Entangled
VALERIE’S POV
"So stalking me wasn't enough for you? You had to manipulate my mother into arranging our marriage? You're not just a stalker but also a lowlife, and a gold-digger, huh?" he spat venomously.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. How could someone be so crass and arrogant? Barely a day spent with him and he'd nearly reduced me to tears.
I knew I was financially struggling, but a gold-digger? I've always been content with what life offered, yet here I stood, being slandered by this haughty man accusing me of traits that were far from my character.
Normally, I wouldn't tolerate such disrespect from anyone, but there was something about the power and authority in his voice that instilled fear every time he spoke.
"We meet at the registry tomorrow to finalize this," he ordered before heading upstairs.
What was wrong with him? If he didn't want to marry me, he could simply say so. Why continue to demean me, making me feel worthless?
Shortly after, Mrs. Amelia Brentwood descended with a sunny disposition.
"So, how did it go?"
"He wants to meet at the registry tomorrow."
"That's it?"
"He didn't mention anything about a reception?"
The thought of a reception hadn’t even crossed my mind. "No, Ma’am, he didn’t."
"Well, we must have a reception party; it will be the talk of the town! Oliver can't get married without announcing it to the world; he just has to," she declared as she walked back upstairs, likely to discuss it with Oliver.
I longed to express my reservations - to tell her that marrying her son was impossible, that his arrogance and cruel words constantly wounded me. But recalling her confession of illness and this being her dying wish, I kept my objections silent.
My phone chimed with what I assumed was another message from my landlord. Instead, it alerted me to a deposit of two hundred and fifty dollars (250 USD). She had already sent the advance payment.
A smile crept across my face at the sight of the money. Money indeed seemed to wield a certain magic.
"Valerie?"
"Yes, ma'am?" I responded. Mrs. Brentwood had reappeared and was approaching.
"Come, let me show you your room."
"My room?"
"Yes, Valerie. Since you'll be staying here from now on, you should know your own space. Don't worry about your belongings; consider this your new home. We’ll replace everything you have."
Speechless, I followed her to my new quarters. I didn't have much to bring anyway - just work-worn sneakers and the scant costumes from my nights at the club.
Trailing behind her, I took out my phone to pay my rent and instructed my landlord to sell any remaining possessions I had left behind.
He responded instantly with a thankful emoji, a stark contrast to his earlier threats. Money truly could change situations.
"This is your room. You'll both stay here," she announced.
The phone slipped from my grasp upon hearing that.
"What?"
"Is something wrong?"
"No, Mom. My fiancée is perfectly fine with it, isn't that right, babe?"
Babe? I played along reluctantly. "Yes, mom. I'm good."
"Great. Freshen up and rest. Tomorrow is a big day, starting at noon. The maids will bring your clothes," she said before exiting, leaving Oliver and me alone.
"Welcome to your worst nightmare, fiancée," he snickered, grabbing his car keys and departing.
I remained frozen, pondering how to cope with his contemptuous behavior. After freshening up in what could only be described as a palatial bathroom, I wrapped a towel around my waist, accentuating my curves.
My phone rang with an incoming call from Mrs. Lucy. I had neglected to inform her of my resignation from the strip club.
"Oh, Mrs. Lucy, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you earlier. I quit. Mrs. Lucy, I can't be a stripper anymore."
"What! Are you sick or something? How will you pay your bills and fend for yourself? Do you want to be kicked out of your house?"
"You don't have to worry about that, Mrs. Lucy. I've got it all under control. Bye!" I hung up and threw the phone back on the bed.
Just then, a maid entered with a magnificent night robe for me to wear. She was a middle-aged woman, slightly older than Mrs. Brentwood, I guessed. She hesitated when she saw me wrapped in my towel.
"Ma'am, sorry if I'm intruding; I'll just go back."
"No, no, no, it's okay. And please, don't call me ma'am; you're old enough to be my mother. I'm Valerie, call me Valerie."
"Okay, Ma'am Valerie."
"Not 'ma'am,' just Valerie."
"Okay, Valerie. I suppose you're the new bride-to-be; you must feel so fortunate."
I offered her a polite smile. Being considered fortunate couldn't be further from what I was experiencing with Oliver, but aside from him, one could say I was indeed lucky.
"Your smile... wow. You look just like her. The young master sure knows how to choose. Here’s your robe. I’ll leave now."
"Ma'am, sorry, but I look like who?"
"It's nothing. Just wear your robe and come downstairs; Mrs. Brentwood is waiting to have dinner with you."
"But, ma'am, you never told me your name?"
"It's Montana; you can call me Montana."
"Okay, Madam Montana." She left the room immediately after bowing, a gesture I found unnecessary. After all, she was old enough to be my mother—why such formality?
"But who do I look like?" The words 'You look just like her' couldn’t escape my mind.