Chapter 2: Family Obligations

Hope

Elizabeth Russell paused in front of my father's memorial plaque. "The flowers are lovely this week."

My dad, John Carter, kicked things off as a driver for the Russell family, but Mr. Philip Russell saw potential in him and bumped him up to a financial advisor in a government department.

But then, eight years ago, everything crashed down. My dad took his own life in the underground garage, leaving behind a mess of cheating scandals, corruption charges, and my mom, who was shattered by his betrayal.

I was just 12 that year when our cozy little family of three fell apart. After that, the Russells arranged for my mom to stay at the Eastwood Wellness Center, and suddenly, I went from being the daughter of a humble driver to the adopted daughter of the well-known Russell family.

"The gardener does beautiful work," I said, watching Elizabeth arrange a fallen lily.

Strange how the Russell family still tended to my father's memorial, even after everything. They'd even placed it in the family section, as if trying to preserve what was left of his dignity. Or maybe it was their way of watching over the daughter he'd left behind.

"Coming to dinner?" Elizabeth asked. "Philip mentioned he hasn't seen you since last Sunday."

It wasn't really a question. Sunday dinners at the Russell house were mandatory.

Before I could respond, a shadow fell across us. James stood in the aisle, immaculate in his suit.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "James, darling, what's that mark on your neck?"

My heart stopped. The bite mark I'd left peeked just above his collar—distinctive against his skin.

"Fencing accident," he replied smoothly, though his fingers lingered a moment too long adjusting his tie. "My opponent got... carried away."

"A fencing accident." Elizabeth's voice remained light, but her eyes didn't leave the mark. "You must be more careful, dear. These dinner arrangements we're planning—appearances matter."

I kept my eyes down, trying to stay calm. Under my high-necked blouse, similar marks matched James's "accident."

"About that," James began, but Elizabeth cut him off with a gentle pat on his arm.

"You're turning thirty soon, darling. Time to think about your family responsibilities." She smiled. "Your father has some excellent suggestions for suitable matches."

James's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Work has been rather demanding lately, Mother."

"Perfect," Elizabeth said, "I'll handle all the arrangements. You just focus on your work." Her tone hardened slightly. "And if you're seeing someone, it needs to end immediately."

In the car ride home, I shifted in my seat.

"Still sore?" The familiar teasing in his voice made me flush.

"I'm fine."

"Claire ask where you disappeared to?"

"Told her I wasn't feeling well."

He hummed, a habit from childhood whenever he knew I was hiding something. "The River Heights place is empty. Private entrance, no questions."

"Not interested." I watched the familiar streets pass by. "Dorms are fine."

"Remember when you used to practice ballet in the garden?" The sudden change of topic was so typically James. "You were good."

"That was years ago."

"The new dance center needs performers for its opening."

"Will you be there?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His smile held an edge. "I did donate the building."

Speaking of which, I reached for my bag—the limited edition Chanel he'd insisted on giving me.

"I can't keep the bag. People notice things like that."

And I'm not some mistress you can buy off.

"Then throw it out." His voice turned cold. "You can always go back to those outlet brands."

I gripped the bag tighter, hating that he knew exactly how much a month's internship salary meant to me. Even the thought of throwing away something this expensive made my stomach turn.

At the house, Elizabeth waited in the sitting room with photographs spread out.

"I visited Eastwood yesterday," Elizabeth said. "Your mother's doing well with the new therapy program."

"Thank you for checking on her," I said quietly.

"Hope, dear..." Elizabeth leaned forward, her voice softening with genuine concern. "You're a Russell now, even if not by blood. If you need anything – anything at all – just ask. I won't have you risking your reputation over financial concerns."

"Mrs. Russell, I—"

"You don't need to explain." Her eyes settled on my bag. "You know, when I was your age, I saw many bright young women make compromising choices. Usually because they felt pressured about money."

The carefully veiled accusation made my cheeks burn. She thought I was selling myself to wealthy men—anything but suspect her own son.

James walked in, interrupting the tense moment. Elizabeth showed him the photos.

"James, come look at these," Elizabeth said, arranging the photos with careful precision. "Your father spent weeks on this list. Each family's influence, connections, financial standing—everything's been considered."

James held Katherine's photo. "Your thoughts, Mother?"

"I won't influence your choice."

He barely glanced at the rest before picking up one from the bottom. A stunning blonde in a red cocktail dress, posed against a yacht railing.

"Zoe Laurent," he said, placing the photo on top. His tone was casual, almost indifferent.

Elizabeth's lips thinned slightly. "Her father's real estate ventures are... profitable. Though they lack certain refinements. There are more established families to consider."

"Hope," Elizabeth suddenly turned to me, sliding the photos in my direction. "Help James choose. A woman's perspective on other women is always insightful."

I bit my lip, feeling my insides twist into knots. The room seemed to be running out of air.

"Why should she choose?" James's voice carried an edge of irritation as he leaned back against the sofa. "I'm the one getting married, not her."

"So you do like Zoe?" Elizabeth seized on his words.

"Set up the meeting." James's sudden agreement made my heart stop. "The Laurent girl. Why not?"

"She's lovely," I managed. "Excuse me, I should help Martha with dinner." I left quickly, feeling James watch me go.

This was the natural order of things, I reminded myself. The heir and the ward, nothing more. I'd been foolish to imagine otherwise.