On my wedding day, I suddenly developed the ability to read minds. I was listening to my husband’s heart as he smiled, gently taking my hand to place the ring on my finger. Lyle Whitman sends over this sacrificial lamb and thinks he can just walk away with the Sterling project? He’s dreaming. My head snapped up, my eyes wide with shock. My hand trembled so violently that the ring slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. Daniel looked at me, his expression a mask of tender apology, as if it were all his fault. Clumsy oaf. Born to be slaughtered. 1 The wedding had been arranged just three days ago, a decision made by my stepfather, Lyle Whitman. His company was teetering on the edge of a cliff, its cash flow frozen solid, bankruptcy breathing down his neck. Desperate to resurrect his failing business, Lyle had been pulling every string he could, trying to marry me off to secure a financial lifeline. He’d used my mother as leverage, forcing me to meet six different men in the span of two weeks. There was a fifty-year-old pig in a suit, greasy and obese; a sadistic trust-fund brat with a violent streak; and a mogul with a wife in New York and mistresses scattered across the country. They were all willing to take me, but none of them offered a price high enough to satisfy Lyle. Until Daniel Thorne appeared. He made Lyle an offer that made his eyes gleam with greed. The one condition: the wedding had to be within three days. Lyle agreed instantly, practically tripping over himself in his haste to deliver me to Daniel’s bed that very night. But Daniel, surprisingly, wasn't in such a rush. He insisted on following every pre-wedding custom, step by step. He even made sure we were legally married before the ceremony. So, until this very moment, I had seen him as a perfect gentleman—polished, handsome, and deeply respectful. I had even allowed myself to believe in love at first sight, a fairytale I desperately wanted to be true. Until I heard the chilling truth echoing in his mind. He hadn't married me for love. He’d married me to set a trap, a meticulously planned scheme to ruin my stepfather. This was a war between titans, and I was just a pawn on their board. 2 The ceremony continued, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. Cheerful, romantic music filled the air, and every face in the crowd was wreathed in smiles. Especially Daniel’s. He took my hand, his body bending in a graceful arc as his long, elegant fingers retrieved the fallen ring. As he looked up, his eyes were deep pools of devotion. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “I wasn’t holding it properly. I’ve troubled you, my dear.” This whole charade is dragging on forever. I mechanically straightened my finger, letting the cold metal slide into place. The sound of my own gulp was so loud, I was sure it cut through the music. When it was my turn to place his ring, I was a bundle of nerves, my movements cautious and fawning. “Mr.… Mr. Thorne, if you’re busy, you can leave. I can handle the reception toasts by myself.” My sudden, docile compliance seemed to catch him off guard. A flicker of confusion crossed his features before it was washed away by that practiced, charming smile. “Nothing is more important than our wedding,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Come, let’s go.” He took my hand and led me to face our friends and family, raising a champagne flute in a toast. Playing games with me? We’ll see about that when we get home. My heart sank. 3 My attempt to curry favor had spectacularly backfired. I spent the rest of the reception in a state of terrified silence, moving like a puppet on a string. After the festivities, I was whisked away to our new home, the bridal suite. The room was a cliché of newlywed bliss, dripping with the kind of opulence only serious money can buy. It had everything a lavish wedding demanded. Except people. The five-story mansion was a hollow, echoing shell. Not a single soul was present. It was clear a "pawn" like me wasn't expected to just sit around prettily, waiting for the groom's return. I found my suitcase in the second-floor bedroom, changed into a comfortable set of sweats, and scrubbed the thick makeup from my face. A long, hot shower washed away the last vestiges of the charade. Feeling refreshed and seeing the sky darken, I made my way to the kitchen. Over the years, trailing my mother through her three marriages, my culinary skills had become my most developed talent. With each new husband, she would lose herself in a whirlwind of romance and hedonism, leaving me to fill the role of the unpaid housekeeper. Some of my stepfathers, however, weren’t content with just a housekeeper. They’d wait until my mother was out, and their hands would start to wander. Lyle was one of them. Which is why, after learning of Daniel’s true intentions, a small, dark part of me was actually looking forward to the show. Love from a man was irrelevant. Usefulness was all that mattered. 