Chapitre 3: Bound By The Contract

The words hit me like a blow to the chest.

"A contract?" I repeated, my voice small, barely a whisper. My mind raced, trying to piece together what Alexander's butler meant. "What… what contract?"

His reply was calm and rehearsed, as if he had given the same explanation countless times before. "It was the late Mr. Ashford's final wish that the first daughter of the Sinclair family be wed to the Ashford heir. The contract was signed years ago."

The memory came crashing back—the old man who had bought me, my mother signing that paper for a bag of chips, his whispered words: We'll come for you when you're of age. It had all seemed like a dream back then, something too distant to worry about. Now, it was a nightmare, unfolding right before my eyes.

My stepmother, on the other hand, was positively gleaming. Her eyes sparkled with greedy delight as she stared at Alexander, likely imagining herself climbing the social ladder all the way to the top. "The Ashford family!" she muttered to herself, her hands trembling with excitement. "The highest level of society!"

She turned to me with a wide, fake smile. "Oh, Freya, this is your destiny! You should be grateful! Imagine being part of such a prestigious family!"

But Alexander's face twisted with revulsion the moment his gaze met mine. His eyes drifted from the side of my face to my collar, where the rest of my scar was hidden, and his lip curled in disgust.

"Her?" he spat, his voice sharp and full of disbelief. "How could my father have chosen someone like her?" He took a step forward, his piercing blue eyes full of contempt as they raked over me. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"

I flinched at his words. Each one cut deeper than the last, a reminder of everything I wasn't—everything I'd never be. His disappointment was clear, and I couldn't blame him. I wasn't like the women of the Ashford family. I wasn't beautiful by their standards. I was a flawed, broken thing, and in their world, imperfections were sins.

The butler, unshaken by Alexander's outburst, cleared his throat and produced a folder from the inside of his coat. "Your father's will, Master Alexander," he said evenly, holding it out. "It is written clearly here: to inherit the Ashford legacy, you must marry the first daughter of the Sinclair family."

Alexander snatched the folder and skimmed through the document, his scowl deepening with each passing second. I saw the moment he realized he had no choice, the anger in his eyes hardening into cold acceptance.

"Fine," he growled, slamming the folder shut. "I'll marry her." He looked up at me, his gaze icy and indifferent. "But this marriage will remain a secret. She's a disgrace to the Ashford name. No one must know."

His words hung in the air, a harsh reminder of the reality I was to face. This wasn't a marriage built on love or even respect. It was a transaction, a fulfillment of an obligation. I was nothing more than a means to an end for him.

Yet, even in that moment, I couldn't help but cling to a small, fragile hope. Maybe, over time, I could prove myself to him. Maybe I could make him see me for who I really was—not just the scarred girl he was forced to marry, but someone worthy of his love.

"Congratulations, Freya!" My stepmother beamed, patting me on the back. Her touch felt cold and false. "You're going to be an Ashford! Imagine the possibilities! The wealth, the status!" She was practically salivating at the thought.

Before I could respond, my stepsisters, Anastasia and Isabella, stepped forward, their faces twisted with barely disguised jealousy.

"Don't get too excited, Mother," Anastasia said, crossing her arms. "Alexander Ashford didn't even find her attractive. Did you see his face when he looked at her? He only agreed because of that stupid contract. If it weren't for his inheritance, he wouldn't have even given her a second glance."

Isabella smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "She's not the type of woman a man like Alexander wants. Not with that face. No wonder he's keeping the marriage a secret." She glanced at me, her sneer growing wider. "You're lucky, Freya. If it weren't for your stupid birthright, you'd still be stuck here with us, invisible as always."

Both of them glared at me, their words sharp as knives. As they passed, they shoulder-checked me hard, nearly knocking me off balance. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the sting of their words. I wasn't blind—I knew what I looked like, what they saw when they looked at me. But their cruelty still hurt.

Once the door slammed shut behind them, my stepmother's smile vanished. She turned to me, her eyes hard and calculating. "Listen to me carefully, Freya," she hissed, stepping closer. "You are my only ticket into high society. I don't care if Alexander doesn't want you. You will do whatever it takes to make sure this marriage holds. Do you understand me? If you screw this up, if you cause me to lose my chance at entering the Ashford circle, I will make your life more miserable than you could ever imagine."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of her words felt like chains tightening around me, but I forced myself to nod. "Yes, stepmother."

Satisfied, she stepped back, smoothing her apron as if the conversation hadn't happened.

My father, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke up from the corner of the room. "Don't mess this up, Freya," he muttered, barely looking at me. "It's the least you can do after everything your mother put me through."

I felt a coldness wash over me, a reminder that, to him, I was nothing more than a burden. There was no love in his words, just a tired indifference, as though my future—or my feelings—meant nothing.

But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was Alexander—my future husband, who stood before me with nothing but loathing in his eyes.

"I can't believe my father would tie me to someone like you." His words were sharp and cutting, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.

Without another glance at me, he turned to his butler, his hand waving dismissively. "We're done here, Harrison. I have no desire to stay in this place any longer."

The butler, ever the loyal servant, bowed deeply. His expression remained neutral as he addressed me. "Miss Sinclair, we will be in touch shortly to finalize the details of the marriage." His words were courteous, but there was a finality to them that sent a chill through me. With another bow, he straightened and stepped aside, gesturing for Alexander to step out first.

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