Wedding prep

After I signed the contract, my head was still boiling, wondering if I had just made the best decision of my life or the worst. I knew it had to be one of the two, and I could only hope it was the positive one.

A knock came on my door. When I opened it, it was the same maid who had delivered the stack of files to me earlier. She said she'd been sent to collect the file and check if I'd signed it. I nodded and handed it over to her. She hesitated, studying me for a moment.

"Are you okay? Are you good, Evelyn?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.

I forced a smile. "Yes, I'm good. No problem."

"Why are you signing this? Is there something wrong?" she pressed.

I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gave it a light rub. "I'm fine, I promise. It's just… something."

She seemed to understand more than I was willing to admit because, without another word, she pulled me into a hug. "It's all going to be fine," she said quietly.

That was what I needed. I had no idea how much I needed that hug until I felt my chest tighten, and then tears began streaming down my face. I broke down sobbing, and she held me, her tears joining mine. For a few moments, we just cried together.

When I finally pulled back, she broke into a soft smile and teased, "At least you're going to marry a rich man."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then we both burst out laughing. It was ridiculous, but it made everything feel just a little lighter.

After she left, I returned to my room, her words echoing in my mind. At least you get to marry a rich man. At least you get to marry a rich man. It became a mantra, a way to convince myself this wasn't the worst decision I'd ever made.

I won't have to live daily off my family's tongue anymore. But then I began to wonder—if Mr. Volkov isn't engaged, can he live up to the dream of the husband I've always imagined? I'd never dreamed of marrying a crippled man, but I had dreamed of a wealthy one. A win is still a win, I suppose.

Considering how rich Mr. Volkov is—rich enough that even my father is practically begging for his validation—I figured I'd made a partly right decision. This marriage would only last a year, and in that time, I'd secure a future where my generation would never have to suffer again.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by Mrs. Morgan's angry face.

"Your room stinks just like your life," she spat, her words sharp and biting.

It hit me hard, but I didn't flinch. I had grown used to her salty insults, to the point that they barely fazed me anymore.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Morgan," I said, my voice cold even though I was wondering why she was not out there looking or going crazy over her daughter's disappearance. Well, when it comes to Dad's manipulation skills no one comes close.

Her eyes narrowed. "Tomorrow is your wedding. Did you know that?"

I nodded silently.

Her sneer deepened. "The wedding preparations are already underway. Can you please come and check the wedding dress and makeup?" she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

It was clear she wasn't happy about this wedding being mine instead of Diane's proof that she will do anything to get her daughter in the limelight even if the stage is a crippled man.

I followed her downstairs, noting that the palace decorations had resumed, but they lacked the vibrancy they'd had before. Mrs Morgan wasn't putting in the same effort now that it was my wedding.

When the dress was handed to me, I tried it on without complaint. It was heavy, suffocating even, but I kept quiet. I could feel her irritation bubbling beneath the surface. This wasn't the grand spectacle she'd envisioned for Diane, and she made sure I knew it.

Later that evening, my father called me to the rooftop of the Morgan mansion. When I arrived, he was sitting there with a glass of wine in his hand, gazing at the horizon.

Who else would be drinking wine when their daughter was missing? My dad.

He turned to me as I approached, a thick smile plastered on his face. It was the kind of smile I recognized all too well—it was one I had inherited from him. He seems to be doing better now probably knowing his company will be saved soon

"Congratulations on your wedding, Evelyn," he said slowly, raising his glass in a mock toast.

"Thank you," I replied, forcing a matching smile.

"I truly hope you meant the things in that letter," he continued, his tone casual. "I've already begun preparations to find your mother and Diane. Very soon, I'll have them both back."

The mention of my mom stirred something deep inside me. I hesitated before asking, "What happened to her? Why would she leave me and run?"

He took a slow sip of his wine before answering, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Your mother isn't the best of people. She left you and ran away. You should know that."

I wanted to argue, but he had been there, and I hadn't. Still, his words didn't sit right with me. My mother couldn't have just abandoned me. Something about it didn't feel true.

But what if he was telling the truth? What if she had left? The questions swirled in my mind, unanswered and haunting.

We talked for a while longer, the conversation circling back to the wedding. He wished me congratulations again before turning his attention back to the guard who had just entered.

"Have you found her?" he barked, his tone sharp and demanding.

I didn't need to hear the rest to know he was talking about Diane. It was clear he wasn't going to take my mother's disappearance seriously, just as I wasn't taking this wedding seriously.

The deal was one year. If he didn't find my mother within that time, I was cutting the wedding short. And Mr. Volkov? I was sure he'd have his plans for making my father pay.