"Your husband has arrived, Lady Valentina."
The maid's voice was steady, but the slight tremor in her hands as she gripped the hem of her pink uniform betrayed her unease.
She lingered at the doorway, unsure if she should step further into the room or wait for a response.
However Valentina stood by the window, unmoving. The sunlight filtering through the glass cast a soft glow over her white gown, which cascaded to the floor like a veil of untouched snow. It clung to her frame in a way that spoke of elegance, yet there was a hollowness in how she wore it—like a bride dressing for someone else's story.
At that moment Her gloved fingers brushed the windowsill absentmindedly, the thick material muffling the sound. The long sleeves of her gown left no room for bare skin, her body hidden beneath layers of fabric as though it were a shield.
"Should I let him in?" the maid asked again, this time quieter. She tried to catch Valentina's gaze, but it was impossible. Valentina's face and neck were shrouded in white scarves, wrapped tightly with precision, concealing her features entirely.
Only her eyes were visible—blue, impossibly bright, glowing with an ethereal light that seemed to pierce through the barriers she had built. Those eyes had once been a source of admiration, whispered about in corners as the most beautiful in the Callum family. Now, they carried a weight that silenced anyone who dared look too long.
Valentina Callum stood in the shadow of her family's grand legacy, her name once spoken with pride now reduced to whispers of pity and avoidance.
As the first young miss of the Callum family, tradition dictated that she, the eldest daughter, must marry before her younger siblings. But tradition had its limits, and for over a decade, her condition had made her unworthy in the eyes of potential suitors.
Her stepsister, Chloe Callum, was to be wed in a matter of days, the air in the Callum estate buzzing with preparations and excitement. She could imagine Chloe's laughter echoed through the halls as they discussed floral arrangements and cake designs, her fiancé always at her side, smiling as though his world revolved around her. To everyone else, it seemed like love.
But Valentina couldn't bring herself to call it that. Not when Chloe's "love" had a price tag attached—a hundred thousand dollars, to be exact.
The offer wasn't for Chloe, of course. It was for Valentina. Chloe's soon-to-be husband had proposed the sum to ensure the family's tradition wasn't broken. He would pay anyone willing to take Valentina's hand in marriage, clearing the way for his own wedding to proceed without scandal.
At that moment Valentina clenched her fists as she sat in her room, staring at the soft glow of her reflection in the mirror.
Her glowing blue eyes were the only part of her that still seemed alive, vibrant, defiant. The rest of her, wrapped in layers of white scarves and gloves, felt like a phantom—a woman no one dared to look at for too long.
Without bring told she knows they weren't marrying her off; they were casting her away.
She was a burden they couldn't wait to unload, a shadow on the Callum name. Marriage would strip her of her family title, her name, and whatever fragile thread of belonging she still had.
And once her name was no longer Callum?
She would be worse than a stranger to them or anyone.
Valentina's glowing blue eyes followed the man as he stepped out of the taxi and hurried into the Callum estate.
The sun reflected off the peeling paint of the old car, a stark contrast to the grandeur of her family home. From her perch by the window, she could see his ragged coat flapping as he walked, his posture stiff, as though bracing himself for what awaited inside.
Her jaw tightened.
'He probably came for the money,' she thought bitterly, her hands brushing the edge of the windowsill.
The hundred-thousand-dollar bounty her family had placed on her head had finally lured someone desperate enough.
Even after the man disappeared into the house, Valentina lingered by the window, the cold air seeping through the glass a welcome distraction.
However She barely had time to collect herself before the door burst open, and Luca's voice rang out, breaking the stillness.
"Val! Your husband is here!" The boy, no older than nine, darted toward her, his small arms wrapping tightly around her waist. His excitement was uncontainable, his face lit with innocent curiosity. "Come downstairs! You have to see him! He's really tall, and his hair—" Luca paused, throwing his hands dramatically into the air, "—his hair is so long, like, super long! Oh, and he has a beard! A long one! I thought you didn't like men with beards, Val? Why does your husband have one?"
Upon hearing what Luca just said. Valentina forced a smile, her gloved hand resting lightly on Luca's shoulder.
"Must I tell you everything, Luca?" she said, her voice soft but tinged with weariness. "Some things you'll just have to figure out for yourself."
"But you have to come!" Luca insisted, grabbing her hand and tugging with all the urgency of a child on a mission.
"Don't keep him waiting, Val. Come on!"
Reluctantly, Valentina let him lead her out of the room, her steps slow and deliberate as though each one carried the weight of a hundred thoughts. By the time they reached the grand staircase, she could see him—the man who would be her husband.
He sat across from her parents in the ornate sitting room, the polished table between them looking like a chasm separating worlds.
Her father's face was stoic, unreadable, while her stepmother, Marie Callum, wore an expression that hovered between irritation and forced politeness.
But it was the man who drew Valentina's focus.
His clothes hung loosely on his frame, mismatched and worn, with frayed edges and stains that spoke of years of neglect. His long hair was unkempt, falling in uneven strands around his face, and his beard—Luca hadn't exaggerated—was wild and untamed.
Beside him sat two elderly figures, presumably his parents.
Their clothes were just as ragged, their thin frames huddled together as though the warmth of the room was a luxury they hadn't known in years.
They looked like they'd walked straight out of the streets, their weary faces a stark contrast to the pristine surroundings of the Callum estate.
At that moment Valentina's stomach twisted as her eyes returned to the man. He was here for the money. That much was certain. But as she stood there, one hand resting lightly on the banister, she couldn't help but wonder what price she would truly pay for this arrangement.
Valentina's stomach churned as she descended the staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The scene unfolding below confirmed what she had feared—they were sending her away to the worst possible candidate who had shown even the slightest interest.
