I stood at the altar, staring blankly ahead. My thoughts swirled like a carousel, repeating the same question: Did I just get married, or did I simply sign a piece of paper? Everything felt surreal, almost laughable in a cruel way.
Then my father approached, his expression unreadable. "Get ready," he said firmly. "You'll be leaving with his people in the next ten minutes. Go grab anything you need or say your goodbyes."
Goodbyes? The word echoed in my mind. Who would I even say goodbye to? Aside from the maids who had been my only solace growing up, there wasn't a soul in this house I would miss. My belongings? Just old rags and memories I'd rather leave behind.
Still, in my heavy wedding gown, I made my way to my room with Eleanor and a few other maids helping me up the stairs. Their presence was comforting, like a tether to the world I was about to leave behind. Once inside, Eleanor lingered by the door, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"I can't believe you're leaving, Evelyn," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Things won't be the same without you."
Celine, standing behind her, added with a small, sad smile, "We'll all miss you. Be careful. You know your... husband." She hesitated before continuing, her words laced with disbelief. "I still can't believe you're marrying Mr. Volkov. The Michael Volkov."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with implications. The name carried weight, though I had only heard it in passing—a mysterious, reclusive figure whispered about in headlines and hushed conversations. "I always thought he was just a crippled old man living in some rich estate. I didn't know he was going to take you away from us."
"Neither did I," I muttered under my breath. Her hand on my shoulder provided brief comfort before they both left, giving me the space I needed.
Alone in my room, I tried to steady my breathing, but my chest felt tight. In ten minutes, I would be whisked away to some grand estate to spend the next year with a man I didn't know—a man I had only heard about through rumors. My thoughts spiraled. A crippled old man... What if he turned me into some sort of baby machine? Or worse, a toy for his amusement?
A soft buzz snapped me out of my daze. My phone. A text.
Stacey: Oh my God, I saw your wedding on the news! Evelyn, what is going on? Wasn't Diane supposed to marry Mr. Volkov? Message me, please!
I stared at the screen, torn. Stacey meant well, but what could I tell her? That I had been forced to live in my sister's shadow, even down to her name? That for the next year, I would be Mrs. Evelyn Volkov? My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I set the phone aside. I'll explain everything a year from now, Stacey. If I survive this.
Before I could dwell any longer, my father's voice boomed from downstairs. "Evelyn! It's time!"
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Eleanor and the others helped me down the stairs, their faces etched with worry. At the bottom, my father took my hand and passed me off to Mr. Adam Smith, one of Volkov's men. He greeted me with a sly smile.
"Mrs. Diane Morgan," he said smoothly, "we meet again."
The name stung—a bitter reminder of the charade I had been forced into. My gaze darted to my father. It finally clicked that I was going to pretend to be Diane, the girl Mr. Volkov wanted. How could I have missed Diane's name in the contract I signed earlier? Probably because my mind wasn't in the proper state. But my father only smiled reassuringly. That smile felt like a betrayal.
I followed as they led me outside, where a sleek black limousine awaited. My family—except for Diane, of course—stood by, watching with varying degrees of satisfaction. My mother's grin was downright gleeful, her eyes sparkling with the knowledge that her precious daughter had dodged this so-called fate. My father, ever the pragmatist, seemed relieved that his plans were proceeding smoothly.
As I stepped into the limo, I glanced back. Eleanor and the maids stood at an upstairs window, peering down at me with tearful goodbyes in their eyes. This is it, I thought as the door shut behind me. The engine roared to life, and in seconds, the Morgan Mansion faded into the distance.
Goodbye, Evelyn. No, not Evelyn. Diane. For the next year, I would be someone else entirely.
The car rolled to a halt in front of a sprawling estate that looked like it belonged in another realm entirely. My breath hitched as I took in the grand view—massive homes, each one unique and breathtaking in its way, stretched along pristine streets. This wasn't New York. Or at least, it wasn't the New York I knew. I stepped out, hesitant, while Mr. Adam retrieved my bag from the trunk. The air here felt... different. Expensive, if that makes any sense.
