Chapter 1

Brenda's POV

The pungent smell of disinfectant filling the atmosphere, a cruel reminder of my helplessness. The only sound in the room was the steady beep of the monitor.

I sat by the hospital bed, my mother's limp in mine.

"We'll get through this mom," I whispered, even though I don't know how.

A nurse came inside, her face flickering with concern. "Miss Brenda, your payment is overdue again. We'll have to discharge your mom."

The words like a sledgehammer hits me to the gut. My throat tightened, as I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. "I...I," I said stammering. "I'll get the money somehow. Can you please continue with the treatment," I said, my voice was a desperate plea, even though I knew it was a futile effort.

"No, miss Brenda," the nurse replied, shaking her head in disagreement. "I'm sorry. I can't," she said, her tone final.

Without waiting for my response, she walked out of the ward. For a moment, I stood frozen, before staggering and collapsing back into the chair. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks as my eyes landed on my mother. She was ghostly pale and her skin barely holding her bones together.

Who would help me? Who could I turn to? The answer is crystal clear-no one. Absolutely no one.

But...this was no time to cry. Mama is dying, I thought as I quickly wiped off my tears. I composed myself, swallowing hard my sobs as I reached for the hospital phone to call few relatives and friends.

"Aunty....can I get a few dollars for my mother's hospital bill?" I asked, my tone low with emotions.

"No," she snapped back. "I don't have such money to spare." The call ended abruptly.

My hand were weak as the phone dropped, but I quickly dialed another number. Giving up is never an option.

"Benita..can you borrow -" the call ended before I could even finish. After calling about five families and friends, no single was willing to help.

My heart sank in pain. But then my phone buzzed. Hope reignited within me as I glanced at the screen—my father. My blood ran cold.

“Brenda,” he said when I answered. “I have a way to solve your problems. Do like I commanded and your debts are cleared."

For a moment I was silent, before I managed to choke out. "What way?"

"Let's meet up at Royal Birds restaurant." He ended the call.

Without a second thought, I quickly board a taxi and made my way to the restaurant.

Inside the restaurant, my father disgust filled gaze landed on me, his eyes scanning me. "You look like you are about to drop dead," he said, his tone dripping with irritation.

I was silent, my gaze fixed on the floor.

"Anyways," he continued, slamming a document on the table. "Sign this document promising to do my biddings and I'll clear up your debt now."

"Your biddings?" I echoed. "Like what?"

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Aren't you too arrogant for someone who needs help," he said, his tone condescending. "Just sign it," his voice rising with anger.

Then I met his gaze, unflinching. "But.... father, mom was your wife and I'm your daughter. Can't you just help us?"

"No I can't. You're both useless," he spat. "The moment you choose your mother over me, I disowned you as my daughter."

"But...mom was so lonely and depressed after the divorce." Tears slide down my cheeks. "And your new family never wanted me."

His gaze softened for a while, but just as quickly as it came, his expression turned indifferent. "I don't care. Just sign it if you want to."

I hesitated for a while, my mind reeling with the possibility of his biddings. But my mother dying fragile frame clawed my mind. With a trembling hand, I signed the contract.

"Good," he mused. "First, Prepare to get married today."

I blinked, startled. "What!"

But then he continued. "And you can't visit your mother."

"Isn't this cruel," I shouted, my anger barely restrained. "This is daylight slavery."

He ignored me completely. "Get ready to leave now," he said, his tone brooking no arguments.

My resolve crumbled. "Can I at least see mother one last time?"

"No," he responded. He made a signal and some men appeared from the shadows. They led me outside, my feet felt heavier with each step. We settled inside the car, and the weight of his words sank in. I'm getting married to someone I barely know. My life is a mess.

As the car screetched to halt at the mansion, my stomach churned with dread. I didn't need a second glance to recognise the place I once called home. It just stood as imposing as ever, with it's high arches and cold, sterile elegance. But waiting at the entrance were the faces I loathed most -franscisco's new family.

Monica Chris, his second wife was a divorcee whom my father married three months after him and my mom got divorced. She stood in all her haughty glory, her lips curling into a smug smile. The disgust in her eyes was unmistakable, as if my presence was an obstruction to her perfectly constructed life. She had hated that I was the sole heiress of Franscisco's galactic properties, she had succeeded in kicking me out once, and I could see the disappointment flickering in her gaze that her victory had been short-lived.

The tension was thick as we entered the mansion. Francisco handed me off to a trio of maids with a dismissive wave of his hand, his voice sharp. "Make her presentable. The man would soon arrive," he barked, his tone leaving no room for protest. He walked away with Monica, who secretly eyed me with a smirk.

The maids quietly led me through the grand hallways to my old room. My breath seized in my throat as I stepped in. It was immaculate, the air faintly scented with lavender. But something felt off-like someone had been using it in my absence. But there was no time to focus on that now. The weight of what awaited me loomed too large.

I tried to shake off the feeling of dread and instead focus on the most pressing problem at hand: my future. A stranger, a man that I had never met, was to be my husband. I have only seen this in movies and novels, but is it really happening to me? I'm getting into a loveless marriage?

My heart pounded with fear as the maids prepared me, picking out a sleek red dress and stilettos that has been tailored to perfection just for me.

As they worked, I stared at my reflection. The woman staring back at me was almost unrecognisable. The make up accentuated my features, softening the sharp edges of fear and exhaustion. For a fleeting moment, I marvelled at the transformation. But then, reality crashed back. All of this, everything wasn't for me-it was for him. The mysterious stranger.

The knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Dora Williams, my step sister, walked in with her usual air of dominance and superiority. Her smirk was dagger, sharp and cruel.

"Well, well, if it isn't the royal queen," she sneered in a mockery tone. "You're all dolled up for a man who doesn't give a fuck about you. Do you even know who you're marrying?"

I shoot her a murderous glare, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me shiver.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspirational whisper. "Damian Adams," she said, her eyes glistening with malice. “The devil incarnate himself. A man who brutally crushes anyone in his path. How does it feel to be the next lamb to the slaughter?”

Her words sank like stones in my chest. I had heard whispers of Damian Adams-a name that struck into even the bravest heart. But before I could process the weight of her revelation, a voice, deep and commanding, filled the room.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The room fell into eerie silent. Dora’s smug expression crumbled as she turned toward the door, her face draining of its color. My breath seized as I followed her gaze.

There he stood tall—Damian Adams. His presence was overwhelming, his sharp grey eyes scanning the room with an intensity that left no corner untouched. When his gaze landed on me, it lingered, pulling me into a silence that buzzed with unspoken words.

Dora trembled with fear like the ground should swallow her up alive, her hands gripping the side of her dress.

He moved toward me with a deliberate grace, his towering frame cutting through the tension like a knife. My fingers fumbled with the hem of my dress as his proximity made the air feel heavier.

When he finally stopped in front of me, he crouched slightly, his eyes meeting mine. A smirk played on his lips as he spoke, his voice low and magnetic.

“Can we leave, my lady?”