Chapter 1 The strange encounter with the mysterious man.
~~Charlotte's pov~~
I took a quick step back as Mia threw the glass plate in anger, and it hit the ground, shattering into pieces.
It was the first time I ever saw Mia like this.
Filled with rage.
Her eyes flamed red as she sat up from her seat, her gaze burning into our father's eyes like she was about to shoot out lasers.
“I have to get married to pay off your stupid debt?!” Mia thundered, her eyes filled with anger.
Dad had taken a loan from a loan shark and couldn't pay it back. Usually when people refuse to pay, they are forced to work for free, but my father was stunned when one of the workers gave him a deal: marry off one of his daughters to the owner and be free of his debt.
I sighed.
It was 7:00 in the evening, and my family, like every other day, sat together for dinner.
I, as always, arranged the dishes on the table. I was dressed in a pink t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. My blond hair was tucked in a high ponytail, a few stubborn strands falling out, and there was a little smudge of dirt on my face.
Mia and I were identical twins; even though we were raised by the same parents, we had different lives. Even though we were poor, our parents did their best to give Mia all she needed. I, on the other hand, was treated like a maid. I cooked and cleaned, I did the laundry, and I could only eat after the family had finished. My clothes were never new; I would always be given the old clothes Mia tossed to the side after she got new ones.
That was my life.
The daughter who meant nothing.
“I cannot marry a man I do not know.” Mia hissed, her gaze shifting to me. “Why can't she do it?” She pointed at me.
My brow flickered up, my fingers closing tightly onto the plate of food in my hand.
“She doesn't deserve it,” my father hissed. “Mr. Davenport is a wealthy man; if you marry him, he will make our lives better, yours as well. I want you to meet a man who can provide for you.”
“Nobody has ever seen Mr. Davenport, Dad! Is he an old man? Is he ugly? Crippled? I can't marry him if I don't know what he looks like. If you can't pay your debt, then fucking sell Charlotte off!” She snapped and rushed upstairs into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
My father sighed and turned to me.
“What are you waiting for? Clean that broken glass off the floor,” he snapped.
That was it; I would always get yelled at for the things Mia did. “Yes, Dad,” I said in a low tone.
“Wait,” my mother finally spoke. She slowly stood up from her seat and turned to face me. “Let her do it.”
“Do…do what, Mom?”
She rolled her eyes at the sound of my voice and turned to look at my father. “The wedding has to happen in three days, Tommy; if Mia won't do it, then Charlotte has to.”
My pulse quickened, and I immediately dropped to my knees. My eyes widened in agony as my knees landed on the broken glass that Mia had caused.
But I didn't care what my mother had just said; that was all I could think about. “Please...I can't marry him. I'm begging you. I'll do extra work around the house. Please, Mom.”
“It’s a good opportunity for Mia to marry into a rich home, Emma,” Dad said. He shut his eyes for a second, as if he was in deep thought, before he spoke again. “Mia is who we wanted…but Charlotte we can sacrifice.”
“But Dad…”
The decision has been made, Char,” my father said, a stern look on his face. “You will marry Mr. Davenport, and you will get him to trust you. You will make us rich. Do you understand?”
“But Dad…”
“Do you understand?” He barked.
Cold silence lingered in the living room.
“Yes…Dad.” Tears formed in my eyes as I gave a slow nod.
My parents turned and headed for their bedroom, leaving me to weep uncontrollably. I had always thought that one day I would be free from them, a woman of my own, but getting married would only get me from one prison to another.
I slowly stood up from the floor, hot tears in my eyes. I cleaned up the living room.
I went up to the attic to get some sleep in my bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Who was the man getting married to? What kind of person was he? Old? Ugly? Crippled, as Mia had said?
I cleared my throat and turned to the side. I was just twenty-three and had lost all hope of getting a better life away from my parents.
After tossing and turning for a few minutes, I stood up from my bed, grabbed one of Mia's old black hoodies, and headed out of the attic. I needed some fresh air to clear my head.
In a few minutes I was out in the street. It was dark outside; in a few seconds my eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and I could see. Usually there were cars outside, but today it was different. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
As I walked past a trash bin, I shrieked in shock as I heard the sound of a man's painful groan.
My head flipped to the side, my eyes widening as my gaze caught a man in a suit lying on the floor in the pool of his own blood, a gun tightly clutched in his hand.
I gasped in shock, my hands trembling, and I turned to run off.
“Help…me,” he groaned.
I froze at the sound of his voice and slowly turned around; I had thought he was dead.
“Help me…” he begged.
My heart raced. I wanted to help this stranger, but I didn't know who he was—a criminal who was shot by the police? A gangster who had gotten into a fight? I didn't want to get into the crosshairs.
“Please…” he struggled to say.
“I'm sorry, sir…” I said, gripping tightly onto my hoodie, and turned and began to run as fast as I could.
But fuck my kind heart.
His voice kept ringing in my head: “Please…save me.”
I stopped in my tracks; I was just three houses away from my house. I hissed in annoyance as I turned around and rushed back to the man.
He was already struggling to get up; his head looked up to me.
“Promise you won't hurt me?” I asked.
“I won't,” he gasped for breath.
I quickly reached for him, grabbing his arm. I wrapped it around my shoulder, helping him to lean on me. The mixture of a metallic smell of blood and expensive cologne lingered on him.
In a few minutes we arrived back at the house, and I led him into the attic, placing him on my bed.
Luckily we kept a first aid kit in the attic since I always hurt myself from doing house chores. I rushed to turn on the lights and grabbed the box. As I turned back to face him, I froze. It was the first time I saw him in pure light. He had black wavy hair and a chiseled jawline. His nose was pointed, and his lips were pink.
I quickly moved to his side and took off his suit and unbuttoned his chest, revealing his abs.
He had a tattoo of a crested serpent on the right side of his chest.
My gaze shifted to his arm; there was a tattoo of a rose with
thorns.
I swallowed; I had never been this close to a half-naked man before.
My eyes landed on his lower abdomen; it was a gunshot wound.
“I don't know how to treat a gunshot wound,” I said.
He didn't respond; he had passed out.
With trembling hands I quickly reached for my phone and went onto the Internet for a tutorial.
“Please, God, don't let him die,” I whispered, breathlessly.