Chapter 95 Bittersweet

Chapter 95 Bittersweet
I was smiling an awful lot for a girl who had never felt so completely hollow.

It was a bittersweet evening, though the sweetness was purely cosmetic, leaving nothing behind but the suffocating taste of bitter ash. I sat straight-backed in the delicate dining chair, nodding politely to Alpha and Luna Harlow, laughing at the right intervals, and completely ignoring Jessica’s venomous glares across the table for my own sanity. I wanted so desperately to make a good impression—after all, these people would soon be my family, whatever that word was supposed to mean anymore.

Halfway through the second course, I caught myself wondering why I was even bothering with the performance. Everyone in that dining room knew the engagement was a fraud. Mr. and Mrs. Harlow might not have known the sordid details, but they were perfectly content trading their eldest son into an arranged marriage anyway. Did nothing else matter to these people? No affection, no affinity, no love—just cold, transactional business?

I felt like an illicit asset in a very cordial laundering scheme. I was the dirty money being cleaned. I was Ernest’s private currency—his little treasure, as he had murmured while his hand wandered up my inner thigh in his study just two nights ago. My stomach violently turned over at the memory, and I had to swallow hard to keep the wine from coming back up. That was, of course, his way to apologize for beating me and choking me the other day. He gave me a pair of pearl earrings and roamed his hands around my body, whispering his dirty thoughts into my ears as he bit them. Somehow, being beaten and almost strangled to death felt better than whatever that was.

Beside me, Christian was quiet, almost shy. There was an awkwardness lingering between us—two young adults paraded before their parents like prize cattle, pretending this farce was a dream come true. From time to time, when his mother glanced over, he gently reached across the tablecloth and covered my fingers with his.

"You two should cherish these weeks leading up to the Gala," Alpha Harlow said between bites, his voice hoarse from the illness eating away at his lungs. "Use the time to find common ground. A successful marriage requires commitment and tireless effort, Christian. Everything else is secondary."

Mrs. Harlow let out a light, melodic laugh, waving her manicured hand. "Just make sure you don't find too much common ground before the wedding night, darling! I’d prefer my first grandchild not arrive five months after the ceremony mysteriously weighing nine pounds."

Laughter rippled across the table. Ernest chuckled warmly from the head of the mahogany, looking like the picture of an indulgent, proud father.

I laughed along with them.

I wanted to say: Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Harlow. Any child born from my body won't carry a drop of your blood anyway, because my stepfather over there plans on getting me pregnant himself, and your son has already agreed to look the other way when it happens!

The words stayed locked in my throat. I just kept smiling. Smiling was the only armor I had left.

After dinner, Christian and I were sent outside to the gardens for what our parents warmly called a "romantic promenade."

It was excruciatingly awkward. Christian walked with his hands shoved deep into his slacks, his shoulders relaxed, deliberately taking wide strides to ensure our arms never brushed against each other. Inside the manor, he had taken my hand to appease his parents, but out here in the dark, he kept a polite, careful distance. I wondered for a second if he was finally allowing his true disgust to show now that the audience was gone.

I couldn't even blame him if he did. I felt disgusting enough for the both of us.

A sharp, icy autumn breeze swept through the garden path, making me shiver. I instinctively wrapped my arms around my waist, rubbing the chill from my bare shoulders.

Christian immediately stopped and began pulling off his tailored wool dinner jacket.

The sudden, sharp movement toward me made me... Scared? I flinched violently, stepping back into the gravel, my breath catching in a panicked, audible gasp.

God, I hate when I can't behave normally.

Christian froze, holding the coat mid-air, looking at me with genuine bewilderment. "Do you... want my jacket? It’s pretty cold out here."

"No," I choked out, my heart hammering against my ribs. "No, thank you."

A soft, gentle smile touched his mouth, completely devoid of malice. "You don't have to look so terrified, Iris. I don't bite. I promise I'm completely harmless. Please, take it."

I couldn't find the energy to argue. I stood frozen as he carefully stepped forward and draped the heavy, warm fabric over my trembling shoulders. It smelled of cedar, expensive tobacco, and clean laundry—nothing like the suffocating, heavy cologne that haunted my nightmares.

We fell back into step, our shoes crunching softly against the gravel.

"Look," Christian began, his tone casual and remarkably calm. "Neither of us has to pretend this is a conventional fairy tale. Your stepfather was very blunt about the whole... Situation. Frankly, I think this arrangement works out best for both of us."

I turned my head, staring at his handsome, unbothered profile. "You think so?"

"I'm not your jailer, Iris," Christian said with a faint, careless shrug. "Once we sign the papers, we give each other total freedom. Whatever you do back here... As long as you maintain absolute discretion in public, you will never hear a single complaint or demand from me."

My chest tightened with an icy, hollow ache. "Sure... So you're entirely okay with it? With... my stepfather's terms?"

"It’s none of my business, honestly," Christian replied smoothly, kicking a stray pebble off the stone path. "I won't pry into whatever happens behind closed doors at your house. We don't have to perform for each other. No expectations, no domestic pressure. Like I said, as long as there’s discretion on your behalf... I promise I will provide the exact same courtesy."

I looked out over the dark hedge maze... I forced one more smile out of my lips.

"Sounds like a great deal," I whispered.

I was the world's most tragic bride—bartered off to an absentee husband who would look the other way while the man who raised me kept his hands around my throat. There was no knight coming. There was no dramatic rescue, no salvation.

Yet, as the cold wind whipped my hair across my face, a strange, fragile sense of peace bloomed beneath the numbness.

At least Cole was out of that cell. He would survive. Damon would eventually pack his bags and leave for medical school, escaping this whole nightmare. And Nate... Nate would stick around. And we would remain in each other's orbit as family—never closer than we were now, but more distant than we could ever be.

If my life was the currency required to keep the three of them breathing, it was a price I had already agreed to pay.