She knew, deep down, that anyone willing to marry her was only in it for the money.
But even so, she had clung to the faint hope that her family would choose someone decent—a man with clean clothes, a shred of dignity, and the ability to look her in the eye without shame.
Instead, here sat a man who looked as though he had stumbled off the streets.
As her foot hit the final step, she squared her shoulders, willing herself to remain composed. Her glowing blue eyes flicked to the table where open documents lay waiting, their stark white pages a cold promise of what was to come.
"Val!" Luca's voice pulled her from her thoughts as he tugged at her hand, his small fingers wrapping tightly around hers.
He grinned up at her, oblivious to the weight of the moment.
His joy was genuine, his excitement infectious despite the suffocating tension in the room.
However Valentina managed a smile, brushing a gloved hand lightly over his messy hair. But the warmth was fleeting as her stepmother, Marie, shot a sharp glare at Luca, her silent disapproval loud enough to make him flinch.
"Luca," Marie called firmly, her tone icy.
However the boy hesitated, looking between Valentina and his mother, his small shoulders slumping as he released Valentina's hand.
"I'll wait for you upstairs," he whispered, hugging her tightly one last time before stepping back.
"Go on," Valentina said softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. Luca's hug had stirred something—an ache, yes, but also a flicker of joy. Someone would miss her, even if it was just a little boy who didn't fully understand what was happening.
As Luca scampered away, Valentina then turned her attention to the man sitting across from her family. His unkempt beard and long, tangled hair obscured most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible. They were bloodshot, a deep red that stood out against his otherwise shadowed features.
He was looking at her—staring, really—with an intensity that made her skin prickle. His gaze wasn't cruel or mocking, but it held something she couldn't quite decipher. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to hold it.
quietly Valentina walked to her seat beside her father and lowered herself gracefully into the chair, careful to keep her movements slow and deliberate. Her glowing blue eyes flicked to the man once more, drawn by his unrelenting stare. For a moment, she held his gaze, her breath catching in her throat as something unspoken passed between them.
Immediately the sound of footsteps echoed in the grand hall as the Callum family lawyer entered, carrying a thick stack of documents under his arm. His polished shoes clicked against the floor, a sharp contrast to the tension hanging in the room.
"My apologies for the delay," he began, adjusting his glasses.
"Let's proceed. I recommend that Mr. Malcolm's family review the documents thoroughly before we continue. Please, take your time and let me know if there are any questions."
However Before the lawyer could finish placing the papers on the table, Raymond's father raised a hand, his voice gravelly but firm. "No need to read anything. We don't have questions. Let's just get this over with."
His mother, seated beside him, nodded in agreement, her frail hands clasped tightly together.
Her tone was quieter but carried the same resolve.
"We're ready."
At that moment Marie Callum's smile widened, the sharpness in her gaze betraying her practiced warmth.
"Of course. We wouldn't want to keep you waiting," she said smoothly. "And you won't regret this union. Becoming part of the Callum family comes with its privileges. If you ever find yourselves in need, don't hesitate to ask. We always take care of our own."
Raymond's father tilted his head in a nod of gratitude, his voice softening.
"We appreciate your generosity, Mrs. Callum. Thank you."
The marriage certificate was laid out on the table.
The lawyer cleared his throat, flipping to the pages requiring signatures.
"Both families have signed. Now, it's time for the bride and groom."
Valentina's hands rested in her lap, hidden by the thick gloves she wore. Her glowing blue eyes flicked to the man across from her. He hadn't spoken a word, but his presence was imposing—bigger than his tattered clothes or unruly hair should have allowed.
He met her gaze, his eyes steady, searching, as though he were trying to unravel something in her that even she didn't understand.
The silence stretched, charged and heavy, until he finally broke it.
"Raymond Malcolm," he said, his voice low and steady.
The words seemed to echo, settling into the corners of the room.
He extended his hand across the table toward her.
It wasn't a grand gesture, just the simple offering of his palm, but it sent a jolt through Valentina as though the air between them had shifted.
Her gloved hand hovered for a moment before she placed it in his. The touch was brief—barely more than a second—but the sensation lingered, a strange, unexplainable warmth creeping through her chest.
At that moment She couldn't comprehend what she felt inside, but it was strange.
However Marie Callum's expression shifted subtly as her cheeks twitched, her sharp gaze landing on Valentina.
"Well, don't just sit there," she said with a practiced smile, though her tone left no room for argument. "Accept the gentleman's handshake."
Valentina blinked, jolted from her thoughts. Her glowing blue eyes flicked to Raymond's outstretched hand, lingering for a moment before she finally placed her gloved palm in his.
"Valentina Callum," she introduced herself softly, her voice steady but laced with an unspoken heaviness.
In her mind, she repeated the name, letting the weight of it settle over her. This is the last time I'll say it, she thought. Her identity as a Callum would be stripped away the moment she signed the papers, leaving her tethered to nothing but this man and his family.
At that moment The lawyer, efficient and impersonal, slid the final documents across the table. Valentina and Raymond signed in silence, their pens gliding across the paper like whispers of finality.
Once done, both families rose to their feet, a flurry of movement breaking the tense stillness.
Hands extended, smiles forced and polite.
Marie was the picture of satisfaction, her grin as bright as the chandelier above.
At that moment Raymond's father turned to Mr. Callum and Marie, his voice firm but sincere.
"We'll hold a proper wedding for Valentina," he said, the words catching everyone off guard.
Marie froze for half a second before bursting into laughter, her sharp tone ringing through the room. She waved a hand dismissively, though there was an edge to her mirth.
"A wedding, you say? Well, whenever you're ready! But you'll be footing the bill."