"You're making a mistake, Christiana," my mother said, her voice cold and firm, as she adjusted the collar of her blazer. "This is your chance to save us. You'd be a fool not to take it."
I pressed my palms against the cool marble counter, trying to steady myself. The suffocating weight of her words hung in the air, thick and heavy. It wasn't the first time she'd said it—nor would it be the last. The desperate urgency in her voice made my insides twist in a knot of frustration.
"I'm not doing this just to save you, Mom," I replied, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "I have my own life, my own choices. This isn't... this isn't just about business."
She didn't even flinch. "You'll learn to see it that way. All of us will. This marriage will set everything right." Her eyes darkened, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of something deeper. Something beyond the transactional nature of her words.
I wanted to scream. To lash out. But instead, I swallowed my anger, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm not like you, Mom. I don't want this life. I don't want to be a pawn in someone else's game."
Her eyes softened for a moment, but only for a fleeting second. "It's not a game, Christiana. It's survival. We all do what we must to get by."
I wanted to tell her that survival wasn't worth this—that the price was too high—but the words died on my tongue. My mother had never understood me. Not truly. She saw everything through a lens of practicality, of necessity, of power. And in her world, this was a choice I had to make. There was no room for anything else.
As she turned to leave, I felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly overtaken by something darker—resentment. It wasn't fair. I had always been the one to sacrifice, the one to carry the weight. My younger sister, Favour, on the other hand, had always been the one who received the attention. The praise. The beauty.
I could feel the familiar sting of jealousy rise up within me as I thought about Favour. She was everything I was not—effortlessly charming, radiant, and adored by everyone. I could already picture her now, probably out there somewhere, smiling that perfect smile, turning heads without even trying. She'd never had to fight for anything in her life. She was the golden child. The one everyone adored.
Meanwhile, I had been the one left to pick up the pieces of our family's crumbling legacy. The one who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, and now—now, I was being pushed into a marriage I didn't want, all for the sake of something I didn't understand.
Favour's voice echoed through the house, breaking my thoughts. "Christiana, are you still sulking in here?"
I turned to see her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. She was dressed in a simple, yet stunning outfit—something I would never have thought to wear—but she made it look effortless.
I forced a smile, though it felt strained. "I'm not sulking, Favour. I'm just... thinking."
She tilted her head, her gaze shifting from my face to the tension in my posture. "Thinking about what?" she asked innocently, but there was a knowing look in her eyes.
I clenched my fists, trying to keep my frustration in check. "About everything, I guess."
Favour stepped closer, her movements graceful and confident. "You know, if you just went along with it, it would be so much easier. You're overthinking things, as usual." She paused, her lips curling into a playful smile. "Besides, what else could you do? Your options are limited, and Alexander Wolfe isn't exactly a bad option."
I shot her a sharp look, but Favour only shrugged. "He's rich, powerful, and he's willing to save the family. What more could you want?"
I wanted to scream, but instead, I bit my tongue. "It's not about that," I said quietly, my voice cracking. "It's about me. My life. And my choices. Not just doing whatever's convenient for everyone else."
Favour didn't seem to understand. She never did. "You're so dramatic," she said with a light laugh. "But I guess that's what makes you so... interesting. Everyone always looks to you to fix things, Christiana. It must be exhausting."
I could feel the heat rise in my chest. "You have no idea," I muttered, barely able to contain my frustration.
She raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're really going to make a fuss about it, then fine. But don't come crying to me when everything falls apart. You're the one who's always so serious about everything."
I didn't reply. I didn't need to. Favour's words stung, but they also made me realize how different we were. I had spent my life shouldering the burden of responsibility, while she coasted along, taking the easy route. I had always been the one who fought for us, for the family, and yet here I was, once again, the one who had to make the ultimate sacrifice.
"Are you coming to dinner tonight?" Favour asked, her voice now softer.
I shook my head, still too lost in my own thoughts. "I don't know. Maybe later."
She didn't press further, but her gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if weighing her next words. Then, she turned and walked out of the room without another word.
I was left alone again, the silence of the house pressing in on me. I couldn't stop thinking about the conversation with my mother. The pressure, the guilt, the weight of it all. But there was something else—something nagging at the back of my mind. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Alexander Wolfe.
I hadn't seen him in days, but his presence loomed over me like a shadow. I had agreed to marry him, but I hadn't fully processed what that would mean. I didn't know the man. I didn't know what he wanted from me. I only knew that I had no choice but to go through with it.
But as I sat there in the quiet, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this deal than I realized. A deeper connection, a hidden agenda. And I was about to find out exactly how tangled this web was.
As the doorbell rang, my heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be him, could it? Could Alexander be here already?
I stood up, my legs suddenly weak, and walked toward the front door. There was no turning back now.
When I opened the door, I was met with a sight that left me breathless.
Victor Langston stood there, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes cold and calculating.
"I think we need to talk," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I froze, my blood running cold. This was not what I had expected. And I had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning of something much darker.