"Welcome, Mrs. Diane," greeted a soft yet commanding voice. I turned to see a woman approaching. She had fiery red hair pulled into a sleek bun, a sharp black suit, and sunglasses perched neatly on her nose. Dangerously beautiful was the first thought that came to my mind. She offered a polite, almost calculated smile as she extended her hand.
"I'm Artemis," she said, her voice crisp and professional. "Shall we?"
I nodded mutely, unable to find my voice, and followed her. Mr. Adam and a group of silent, suited men flanked us as we approached a grand door. It swung open with an almost theatrical creak, revealing a foyer that took my breath away.
Golden chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, catching the light in an ethereal way. The marble floors gleamed so brightly that I could see my reflection. Every piece of furniture, every painting, every detail in this mansion screamed wealth beyond comprehension. My father's estate, once the pinnacle of luxury in my mind, suddenly felt like a shack in comparison.
"This way," Artemis gestured, leading me to a wide staircase that spiraled upwards like something out of a fairytale. Each step felt heavier than the last as I climbed, the sheer magnitude of the place weighing on me. The first floor was incredible, but as we ascended to the second, third, and then the fourth, it became clear that each level outdid the last. By the time we reached what I assumed was the top floor, I was utterly overwhelmed.
"This is where you'll be staying," Artemis said, stopping in front of a set of grand double doors. She stepped aside, her unreadable expression lingering on me for a moment before she added, "Mr. Volkov is waiting for you."
Waiting? My chest tightened. My heart raced as I reached for the door handle.
The moment I pushed the door open, the thick, sharp smell of cigarettes hit me like a slap. My nose wrinkled, and I instinctively hesitated at the threshold. The room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in every corner, with only the faint glow of candles illuminating the space. Somewhere in the darkness, I spotted a figure seated casually in a high-backed chair.
I swallowed hard. My mind raced. This is it. This is him. The crippled old man I had been married off to.
"Come in," a deep, velvety voice called out, the sound curling through the room and wrapping around me like smoke. It wasn't the frail, weak voice of an old man. No, this voice was cold, commanding, and impossibly smooth.
I stepped inside cautiously, closing the door behind me. "Mr. Volkov?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
The figure shifted, rising from the chair with an almost lazy grace. My breath hitched again. He wasn't hunched over or frail. He wasn't using a wheelchair or cane. He wasn't old.
He wasn't... crippled.
He was tall. Intimidatingly so. His broad shoulders and confident stance immediately made me feel small and out of place. With a snap of his fingers, the candles flared to life, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. And that's when I saw him.
Dark hair fell in soft waves, framing a chiseled face that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods. Whiskey-brown eyes stared back at me, sharp and piercing. His shirt—a black button-up with the top three buttons undone—revealed a glimpse of a toned chest and abs so perfect they didn't seem real. He paired it with black jeans that hugged his frame in all the right places. He was the epitome of power and raw, masculine beauty.
I forgot to breathe.
"You're Diane," he stated, his voice colder now, though his eyes remained fixed on me. He didn't ask; he stated it as if it were a fact he already knew, although he was mistaken.
I nodded slowly, feeling as though my knees might give out at any moment. "Y-Yes, but... isn't this a mistake? Are you—are you Mr. Volkov?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it wasn't friendly. It was dark and knowing. "I am. Surprised?"
Surprised didn't begin to cover it. This man—this dangerously gorgeous man—was supposed to be the crippled old Mr. Volkov I had been married off to? My mind spun, trying to reconcile what I'd been told with the reality in front of me.
"I-I thought..." My words trailed off as I gestured helplessly. "I thought you couldn't..."
"Walk?" he finished for me, arching a brow. "I assure you, I'm very capable." There was a dangerous edge to his tone, a subtle warning not to test him.
I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. "I don't understand."
"You will," he replied simply, his smirk deepening. "But for now, you should rest. You'll need your strength."
"For what?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His eyes darkened, and the smirk vanished. "For what comes next".