'm so sorry, kid. But this is what they settled for. Your father's debts; the loans alone are two million dollars. That's a lot of money, Emerald," Mike said, sinking heavily onto the bed, as if the reality of it was weighing him down too. I rolled my eyes, feeling a tight knot form in my chest. "This is my life we're talking about, Mike. Five years of my life," I said, my voice strained as I raised it, frustration bubbling over. I felt unheard, abandoned again.

A sharp knock startled me, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I turned toward the door, just as it creaked open. An older man, perhaps in his mid-forties, stepped inside. He had kind eyes and a beard flecked with gray, and when he smiled at me, it was soft and almost apologetic, tugging at something buried deep inside me. I managed a weak smile back, though confusion flickered within me.

"I don't mean to be rude, but... I wasn't told to expect anyone," I said quietly, my voice still weighed down by sadness.

"I'm here to walk you down the aisle, ma'am," he said simply, his tone steady but filled with an empathy that made my heart ache.

The words hit me harder than I expected. Of course, no one else would be here. I'd just buried my father last week, and now... There was no one left. No one to stand by me on what felt less like a wedding and more like a sentencing. I stared at him, unsure what to say, the silence stretching awkwardly between us. I had never done anything like this before; every step felt foreign.

"My name is Mike, ma'am," he added gently, as if trying to ease the weight of the situation. I blinked, momentarily thrown. Why was he introducing himself? He probably knew we’d never see each other again after today. Still, it felt wrong to leave him hanging. "My name is Emerald," I murmured, offering him a small, polite smile.

As I stepped toward him, he moved to the door and held it open for me, extending his arm. I hesitated, then reached for it, clinging tighter than I intended, as if he were my last solid ground in this storm of emotions.

"Wait, we forgot something," he said softly. He adjusted his arm and reached for my veil, carefully pulling it down over my face. "There we go," he murmured, pausing to look at me, wanting to ensure I was okay; perhaps hoping to give me this one small moment of dignity.

I swallowed hard and nodded, trying to steady myself as we stepped into the hallway.

I gripped his arm like a lifeline as we made our way toward the altar. My hands trembled with each step. The thought of the man waiting for me at the front made my stomach churn. I’d seen him just once before, and I was certain he didn’t like me. I didn’t understand it; this marriage was supposed to be a simple, mutually beneficial contract; it wasn’t meant to mean anything.

But the fine print in the contract said otherwise. We would be living together, under the same roof. That knowledge felt like a heavy stone lodged in my chest. I could only hope he remembered that much and didn’t make this harder than it already was.

As we approached the towering church doors, an uneasy feeling settled in my gut. I had arrived earlier to dress in one of the back rooms because, as someone who had spent last night in a dingy motel, there was no way I could put on a wedding dress there, surrounded by filth and misery.

I froze mid-step when the silence washed over me. No music. No voices. Nothing. Was this wedding really just for the two of us? Had he not invited anyone? Mike gently nudged me forward, and when I turned to him, his eyes were wide with thinly veiled pain, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and was terrified I'd bolt before the ceremony started.

We stepped inside, and my gut twisted with realization; I was right. Only a scattering of guests occupied the pews, and when I looked toward the altar, it stood empty. My stomach dropped. You'd think that even for a fake marriage, he’d at least have the decency to show up on time.

Mike kept his gaze forward, not daring to meet my eyes as we walked down the aisle.

I stood there, rooted in front of the priest, swallowing down the tears that burned at the back of my throat. Every awkward, silent second increased the pressure in my chest. I didn’t want to cry, not here, not like this, but it was slipping out of my control. How could he humiliate me like this? How could he make me wait, as if I were just an afterthought?

Suddenly, the heavy church doors burst open. I jerked in surprise, barely regaining my composure before turning to look. And there he was, the groom. My heart stuttered as I quickly wiped away the tears streaking my face beneath the veil.

Our eyes met. His gaze was cool and detached, as if I were no more than a stranger on the street. He glanced away almost immediately, dismissing me without a second thought, leaving his expression unreadable.

"Make this quick," he muttered, striding forward with one hand buried in his pocket and the other flicking impatiently at his watch.

Even through the soft blur of the veil, I noticed the hard line of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows. I turned back toward the priest, blinking back tears as I prepared to marry a man who didn’t even glance at me with a shred of warmth.

We exchanged our vows, cold, mechanical words. Signed the marriage documents like business partners concluding a deal. Then he grabbed my arm, firm but not painfully so, tugging me toward the exit. Outside, his hand tightened around mine every time I fell a step behind; a grip soft enough not to bruise, yet firm enough to remind me that I was his possession now. A sleek black limo slid to a stop in front of the church.

He opened the door with practiced ease, and for one fleeting moment, just one, my heart fluttered at the unexpected courtesy.

But then he spoke. "We have an event to attend. That's where you'll smile the most. We'll play the perfect couple. I don't want you to mess this up. Do you understand me?" His words sliced through the air, laced with venom, leaving me momentarily stunned.

I blinked at him, surprised, my throat thick with unspoken words. There was so much I wanted to scream at him, but the wall around him felt impenetrable. So instead, I simply nodded, looking away and swallowing back the tears. If my father were alive, none of this would be happening.

A soft weight landed on my lap, pulling me from my spiral of thoughts. I looked down, there it was, a pristine, designer white dress. My brows knit together in confusion as I glanced at him. Why now? Why couldn’t this wait until we reached wherever he planned to keep me?

"Change into that. We'll be at the dinner in ten minutes," he said without looking at me, his gaze fixed outside like the scenery held no interest for him.

I let out a humorless laugh, bitter and dry. "So I’m supposed to just strip out of my wedding dress and into this, here? With you watching?"

His lips twitched into something that didn’t quite resemble a smile. "It’s me or the driver. Though I doubt he’d be interested." His voice was low, husky, a warning wrapped in ice.

I turned away, folding my arms across my chest. "I can’t." My protest came out sharper than I intended. I slumped against the seat, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. I refused to let him see me break.

But then, without warning, his hand shot out, rough fingers grabbing my face and jerking it toward his. My breath hitched. His cold blue eyes locked onto mine, a tempest swirling behind them. His jaw clenched so tightly I thought he might snap.

"You will do what I tell you, when I tell you. I own you now, Emerald Peterson. Don’t you ever forget that." His grip tightened with each word, the pressure making my skin sting. "Now change into that dress before I throw you out of this car." A whimper slipped from my lips, small and helpless, caught in a trap that had closed around me before I even realized it was there.

"Throw me,"