ch 1

Sebastian pov-

Rain had been falling since morning.

Not the soft kind either—the dramatic, relentless kind that turned the city grey and made the windows in our house tremble every time thunder rolled somewhere far away.

I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, buttoning the cuffs of a cream shirt I didn’t even feel like wearing.

The fabric was soft, expensive, and bought by my mother months ago for “important occasions.”

Apparently being sold counted as one.

I stared at my reflection for a second too long.

Dark hair falling slightly over my forehead. Tired eyes. Silver ring on my right hand. Expression somewhere between annoyed and exhausted.

I looked put together.

That was new.

Usually I dressed how I felt—layered sweaters, loose sleeves, anything comfortable enough to hide in.

Today I looked sharp.

Like a product.

A knock sounded once against my door.

“Sebastian,” my father called from outside. “My study. Now.”

No greeting. No please.

Just a summons.

I slipped on a charcoal cardigan over the shirt, grabbed my phone, and opened the door.

The hallway downstairs smelled faintly of polished wood and coffee. Our house was beautiful in the way expensive things often are—clean, cold, and difficult to relax inside.

My father had built everything around appearances.

The marble floors. The framed art. The imported furniture.

From the outside, the Cross family looked perfect.

Inside it was mostly silence, tension, and pretending.

As I passed the sitting room, my younger sister Lily looked up from the couch, a textbook open in her lap.

She was sixteen, bright-eyed, and too kind for this family.

“You’re in trouble?” she asked.

“When am I not?”

She gave me a worried look. “Dad’s been yelling on the phone all morning.”

“That narrows it down.”

I reached over and tapped the top of her head gently. She smiled despite herself.

“Stay out of his way,” I said.

“You too.”

I almost laughed.

Cute advice. Impossible to follow.

My father’s study doors were already open.

He liked making entrances unnecessary. Power was easier when people had to walk into it.

Richard Cross sat behind a wide dark desk, phone pressed to one ear, jaw tight. Papers were spread everywhere. Two empty whiskey glasses sat beside a crystal decanter though it wasn’t even noon.

He held up one finger when I entered.

Wait.

I stayed standing.

He finished the call with a clipped, “I said handle it,” then tossed the phone onto the desk.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his eyes moved over me.

“At least you dressed properly.”

“Should I be worried you noticed?”

“Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Sit.”

I pulled the chair back and sat because fighting over furniture felt beneath even me.

He slid a folder across the desk.

I looked at it, then at him.

“What is this?”

“A solution.”

“That usually means it’s terrible.”

“Open it.”

I did.

The first page was thick cream paper. Legal formatting. Names typed cleanly at the top.

Marriage Agreement

I blinked once.

Then again.

My laugh came out short and sharp.

“No.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “You haven’t read it.”

“I don’t need to read it. Are you out of your damn mind?”

“The company is collapsing.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

His expression hardened instantly. “Watch your tone.”

“Watch yours.”

I tossed the papers onto the desk.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I saw something close to desperation in him.

Cross Holdings had been bleeding for a while. Staff cuts. Cancelled expansions. Calls at midnight. My mother crying quietly behind locked doors.

I knew things were bad.

I just didn’t know they were sell your son bad.

“You will marry Theo Vale,” he said.

The room went still.

Outside, thunder cracked through the rain.

I stared at him, sure I’d heard wrong.

“Theo who?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Theo Vale?”

“Yes.”

I let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“You expect me to marry the son of Edward Vale?”

“The Vale family is prepared to absorb our debt, stabilize operations, and restore market confidence.”

“Ah.” I nodded slowly. “So this isn’t insanity. It’s prostitution with paperwork.”

His palm hit the desk hard enough to rattle the glasses.

“Enough.”

“No, actually, not enough.” I stood so fast the chair legs scraped the floor. “You wreck your company and now I’m the fix?”

“You owe this family.”

I stared at him.

There it was.

The line every selfish parent used when they ran out of excuses.

I owed him because he raised me. Because he paid for this house. Because my last name was Cross.

Never mind the years of criticism. The cold dinners. The way nothing I did was enough unless it looked good in public.

“Owe you?” I said quietly. “You barely know me.”

His jaw flexed.

“This marriage happens next month.”

I laughed again, softer this time. Meaner.

“You really think I’ll agree?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

I hated that he said it calmly.

Like my life was already signed away.

“You can’t force me.”

He slid another paper forward.

This one wasn’t legal stationery.

It was a bank report.

Numbers circled in red.

Liabilities. Frozen accounts. Immediate risk.

Then another sheet.

Projected layoffs.

Names.

Dozens of them.

People who had worked for Cross Holdings for years. Families. Staff who still smiled at me in hallways.

My stomach turned.

“If this deal fails,” he said, voice smooth now, “they lose everything.”

“You manipulative bastard.”

“Language.”

“Go to hell.”

He didn’t flinch.

“You care so much about people, Sebastian. Prove it.”

I wanted to throw something.

Punch something.

Walk out and never come back.

Instead I stood there, trapped between fury and the sick knowledge that innocent people would pay for his mistakes.

He knew exactly where to press.

That was the worst part.

The study door opened quietly.

My mother stepped in, elegant in a pale blue dress, worry written across her face.

“Elena,” my father said sharply. “Not now.”

She ignored him and looked at me.

“Seb…”

I couldn’t bear pity from her either.

“Did you know?” I asked.

Her silence was answer enough.

Something in my chest went cold.

Lily had once asked me why I never expected much from people.

Because eventually, everyone handed you disappointment dressed as necessity.

I looked back at the contract on the desk.

Theo Vale.

I’d met him twice.

Once at some charity gala years ago where he spoke to no one unless required.

Once outside a hotel entrance where he stood in a black coat, expression unreadable, while people moved around him like satellites.

Cold. Polished. Untouchable.

And now, apparently, my future husband.

I wanted to laugh until I broke.

Instead I reached for the pen.

My mother whispered my name.

My father said nothing.

I signed.

The ink dried almost instantly.

“There,” I said, dropping the pen. “Congratulations.”

My throat burned.

“You bought yourself a son.”

Then I walked out before either of them could answer.

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