Chapter 3

Before the wedding, I'd given a lot of thought to my wedding night. I wondered if I would have sex with a man I'd never met before, and in my fear, I'd completely overlooked the possibility of being alone in a huge room with nothing to do and no one to talk to. I tossed and turned all night, barely sleeping.

The next morning, I wore one of the outfits someone had left in the wardrobe. Growing up poor, I'd never been able to splurge on myself. Any money I saved went toward my grandpa's treatments, and we still fell short most of the time.

Wandering alone in that large house, I wished I could confide in her about the sham marriage I was trapped in. I ate a breakfast meant for twenty people, all alone in the dining room. Luna stared at me.

"Have you eaten?" I asked her.

"After you, Mrs. Whitlock."

"Please call me Ms. Baker."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mrs. Whitlock. Sir wouldn't like it."

"I don't think Sir would even know," I said, looking around. The house was enormous, and the chances of running into the man I wanted to avoid for the next six months were slim. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He left last night after talking to you and hasn't returned."

I knew our marriage was a… I felt a pang of guilt. I'd agreed to it for my grandfather, but I hadn't expected him to sleep with another woman on our wedding night, at least.

"Sir works overnight all the time," Luna quickly added. "He has many meetings with clients abroad and works on their schedule."

"Luna, it's okay."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Whitlock."

"Ms. Baker," I corrected her.

"Ms. Baker." She nodded. "A parcel arrived for you this morning."

I furrowed my brows, pushing aside the uneaten food as she went to retrieve a box. I opened it quickly to reveal a new phone—the latest model. It was a far cry from the half-broken phone I'd used for the past five years, making do because I couldn't afford a new one despite juggling two jobs and caring for my grandpa. Until now, apparently.

I unlocked the already set-up phone. There was only one contact: "Gabriel Whitlock."

Chapter 3 (continued)

That afternoon, his lawyer arrived with a perfectly drafted agreement, as promised. I reviewed it for an hour before signing. I was tempted not to, but also afraid of just how low Gabriel was willing to go.

I spent the day wandering the house, admiring the paintings like I was in an art gallery. I played with my new phone, checked on my grandfather (who insisted he was enjoying being with his old friends and asked me not to visit but to enjoy my "newlywed bliss"), and napped more than usual.

In the evening, I emailed my resume to several companies. I needed a new job since I'd left my old one to move three hours away and marry this imperious man, but I was confident I could find another one without using the Whitlock name. I'd always been at the top of my class, including college, and had over two years of experience as a financial analyst. I earned a good salary, but cancer is expensive. Even with a full-time job as a financial analyst and a part-time job as a waitress, I still struggled. With no health insurance, we were considering a loan or mortgaging our small house when Gabriel's grandparents—who happened to be my grandpa's friends from school—contacted him and offered to pay for his entire treatment. The condition? I had to marry their grandson. I was convinced I could manage on my own; marrying a stranger was out of the question. But when my grandpa, already sick, had to return to work for extra money, my heart broke. That's when I agreed to marry Gabriel Whitlock.

I didn't know what they'd done to convince their grandson to marry a nobody like me, or why he agreed, but his anger toward me suggested he'd been forced into it, too. I wanted to sympathize with him; at least I got something out of this marriage. He seemed to have gained nothing but the loss of his freedom and the title of "hottest bachelor." But at the same time, I knew he wasn't a saint. He was arrogant, self-centered, and had implied I was a gold digger.

That night, I ate dinner alone while the housemaids watched me like I was a child—or royalty.

I didn't see Gabriel for the next few days, and being alone became a habit. I spent my time befriending Luna and the other staff, learning to cook more refined dishes, swimming, and reading.

On the fourth night, I checked my email. I'd heard back from three out of seven places I'd applied to, including Wales—a multi-billion dollar skincare company, a direct competitor of Whitlock. They'd called me for an interview two days later but hadn't sent a formal confirmation. Although there wasn't a clause in the agreement, Gabriel had explicitly told me not to humiliate him publicly. I wondered if his wife working for a rival company would sit well with him. Probably not.

His number was in my phone, and I debated calling him. But it was a quarter past twelve, and I hadn't seen him in days. A knot formed in my chest wondering if he was with someone else… another woman, perhaps.

Sleep was difficult, and I woke early the next morning, eating breakfast quickly. Around 9:30, sitting in my room like a nervous schoolgirl, I dialed Gabriel. The phone rang, and on the fifth ring, it was answered.

"Hello!"

I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. This wasn't Gabriel's voice. "Gabriel?"

"Mrs. Whitlock? This is Peter, his personal assistant."

"This is Gabriel's number, right?" He was probably in a meeting.

"No, ma'am. This is my work number. Sir mentioned he'd given you my number to reach him."

The anger that had subsided returned, stronger than ever. "I have to go through you to reach him?"

"I believe so," Peter said quietly. "Can I take a message?"

"No. No message," I replied, hanging up before he could respond.

Here I was, wondering if he'd mind a job interview. And there he was, not considering me important enough to have his own number. He actually gave his assistant's number instead.

Fuming, I opened my laptop and confirmed my interview for the next morning, regardless of it being with his rival company. Gabriel Whitlock could rot in hell.

END