4 The kitchen was barren. Not even a bottle of water. I did a quick tour of the mansion and came to a simple conclusion: Daniel wasn't coming back tonight. And he intended for me to go hungry. I had some money on my phone and could have easily ordered takeout. But that would shatter the "helpless idiot" persona I apparently projected. Arousing the suspicion of a man as sharp and calculating as Daniel would be a fatal mistake. I put my phone away and returned to the bridal suite. On a small table, four small dishes of dried fruits and nuts were arranged, a traditional wedding touch. I scooped a pocketful of dates and almonds, went downstairs, and boiled a pot of water. The living room was a sea of crimson silk and satin, but the garish color only amplified the cold emptiness of the space. Assuming I was alone for the night, I kicked off my shoes, propped my feet up on the plush leather sofa, and settled in with a cup of hot water and a handful of wedding snacks. Just as I was starting to relax, a voice popped into my head, dripping with condescension. The little fool must be crying her eyes out by now. 5 Suddenly, the water and dates lost their flavor. Scrambling before Daniel could walk in, I shoved the snacks into a drawer beneath the coffee table and splashed some of the warm water from my cup onto my face to mimic tears. The front door creaked open. I turned, my expression carefully crafted into one of pure, pathetic misery. A smug, silent laugh echoed in his mind. He approached, his movements fluid and graceful, a gentle, concerned smile playing on his lips as he leaned down. Just as I thought… any minute now, she’ll break and call Lyle. That, I couldn't do. Lyle was just like him—a gentleman on the surface, a monster underneath. Calling him for help was out of the question. But I had to sell the performance. I let my lower lip tremble and squeezed my eyes shut, willing tears to come. Then, I heard Daniel’s inner voice, laced with disgust: What the hell is that stuck on her tooth? His gaze immediately shot to the coffee table in front of me. A small trickle of water was seeping from a crack in the wood. He reached for the drawer. In a flash, I shot to my feet. "I want to go home to my mom!" Daniel’s hand froze. His expression was one of mild confusion. His inner voice was pure schadenfreude: Hah. Scared her so badly she's talking nonsense. Alright, then. I’d play along. "There's no one here," I whimpered. "I'm scared. I want to go back to my house." Daniel's mind: From now on, you're not taking a single step out of this house. Me: …House arrest? Outwardly, he took my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, and sat beside me on the sofa. "Isla, we're newlyweds. You can't go back to your parents' house just yet. And look, I'm here now, aren't I?" I decided to test the waters. "Will… will you be leaving again?" "I'll stay with you," Daniel promised, his voice a soothing balm. Just wait. Soon you'll be begging me to leave. 6 I instinctively clutched my clothes tighter. What the hell is he planning to do? Daniel blinked, his eyes practically overflowing with manufactured tenderness. "Are you cold?" He made a move to take off his suit jacket. Ugly creature. You really think I'd touch you? Hah. You dream just as big as your stepfather. Well, thank God for that. I wasn't interested either. I let out a huge sigh of relief and grabbed his jacket before he could take it off. "I'm not cold. I'm just… I'm just a little hungry." A wave of triumphant laughter roared in his mind. His words, however, were laced with pity. "Hungry? Oh, that is a problem. We're quite far from the city, and there are no restaurants around here. The kitchen…" "The kitchen is empty," I finished for him. I watched him struggle to hide a satisfied smirk and felt a sudden urge to twist his head off. After "comforting" me, Daniel went upstairs to shower. Before he left, he gave me one last, "soulful" look and whispered, "Wait for me." I smiled back. Bring it on, I thought, answering his silent scheming. I’m not afraid of you.
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