Chapter 20 Chapter 20
Scarlett’s POV
The afternoon rush hit hard. I pulled shot after shot of espresso. Steamed milk. Pumped syrup. Sealed cups. My wrist was starting to ache but I didn't stop.
The line kept moving. Orders kept coming. My hands worked on autopilot.
At four o'clock, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out during a brief lull. One new message from Damon.
What time do you get off work? I'll pick you up.
My heart did a weird little skip. I stared at the screen.
This felt different. This felt like something a real boyfriend would do. Not a fake husband in a marriage of convenience.
I typed back quickly. I can take the subway home.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then his response.
I'll be there at 6.
That was it. No asking. Just telling me.
I bit my lip. Tried to ignore the strange fluttery feeling in my chest.
This was supposed to be a practical arrangement. A solution to keep our baby legitimate. But Damon kept doing things that felt way more thoughtful than necessary.
The rest of my shift dragged. I kept glancing at the clock. Wondering if he'd actually show up.
Of course he would. Damon didn't say things he didn't mean.
At six o'clock exactly, I changed out of my work clothes and walked outside.
A black Mercedes sat at the curb. Engine running.
I hurried over and opened the passenger door. "You should go. People are going to notice the car."
Damon looked at me. He didn't move. "Get in."
I climbed inside and closed the door. He pulled away from the curb smoothly.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. I could feel him looking at me. Then looking back at the road. Then looking at me again.
Finally he spoke. "Don't you have any more decent clothes?"
I looked down at my outfit. Black t-shirt. Basic jeans. Canvas shoes.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"Nothing's wrong with it. It just looks cheap."
My face got hot. "It is cheap. The shirt was ten dollars. The jeans were twenty-two. The shoes were eighteen. My whole outfit cost less than fifty bucks."
His jaw tightened. "Exactly."
"So what? It's comfortable. It fits. I don't need expensive clothes to be happy."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His hands gripped the steering wheel harder.
I could tell he wanted to say something. But he just turned his attention back to the road and didn't speak again.
Fine. If he thought I was too poor or too plain, that was his problem.
The buildings got smaller. The traffic got lighter. Trees started appearing on both sides of the road.
Forty-five minutes later, we turned onto a private road. Huge oak trees lined both sides. Their branches met overhead like a tunnel. The only sound was the crunch of gravel under the tires.
The car climbed up a hill. At the top, a massive building complex came into view.
My mouth fell open.
This wasn't a mansion. This was a private estate.
Five main buildings spread across the hilltop. Swimming pools. Fountains. Perfectly manicured lawns. Tennis courts. A helicopter landing pad.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
Damon glanced at me. "This is our family estate."
"How long has your family owned this place?"
"About a hundred and fifty years. My great-great-grandfather bought the land in the 1870s. He made his fortune in shipping and railroads."
I stared at the buildings. This was old money. Real old money.
"The Wolfe family used to be much larger," Damon continued. His voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. "Multiple branches. Dozens of cousins. But that was a long time ago."
"What happened?"
"Prohibition. The Great Depression. Gang wars. People died. People betrayed each other. The family scattered. Only my grandfather's line survived intact."
He pulled up to the front entrance. Cut the engine.
"My grandfather lives here alone now."
Understanding hit me like a punch to the stomach.
"We're here to meet your grandfather."
"Yes."
My hands started sweating. "Damon. I thought this was a marriage of convenience. Why do I need to meet your family?"
He turned to look at me. His eyes were serious. "Because you're carrying my child. Because we're legally married. Because my grandfather needs to know you exist."
"But—"
"He's the head of the family, Scarlett. I can't just not tell him I got married."
I wanted to argue. To say this felt too real. Too formal. Too much like an actual marriage.
But Damon was already getting out of the car.
I took a deep breath and followed him.
An elderly man in a butler's uniform waited by the front door. His face looked uncomfortable.
"Mr. Wolfe," the butler said. "Your grandfather asked me to tell you that he doesn't wish to see you today."
The air went cold.
Damon's expression didn't change. But I saw his jaw tighten slightly.
"Tell my grandfather that if he wants to skip meeting his grandson's wife, I don't mind. I'll just go ahead and handle all family business decisions without his input from now on."
The butler's eyes widened. He understood the threat.
"I'll go ask him again, sir."
He hurried back inside.
We stood there in awkward silence. I didn't know what to say.
Two gardeners were working on the flower beds nearby. Their voices carried in the quiet air.
"Is that Damon? Why won't the old Don see him?"
"Last time his brother Rocco came asking for money, the old Don was happy enough to see him."
"Damon's illegitimate. Old Mr. Wolfe's never accepted him."
"His mother was... The family never acknowledged the marriage."
I frowned and looked at Damon.
He stood perfectly still. His face showed nothing. But I could see the tension in his shoulders.
Suddenly everything made sense.
This was why he'd insisted on getting married immediately. Why he'd said the baby had to be legitimate. He'd grown up as the illegitimate son. The one people whispered about.
He didn't want that for our child.
My chest felt tight. I wanted to say something comforting. But I didn't know how.
"Get in here. Standing around like that makes us look weak."
The old man's voice came from inside the house. Rough. Commanding.
Damon reached for my hand.
I jumped. Pulled back instinctively.
We weren't close like that.
He looked at me. His eyes were hard. Then he grabbed my hand anyway. Laced his fingers through mine. His grip was firm. Possessive.
I tried to pull away. "Damon—"
"We're married," he said quietly. "Act like it."
He pulled me toward the door. I followed because I didn't have much choice.
His hand was warm. Strong. It completely engulfed mine.
I felt like a criminal being escorted to prison.
We walked through the entrance hall. Down a long corridor lined with family portraits. The faces in the paintings looked stern and judgmental.
The butler led us to a study at the end of the hall.
The room was dark. Heavy curtains blocked most of the light. Dark wood furniture. Black and white family photos on the walls. Italian landscape paintings. A statue of the Virgin Mary in the corner.
Behind a massive desk sat an old man.
He wore a dark suit. His hair was completely white. Deep wrinkles lined his face. He held a cigar in one hand. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat on the desk in front of him. Next to it was a thick ledger book. An old rotary phone.
He took a slow drag from his cigar. Smoke curled up in the dim light.
This was a Don. The kind who didn't need to raise his voice to terrify people.
Damon didn't let go of my hand. "Grandfather. This is Scarlett."
The old man's eyes moved to me. Sharp. Cold. Taking in every detail.
His gaze traveled over my cheap t-shirt. My bargain jeans. My canvas shoes.
He made a sound. A heavy, dismissive snort.
"Just like your father," he said. His voice was rough. Disgusted. "Always bringing trash into this family."
Damon's hand tightened around mine. His fingers squeezed so hard my bones hurt.
But the words hurt more.
This old man just insulted Damon's dead mother and his current wife in the same breath. Right in front of him.
How had Damon lived with this his whole life?