Marley stepped over the threshold of the spacious master bedroom, her gaze sweeping across its vaulted ceilings and grand furnishings. The opulence was suffocating, a tangible reminder of the Adams' wealth that now cocooned her life in golden chains. A sigh escaped her lips involuntarily, her mind replaying that moment in the hospital—the weight of Sebastian's words, "Give birth to this baby," heavy like an anchor dropped into the silent sea of shocked faces.
"Home" had become a relative term, warped and twisted as she was shuttled from the sterile white of the hospital to the regal confines of the Adams estate. Three days of enforced rest, three days of staring at the pastel hospital walls, wracked with thoughts that spun in dizzying circles.
Now, standing in the heart of the Adams residence, Marley was an interloper in her own life. She wandered aimlessly to the window, pressing a palm against the cool glass, watching the manicured gardens blur through her reflection. This room was a stranger, just like the child growing inside her—a stranger conceived in a night of forgetful passion, now anchoring her to a family that was not her own.
"Miss Brooks?" A soft voice cut through Marley's fog of disbelief.
A figure emerged from the doorway, a vision of grace wrapped in muted colors. An elderly lady with lines of kindness etched into her face, offered a smile that felt too gentle for the Adams' house of stone-cold legacies.
"Hope I'm not intruding," Rose said, her voice laced with the warmth of a long-lost aunt. "I'm Rose, and I'll be seeing to your needs while you're with us."
"Needs?" Marley scoffed, arctic eyes meeting the caregiver's serene gaze. "What I need is a way out of this farce." Her laugh, hollow, ricocheted off the walls.
"Understandable," Rose nodded, unfazed. "This must all seem very sudden." She stepped closer, hands clasped before her as if in prayer—or perhaps a silent offering of support.
"Very sudden? That's one word for it," Marley quipped, steeling herself against the urge to confide in this stranger who wore concern like a second skin. She looked away, focusing on anything but those probing, sympathetic eyes.
"Is there... anything particular you'd like right now?" Rose ventured, the question hanging between them like a lifeline Marley wasn't sure she wanted to grasp.
Marley's gaze flickered to Rose, her cheeks warming with a flush that betrayed her embarrassment. Independence was a fortress she'd built brick by stubborn brick; now it felt besieged by the well-meaning intentions of others. "I can manage on my own," she said, voice laced with pride and a pinch of defiance.
Rose's smile deepened, crinkling the corners of her eyes in an intimate crease. "The Adams family is eager to ensure everything is perfect for your wedding with Dane," she murmured, the words wrapping around Marley like a shawl woven from obligations. "For now, your job is simply to rest, and nurture the new life you're carrying."
"Wedding," Marley repeated, the word souring on her tongue. Rest? As if sleep could be summoned on command with the weight of this reality pressing down on her chest. She felt the protest clawing up her throat, but it dissolved into silence.
"Exactly," Rose continued, oblivious or indifferent to Marley's inner turmoil. "Just ring the bell if there's anything you need. There's a maid stationed outside at all times."
Marley just nodded, a puppet jerked by invisible strings. The door clicked shut behind Rose, leaving Marley alone with the echo of her own erratic heartbeat.
"Great, a bell to summon my very own fairy godmother," she muttered to the empty room, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. Her hand drifted to her stomach again, the flatness offering no answers, only questions swirling like leaves in the wind.
She crossed the room, steps aimless, tracing the pattern of the luxurious rug with the tip of her toe. Every fiber in the plush weave seemed to whisper 'Adams'. Even the air felt heavy with the scent of affluence and unspoken expectations.
Marley's gaze landed on the crisp document nestled among the silk bedclothes—a marriage license, as stark and out of place as a raven in a field of doves. She rose, a marionette pulled by strings of obligation, and reached for it with fingers that trembled ever so slightly. The bold letters bearing her name and Dane Adams' felt like chains rather than ink, binding her to a future she hadn't chosen.
Marley's laugh, a hollow sound, hung in the air of the opulent bedroom like a ghostly presence. It was a reluctant exhalation, a reflex to the absurdity that had become her life. Her fingers trailed over the crisp edges of the marriage license, and she couldn't help but snort at the thought of Amelia's usual stubbornness. The iron lady who had adamantly opposed her divorce from Oscar had crumbled like stale bread at Sebastian's command.
"Speak now or forever hold your peace," Marley muttered to herself, mocking the words meant for wedding objections. But here, in this gilded cage, they were a cruel joke. No one had asked for her voice when it mattered.
Her gaze flitted to the window, the night sky an abyss of unanswered questions. "I'm just the oven for the bun, right?" she whispered into the reflection of her own eyes. From the beginning, it wasn't about her—never about her. Just the heir growing inside her, the legacy of the Adams bloodline.
"Sebastian's wish is my command," she continued, voice dripping with sarcasm. The walls didn't care; they stood indifferent to her plight, adorned with art more valuable than the sum of her choices.
