Tatiana's Point of View
At the sound of a distant church bell, my eyes fluttered open, my head aching badly. Where was I? How did I get here?
The room was dimly lit, the rays of the moon bouncing off the surface of the wristwatch on the table.
What had I done? I sat up in bed, my body protesting with great effort, pain coursing down my lower abdomen. Then the realization hit me—I had made out with a man at the party.
Shit! Worst of all, a stranger. How did I let myself go so loose? I tried to stand, but found it difficult. It had been a rough night. I struggled to check the wristwatch on the table, my eyes widening as I saw the time: midnight.
I was screwed. In a moment of desperation, I slipped into my gown, stealing one last look at the muscular physique of the man beside me, lost in a deep sleep. I slipped out of the room, my steps haggard.
My heart pounded fiercely, threatening to break through my ribcage as I dashed out of the party without bothering to search for Cassie. My thoughts ran wild, wondering what would happen if my stepmother discovered I hadn't come home.
"Curse you, Cassie!" I groaned in anger, walking down the empty streets. The sharp scent of cocaine lingered in the air, making my breathing hitch.
I felt like I was being followed. I stopped, whirled around, and scanned the area but saw no one. I swallowed hard, my knuckles turning pale. Maybe I was hallucinating; maybe I wasn't being followed.
I took a deep breath, my lips slightly parted as I exhaled, struggling to stay calm.
Ignoring the pain I felt, I quickened my pace. I took the shortest, loneliest route back home, sneaking through the window and shutting it quietly before slipping into bed and covering myself up.
I couldn't help but feel a small swell of pride for not getting caught. I didn't matter much to them anyway, so no one would check up on me. My thoughts drifted back to the man at the party, to the way he had dominated me, leaving me begging for more. His breathtaking features were still a blurry vision in my mind. Everything about him had been attractive.
The sudden yanking of the door jolted me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see my stepbrother, Andrew.
"You're awake?" he said, rolling his eyes as he set down a bucket of water he'd been holding. "Mum wants to see you," he hissed.
He turned to leave, then stopped with a sly smile. In one swift motion, he threw the bucket of water in my direction, a mocking laugh escaping his lips.
While other older brothers protected their younger sisters, mine seemed to enjoy seeing me get bullied, whether by them or by others.
The horrific memory of a photo of me being posted on the school blog by my stepbrothers came to mind. I could still recall how they laughed as I was humiliated.
The laughter, the mocking eyes and the stares lived rent free in my head. I was made the object of mockery by the students till I graduated.
I stood from the bed, walked to the closet, and slipped into a comfortable outfit before heading downstairs. I couldn't place why my mother would summon me; it was strange. My opinions never mattered—I was more like the house's rag doll.
"You called for me, Mother?" I asked, lowering my head a bit, avoiding her intense gaze.
"Sit down!" she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. I walked over to Jared, my eldest stepbrother.
The air was thick with tension as we waited for my father. After a moment, he joined us. He adjusted the glasses perched on his nose before speaking.
"Tatiana," he began, his voice cold and slightly scary. "The family business has suffered some losses and is close to shutting down."
Why was I being told all this? Did I look like I cared? They enjoyed the profits; they could handle the loss. Whatever they were trying to say, I honestly didn't give a damn.
"We managed to reach an agreement with the Walters family, and they've agreed to help," he paused.
"I'm happy," I replied coolly, my eyes fixed on the black vase in the middle of the table.
"You should be," my stepmother sneered.
"For that agreement to go into effect, you are to marry their youngest son, Ryan," my father announced.
What? They were going to give me away without my consent? Why would they impose such an agreement on me?
"I'm a bit confused, Father," I said, trying to remain polite while holding back the rage inside.
His brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"You are marrying their son!" he bellowed, clenching his fists. I bit my lip, glaring at him.
"I will not be used as a bargaining chip, Father!" I yelled, standing up. This was the last straw. I had always been the quiet type, always allowing them to dictate my life—but not tonight. I couldn't watch them give me away like I was worth nothing.
In retaliation, my stepmother rose from her seat, slapping me so hard I tasted blood.
"You dare raise your voice at your father?" she hissed, her fist pounding the table. "You've always been worthless to this family—a useless piece of garbage, Tatiana," she snarled.
"This conversation is over! We meet the groom's family tomorrow!" my stepmother declared, marching out of the room. My stepbrothers disappeared into their rooms, leaving me alone with my father.
"Prove your worth to this family, Bella," he whispered before leaving, his words echoing inside my head.
I clutched my lips, stifling the sobs that threatened to escape as silent tears slipped down my cheeks. My shoulders slumped as I returned to my room, lying in bed and dreading what the next day would bring.
The next morning, the sun was high in the sky as I prepared to meet my groom. My eyes were already red from crying through the night, dark circles forming beneath them.
The ride to the Walters mansion was silent, my father occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I shifted my gaze outside, watching the cars and people pass by in a blur. Maybe this was my fate.
After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the Walters mansion, and my eyes widened at its grandeur. Everything about it screamed luxury—from the paved roads to the neatly pruned flowers.
The mansion towered above us, sunlight glinting off the expensive Italian glass. I swallowed hard as I stepped out of the car. Everything seemed perfectly in place—except me.
For someone about to meet her supposed groom, I was dressed in what most would consider rags.
We were treated as guests and asked to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Walters. I tapped my feet repeatedly on the polished marble floor.
"We welcome Mr. and Mrs. Walters," the old butler announced, opening the door. My jaw dropped as she walked in with poise, her fur coat resting on her shoulders. Her hair was blonde and short, just like in the magazines. Behind her was her husband, Mr. Richard Walters who looked calm,but had a sharp gaze.
Mrs. Walters stopped in front of me, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.
"Is this the garbage you're trading for my son?" she asked in a low, bitter tone, her jaw clenching tightly.
At that moment, I knew I had been welcomed into the wrong family.