Chapter 174
Sawyer looked at her and didn't deny it. "At the beginning, yeah." He paused, his voice dropping. "Later… not entirely."
Elizabeth said nothing. She had no idea what she was supposed to say.
Sawyer got to his feet and walked over to the window, turning his back to her. "Elizabeth, when it comes to the Turner family, my hands are tied. If you don't marry in, the Turners won't let you go, they won't let Jack go, and they sure as hell won't let me go. Jacob can cripple Nathan, but he can't fight off the entire Turner family."
He turned around and looked at her. "So you have to marry him."
Elizabeth held Jack in her arms, her fingers brushing lightly over his hair. Her son. Her husband. Her home. She'd fought so hard to finally have a home.
"Okay." Her voice was very soft, as light as a feather hitting the ground.
Sawyer watched her, something complicated flashing in his eyes. "You agreed?"
"I agreed." Elizabeth lowered her head and pressed a gentle kiss to Jack's forehead. "But on one condition."
"What condition?"
"On the wedding day, I choose my own clothes."
Sawyer froze for a second, then laughed. "Deal."
The wedding was set for three days later. By the time the news got out, the entire Italian upper crust had exploded in an uproar.
The Turner heir had been beaten into a cripple, and he was still going to marry the Scott family's daughter—what kind of move was that supposed to be?
The media swarmed like sharks catching the scent of blood, surrounding the castle so tightly that not even air could get through.
Rumors flew everywhere. Some said the Turner family was doing it to save face, some said the Scotts were climbing the social ladder, some said it was a political marriage,, and everyone was just getting what they needed.
No one knew the truth.
Across the ocean, Jacob sat in his office, staring at the bold headline splashed across the front page: [Scott Heiress to Wed Turner Family's Eldest Son. Ceremony Set for Three Days From Now.]
He stared at the line without moving. Leon stood behind him, barely daring to breathe.
"Three days." Jacob's voice was quiet, so quiet it sounded like he was talking to himself.
Leon forced himself to speak. "Mr. Smith, the Turner family's reach is huge, we—"
"I said one month." Jacob cut him off. "And it's only been half a month."
Leon fell silent.
Jacob stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the washed-out gray sky. His fingers clenched hard around the window ledge, his knuckles turning white. "Get ready, for a bloodbath."
Leon's lips parted, as if he wanted to argue, but in the end, he just nodded.
Over the next three days, Jacob went after the Turner family's assets like a man possessed.
Their shipping routes in Asia were blocked, several properties in Europe were seized, and an accident hit one of their mines in South America. The losses were devastating. Patrick smashed three phones in a rage.
But the wedding date did not change.
Three days later, the castle was dressed up like a sea of flowers, blooms covering the entire aisle leading to the ceremony stage.
Guests arrived one after another, but everyone was whispering under their breath, trading intel and speculation.
The whole wedding was happening way too fast. So fast it felt like a bad joke.
Nathan sat in his wheelchair, pushed to the front of the platform. His arms and legs were still wrapped in bandages, gauze strips covered parts of his face, and he looked like some broken doll awkwardly glued back together. But his eyes were disturbingly bright. There wasn't an ounce of newlywed joy in them, only a vicious, chilling hatred that made people's skin crawl.
He'd already decided that once the wedding was over, once the guests had cleared out, once he had Elizabeth under his roof, he would make sure she learned what happened to anyone who dared lay a hand on Nathan.
He would make her kneel in front of him, begging, sobbing as she begged. He would force her to spit back out every single thing she'd gotten from Sawyer, down to the last scrap.
The music started. Everyone turned their heads toward the far end of the aisle.
Elizabeth stood there. She wasn't wearing a wedding dress.
She had on a simple white outfit, casual but sharply cut, the fabric crisp and structured. Her hair wasn't pinned up; it just fell loosely over her shoulders.
She wasn't wearing makeup either, her face bare. But her eyes were bright, bright like a blade.
The guests traded looks.
What was this supposed to mean? The bride showing up to her own wedding in everyday clothes, with a bare face? Was she getting married or staging a protest?
The media went wild. Camera flashes exploded like a storm, reporters craning their necks, desperate to shove their lenses right into Elizabeth's face.
Nathan stared at her, the corner of his mouth curving into a cruel smile.
No wedding dress? Fine. Barefaced? Fine. After tonight, she would be his anyway.
He had all the time in the world to slowly, patiently grind every last bit of pride and dignity out of her.
Sawyer stood at the side of the platform, watching Elizabeth take step after step toward him.
His face was expressionless, but his eyes were blazing. That was excitement, anticipation, a sick, almost deranged sense of satisfaction.
He didn't care what she wore. He didn't care whether she wanted this or not. He only needed her to stand there, on that stage, in front of everyone, and become his bargaining chip.
The Turner family wanted to save face; he'd help them save it. The Turner family needed someone to vent their rage on; he would hand them their target. As for Elizabeth, she was going to hate him. He knew that. But he wasn't afraid of her hatred. Hate was still a way of remembering someone.
Elizabeth stopped when she reached the front of the platform.
She lifted her head and looked at Sawyer.
Meeting her gaze, Sawyer's smile deepened.
"Get up here," he murmured, his voice as gentle as if he were coaxing a disobedient child.
Elizabeth didn't answer. She stood frozen in place. The flashes kept popping, the guests kept whispering, and Nathan waited in his wheelchair. She didn't move.
Sawyer's smile faded a little. "Elizabeth."
She still didn't move.
And then a voice rang out from the doorway.
It was as wild and unruly, as arrogant and cocky, as the man it belonged to. "You're trying to marry my wife off. Did I say you could?"
Every movement in the hall stopped. The cameras stopped flashing, the whispers cut off, and even the music died. Everyone turned in unison to stare at the entrance.
Jacob stood there. He wore a black suit, his posture straight, his features carved in cold lines.
His gaze swept over the rows of guests, over Nathan in his wheelchair, over Sawyer at the side of the platform, and finally landed on Elizabeth. In his eyes, there was pain, guilt, and a possessiveness so fierce it bordered on madness.
Behind him stood dozens of men dressed in black. Each one held a gun, the dark barrels aimed at every person in the banquet hall.
Guests screamed and bolted in all directions. Tables and chairs overturned, glasses shattered, food and wine splattering across the floor. The media's eyes lit up with feral excitement as they raised their cameras and frantically hit the shutter. Now this was news. Huge news.
Nathan sat rigid in his wheelchair, his face draining of color. He stared at Jacob, shaking all over, whether from rage or terror, he couldn't tell.
He remembered that night. The hand clamped around his throat. The sound of bones snapping. The way he'd been crushed like some pathetic insect.
Fear surged over him like a tidal wave, drowning out every ounce of hatred he'd been feeding.
Sawyer stayed where he was, looking at Jacob, the last trace of his smile finally gone.
"Mr. Smith," he said, his voice as calm as if they were chatting over drinks. "This is Elizabeth's wedding. Showing up with this many men, don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"