Days passed, but the weight of that letter never left me. It lingered in the corners of my mind, creeping into every thought, every moment, until it became impossible to ignore. I couldn't shake the feeling that my life—the life I thought I had chosen—was nothing more than a thin veil over something far more complex, something I hadn't been prepared for. I tried to push it away, bury myself in work, in the routine of the city, but the envelope and its words stayed with me.
And then, just as the dust seemed to settle, the knock came.
This time, it wasn't the cold, mysterious man at the door, but a messenger, one dressed in formal black and gold, with the same ancient crest from the letter embossed on the envelope he handed me. "For Miss Emma Carter," he said, offering no further explanation before turning on his heel and leaving me standing there, clutching another letter that felt like it weighed far more than its paper contents.
I opened it, my fingers unsteady, knowing whatever it held would only pull me deeper into the world I had never asked to be part of.
The letter was short, its message brutal in its simplicity:
_"Emma, your marriage has been arranged. You are expected at the Carter estate in three days' time. The future of the family rests on this union."_
My breath caught in my throat. *Marriage?* The words blurred before me, my mind reeling. This wasn't just a revelation of a forgotten past—this was a demand, a call to action I hadn't agreed to. How could they expect me, someone they hadn't even acknowledged for years, to simply fall into line, to marry someone I had never met?
I crumpled the letter in my fist, a surge of anger rising in my chest. This couldn't be real. It had to be a mistake, some twisted joke. Yet, deep down, I knew it wasn't. The weight of the name, the weight of my father's silence, of the truth they had hidden from me, was undeniable.
That night, I barely slept, my mind spinning in endless circles, chasing after questions I couldn't answer. Who was I supposed to marry? What did it mean to be the "heir" of a family I barely knew? And why now? Why, after all these years, had they decided to pull me into this world?
Morning came too quickly, and with it, the arrival of a sleek black car parked just outside my apartment. I stared at it through the window, a knot tightening in my stomach. There was no escaping this. I didn't know what was waiting for me at the Carter estate, but I knew that ignoring it was no longer an option. They had already found me. My past had caught up.
Reluctantly, I packed a small bag—clothes, essentials, anything that might ground me in the life I knew was slipping through my fingers. The car's driver said nothing as I approached, simply opened the door and gestured for me to get in. The interior was dark, the windows tinted so heavily I couldn't see the city outside as we drove away.
The ride felt like an eternity, every minute weighed down by the uncertainty of what was to come. Finally, we pulled through tall, wrought-iron gates, flanked by high stone walls that loomed like sentinels guarding a forgotten world. The Carter estate was enormous, far beyond anything I could have imagined—a sprawling mansion set against the backdrop of endless green gardens, its ancient architecture casting long shadows under the pale morning light.
As the car came to a stop, a figure emerged from the entrance of the estate. He was tall, dark-haired, with sharp features and an air of authority that seemed to command the space around him. His eyes met mine as I stepped out of the car, and for a moment, I couldn't move.
This was him. The man I was supposed to marry.
"Miss Carter," he said, his voice calm, almost indifferent. "I'm Logan Blackwood."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I—I didn't agree to this," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though it wavered despite my best efforts.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with an unreadable expression. "You didn't have a choice. Neither do I."
Something in his voice, the cold acceptance of his fate, made me pause. Logan Blackwood wasn't just another piece in this twisted game of family politics—he was trapped in it, too. His eyes, though sharp and calculating, held a hint of something deeper, something resigned.
"The Carters and the Blackwoods have been bound by agreements for generations," he continued, as if he were reciting a long-learned lesson. "This marriage secures that bond. For the sake of both families, it has to happen."
"But I don't know anything about this," I protested, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "I didn't even know I was part of this family until a week ago."
"Now you do," he said simply, as though that solved everything.
I shook my head, feeling anger rise again, the same anger that had surged through me when I first read the letter. "And what if I refuse? What if I don't want to be part of any of this?"
Logan's expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes, something almost sympathetic, that flickered for the briefest of moments. "Then they'll make sure you're not in a position to refuse."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I didn't know exactly what he meant, but I understood enough. This wasn't just about marriage. It was about power, control. The Carters, whoever they truly were, wouldn't let me walk away from this.
And neither would he.
"Welcome to the family, Emma," Logan said, his voice low, the finality of his words sinking deep into my chest.