Prologue
Brooke:
"I've arranged for you to marry Landon Campbell."
My father's gruff voice rumbles through the thick air over breakfast. Fear races down my spine, and my heart rate speeds up. My hands shake as I pour his coffee, spilling it over the cup and onto his lap.
"Dammit! You stupid, clumsy bitch." He grabs my wrist in a vise-like grip. He picks up the cup of coffee, and an evil grin stretches across his face as he proceeds to pour the scalding hot liquid across my forearm. I wince at the pain and suck in a deep breath. I know better than to cry out. Noise only encourages him to inflict more pain. Tears prick my eyes, and he lets go of me so roughly that I fall to my butt.
My glasses fall off my face, and I scramble to grab them. The dark, blurred images always cause my palms to sweat as fear seeps into every cell in my body. My father cackles as he watches me squirm on the ground. He delivers a swift kick to my right side, knocking the breath out of me.
"Clean this mess up. I'll be in my study arranging your engagement dinner for tomorrow. Don't disturb me, you ugly cow."
With that, he leaves the room.
I clean up the mess then take a cold shower in the hopes of slowing the bruising. My thoughts swirl, wondering who is to be my new husband. Will he be a cruel man like my father? Or will he be gentle and loving? I can only hope for the latter. But I fear the worst. What kind of man would agree to marry someone they never met?
Especially someone as ugly and useless as me. Not anyone good, a nagging voice says in the back of my head.
Landon:
One week later…
The wedding day.
I gulp down another glass of whiskey. Fucking Connor Robinson and his fucking contract. His stipulations for this marriage were outrageous. I gulp down another drink and glance at my new wife across the room. She is dancing with her father for the father-daughter dance. She's the picture of perfect feminine grace as she glides across the floor. Although, something seems off about it. Almost as if she is favoring her right side.
I shake my head, brushing aside the thought. The last thing I need is a spoiled, vain, brainless wife. I signal to the bartender for another drink.
"Trying to black out before the wedding night?" Arnold Macintosh, Connor Robinson's nephew and sole heir, asks as he slides next to me. "I don't blame you; Brooke's such an ugly fat thing. Good luck getting that bitch pregnant." He chuckles, and I ignore him. "Of course, you could always turn off all the lights if you were desperate. Which, if you ever wanted to unshackle yourself—"
Arnold is cut off when I grab him by the throat. "Do not speak ill of my bride, Arnold, or you will be sorry. And I can assure you I am more than capable of getting my wife with child. Although, I am sure you wouldn't want that. No, if I have a son, Connor Robinson's fortune goes to him, doesn't it?" I smirk as I shove him away, down another drink, and go to collect my bride.