That morning, the sterile whiteness of the civil office loomed over Marley like a judge's bench, each click of her heels against the marble floor echoing an unspoken verdict. Bodyguards flanked her, their presence an unyielding fence guiding her forward. She could have screamed then, protested, kicked up a storm. But fear clamped down on her tongue, turning her insides to water.
"Right this way, Ms. Brooks," one of the bodyguards murmured, his voice devoid of any inflection that might betray sympathy or censure.
"Like I have a choice," she muttered under her breath, glancing at the rigid backs leading her onward. Her head swam with the swift pace they set, a merry-go-round that refused to stop even as she begged for a moment to collect herself.
There was no room here for arguments or second thoughts. The Adams' directive had been clear, and the world bent to accommodate.
"Sit here, please." The command was polite but firm, and Marley found herself perched on the edge of a chair that was too hard for comfort. Papers were shuffled, stamps thudded against official documents, the bureaucracy of life-altering decisions reduced to a few sweeps of the pen.
"Marley Brooks?"
"Here," she replied, though it was less a confirmation of her presence and more a reminder to herself that she was still here, still real amidst the absurdity of it all.
"Sign here." A paper was thrust in front of her, dotted lines waiting hungrily for her signature. Marley's hand trembled slightly as she took the pen, the ink a permanent mark on what felt like her temporary existence.
"Where's Dane?" The question slipped out before she could reign it in, her eyes scanning the room for the man whose life was now inexplicably entwined with hers.
"Mr. Adams has already signed all necessary documents," the clerk responded mechanically, gesturing towards a stack of papers that held Dane's fate as well as her own. "He trusts that everything will be handled appropriately."
"Trusts, huh?" Irony dripped from her words like acid. Dane Adams, the man who challenged boardrooms and bent markets to his will, had silently acquiesced to this domestic arrangement.
"Everything is in order," the clerk continued, oblivious to the tumult within Marley. "Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials."
"Thanks," she said dryly, the single word infused with a sarcasm she couldn't suppress. It was easier than acknowledging the hollow space where her heart used to beat freely.
"Congratulations" echoed in her mind as she stood, her legs wobbly as newborn foals. The bodyguards hovered closer, ready to steer her away. This wasn't her life; it was a script she hadn't auditioned for, yet somehow landed the lead role.
"Let's go," she commanded, her voice brittle. The bodyguards nodded, their expressions unreadable masks of professionalism. They didn't see the chains, didn't feel the weight of a future being forced upon her. They just saw their job, and she was nothing more than a task on their checklist.
As they escorted her out, Marley glanced back at the empty chair, the discarded pen. With every step away from that room of final judgments, the absurdity of compliance gnawed at her. Dane Adams, a puppet? No, there must be steel in him somewhere, a plan behind those stoic eyes. Or so she hoped, because the alternative—a life married to a mannequin—was something she couldn't bear to contemplate.
—
Marley sat rigid at the edge of an ornate dining table, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns on the china before her. Across the room, Rose hovered, a concerned wrinkle etching her brow as she watched Marley toy with the untouched food.
"Please, dear, you must eat something," Rose implored, her voice a soft chime in the cavernous space. "The baby needs it."
"Right, the baby," Marley muttered under her breath, the words tasting bitter. It was as if the baby—this sudden, unexpected presence—was all anyone cared about, just another pawn in the Adams' grand plan.
She pushed a carrot around her plate, appetite fleeing with thoughts of Dane's bed upstairs. That looming, massive piece of furniture that seemed to mock her single occupancy. "I'll eat later," she lied, forcing a smile that didn't meet her eyes.
Rose nodded, though her smile remained tinged with worry. "As you wish. But do try to rest early."
"Rest," Marley scoffed once alone, the word foreign and unwelcome. Her feet carried her back to the bedroom, steps echoing like a countdown to an inevitable collision course with reality.
The door closed behind her with a click, sealing her fate. There it was—the bed, king-sized and immaculate, the sheets crisp and cool to the touch. A shudder ran through her as she imagined Dane there, his imprint invisible but undeniably present.
"Great," she whispered to the empty room, "a giant reminder. Just what I needed." She sank onto the mattress, it gave way beneath her with a hush, the sound too intimate, too personal.
"Sleep in a stranger's bed? Sure, sounds like a perfect end to a perfect day," her inner voice dripped venom, sarcasm her only shield against the absurdity of it all.
Her body ached for rest, each limb weighed down by exhaustion, but her mind raced—a carousel of doubts and fears, none slowing enough to grasp. With a groan, Marley turned onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin as if its thin barrier could protect her from the night's whispers.
"Tomorrow," she promised herself, "tomorrow, I'll figure this out." But the darkness only nodded, knowing full well that some puzzles weren't meant to be solved in the light of day.