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Chapter 3: My Freedom Ends

Celia Bennett's POV:

"You're going to what?" I asked, seriously confused, as my father sat in front of me on the edge of his seat, after he had yet to finish his former statement.

"Well, how do I tell you this, exactly ...?" He asked, stammering over his words nervously. Suddenly, he pushed me backward as he stood up to his feet. With him still holding lightly to the ends of my fingers, his hands sweaty, he said something I was not prepared to hear. "My dear, I have finally found you a worthy groom!"

What did he just say to me?! I think I heard him say that he found me someone to marry. How could that even be? It's like he thinks he has the right to choose who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And what was that about a contract? Was that the proposal those men were discussing? Could that be what this whole coming to your office thing was about earlier?

I was about to blow my top when I had to walk away a few steps before I stopped walking. I was so infuriated that I was about to scream, when I heard my father start to walk over to me. I turned around to face him when I demanded, "How could you do this to me? Do I mean little to you that you are going to give me away just like that?!"

"It's not like that, my dear," he tried to say as he walked up to stand right in front of me.

"Oh sure, it's not exactly like it sounds when you say you found someone for me to marry," I said as I crossed my arms. "How can you expect me to just go along with that?"

"My dear," he said, reaching up and grasping me lightly by my elbows once more. "Well, you know. How I'd take you out to eat all the time and such from before?"

"You mean when you would go golfing or whatever it was that you did with your friends and wanted me to tag along, and I had no choice but to go along and agree with it," I said back to him with my full charm of sarcasm.

"Well, I needed money to cover all that. The fancy house we have, it has a lot of bills you know," he stammered even more when I cut him off again.

"You live in that house alone. Alone or with whoever you have come over that is," I said, pulling my arms free of his grasp. "You know what, I don't care anymore about what you do. As long as you leave me out of it."

"I can't do that, as,..." he said when he turned around facing away from me.

"As what?" I asked, not wanting him to leave his statement at that point by not telling me.

With his back still facing me, he said lightly, "This is not something you can back out of, my dear." I scoffed, causing me to inhale sharply when he turned around and grabbed my hands this time when he said, "They're going to compose a contract for your hand in marriage. One week before your 22nd birthday, I will host a Grand Engagement Celebration in your and Gabriel's honor. I want you to accept everything that I've done for you. This is the only way I could pay them back for all the money I borrowed. Plus ...," he said as he paused one more.

I guess he wanted to take in my expression this time, that and the lack of the ability to speak at that shocking moment. "Plus, you will get a chance to repay all the college tuition I helped to pay for. I have done a lot for you if you think about it."

Just then, I could hear his office door open. However, I had no interest in turning around to see who this was. I was in way too much shock to care who entered his office unannounced. They would just have to stand there till I was finished with my conversation first. Suddenly, in the midst of my disbelief, I heard a dark, French accented male's voice speak up at that moment when he called out, "Donovan?!"

My father looked around me when he responded, saying, "Pierre, is that really you?"

I could not believe that my father was actually trying to change the subject when we were discussing something so urgent. The nerve of this other man, thinking he could come in my father's office and think, oh, it would be just fine to enter when you were not previously invited.

I turned around, asking with a hint of an attitude I might add, saying, "Who is that, might I ask?"

I couldn't believe what I saw. This man, this one man who was standing inside the open door of my father's office, was nothing like I had ever seen before in my life. His hair was dark, almost black, and it curled right in front of his forehead, just enough to the side. His suit was black, and his shirt was just the opposite, as it was as white as can be. His skin tone was dark tinted and extremely tanned.

I could not help it as I even raised one of my brows at the same time as I continued to take in several of his features. By the mere looks of him, you could even tell he was buff under all that material, which I bet was smooth to the touch as well. Wait, what am I doing? I have no time for tall, dark and damn! I had to figure out why my father thinks he can just treat me like this in the first place.

I turned back around when I said firmly and full of frustration, "I am telling you this now! And make no mistake either. I am not going to go along with this."

"Now is not the right time for us to discuss this current topic, my dear," my father said, as he tried to step around me.

He even raised one hand as if he was about to gesture toward this uninvited guest that he would like for him to take a seat by his desk. I was not going to stand for that. I was shocked at the mere nerve of my father. When I looked out the corner of my eye, the man was about to come closer and take my father's hand in his. Oh, I was not going to stand for that. However, at that moment, the man thought he would add something uncalled for.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Donovan. I would say someone is in desperate need of a good spanking," spoke the French man.

I could not help it when I turned around to face this other man, who was not standing there alone, I might add. They both stood there speechless for the moment and the one man who spoke, did not seem to have a single ounce of shame on his entire face. I even looked over at his associate. They both just stood there, proud to be in the room and heard what was said.

My father, on the other hand, was still trying to play off the conversation I wanted to have. When I looked back at the French man, he had placed his hands directly behind him. As if to mock me further. Then, to add insult to my current injury, he again tried to shake my father's hand. I could not stand for this any further. I moved between them all, swishing my hips in the process.

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