His Forbidden Bride

I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

I was just sitting on the bed and staring at my phone. My fingers now hurt from holding it for so long. The screen brightness of the phone had dimmed off, but I didn't care anymore. I don't want to see it again because I already know what's there.

Clinton, standing outside his apartment. Hands in his pockets. Tired. Alone.

And then the second photo. That one I hadn't expected.

A single red dot, pointed straight at the center of his chest. With a threat just after it.

Not a bullet. Not yet. But a message.

They were watching him. And they wanted me to know it.

You don't back out of a Vale engagement. You don't fall for someone else. You don't run. Not unless you want someone to bleed for it.

My chest tightened. I wanted to call him. Tell him to leave town, change his number, and go anywhere they couldn't follow.

But if they were watching him already, if they saw one wrong move from me... it would only make things worse.

At 6:47 a.m., my phone buzzed.

Private Sender:

Be ready by 9. Black car. No delays.

That was all it said. No name. No threat. But I didn't need it either. I already understood.

I looked across the room at the suitcase near the door. My mother packed it for me. Neatly and silently. Like this had been the plan all along. I didn't even think about touching it.

I stood up quietly and went to my desk. I pushed aside a few books until I found my journal. I tore out a page from the back and sat down.

If I were leaving, if they were taking me, Clinton deserved to know why I didn't fight.

I wrote the words quickly. No names. Just enough for him to understand. That this wasn't about giving up on my love for him, but love wasn't enough when someone was pointing a gun at him to keep me in line.

When I was done, I folded the note and placed it in the middle page of a book I'd borrowed from him months ago. One, he probably forgot I still had it. Then I sealed them both in a padded envelope and wrote his name across the front.

I wasn't sure if I'd deliver it. But if there was a chance, I wanted it ready.

He hadn't called.

Not once since I showed him the message.

But I knew him. He wouldn't sit still after something like that. He'd be out there already. Driving and thinking.

He always moved fast when something didn't feel right.

I just hoped he wouldn't try to protect me in a way that would get him hurt.

And I pray that whoever was watching him wouldn't take any further decision against him before the day was over.

When it was 9:00 a.m., A black car pulled into our driveway.

The engine didn't shut off.

My mother walked me outside. Her heels clicked against the tiles. Her face looked calm, almost pleased. She handed the driver my suitcase like she'd done this before.

"Keep your shoulders straight," she said to me. "And remember, speak only when spoken to. The Vales value restraint."

I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice not to crack.

I entered the car. The driver didn't say a word. He just pulled away from the house and joined the main road, his hands steady on the wheel.

The car was quiet. Too quiet, and every second in it felt heavier.

A few minutes passed before I leaned forward.

"I need to make a stop. At the university," I said. "I left something important."

He didn't respond at first.

Then, without looking back, he said, "Mr. Vale gave strict instructions."

"I'm not trying to run," I said. "It'll take less than a minute. I swear."

He didn't speak again. But five minutes later, the car turned off the road.

We stopped near the back of the university mailroom. I stepped out, walked to the faculty drop box, and slipped the envelope inside. It would be sorted and delivered to Clinton's department. He would get it.

That was all I could do.

I got back into the car.

Still no words from the driver.

But I was sure he'd report the stop.

Vale estate wasn't what I expected.

It was big, yes. But not old or dramatic. Everywhere looked sleek and expensive. Glass, steel, Clean lines and empty spaces.

The estate didn't feel like a home, it felt like an estate meant to impress anyone who sets his eyes on it.

I noticed a woman was standing at the door when I came down from the car. She is probably waiting for someone. Her face looked like someone in her mid-forties. She was wearing a grey suit and holding a clipboard in one hand. Her hair was tied in a bun. It was so tight, tight enough to hurt.

"Miss Cole," she said, not smiling. "Welcome. I'm Elara. I'll be in charge of your preparation until the engagement dinner."

"Preparation?" I asked.

She didn't slow her pace as she turned and walked into the house.

"There are expectations. Mr. Vale is very particular. You'll be briefed."

I followed her through the house. Every room we passed was spotless and cold. No family pictures. No sign of life.

We stopped at a door on the third floor.

"This will be your room until further notice," Elara said. "Meals are scheduled. You'll be escorted when necessary."

She handed me a keycard and turned to leave. Then paused.

"You'll be summoned when Mr. Vale is ready. Until then, rest. You'll need it."

She turned and left immediately after the instruction. As if she knew I had many questions to throw at her. I needed to know what that meant.

As I stepped further in, my eyes scanned through the room. It was beautiful, painted in neutral colors which I had always loved. Soft lighting hangs in the appropriate places. Everything was perfectly in place.

But it felt empty. More like a hotel room no one had ever stayed in.

I placed my bag in a corner of the room and advanced to the glass window to take a glance at what was happening outside.

The window had a direct view of the garden, which also looked as polished as the rest of the house. Trimmed hedge, straight paths, no flowers. No mess.

That's when I saw him.

Lucian Vale.

He was walking on the stone path with another man beside him, whom I didn't recognize.

Lucian stood out.

Black suit. Sunglasses. Calm steps. Phone in one hand.

He didn't look up at first. But then, suddenly, he did.

Right at me.

Looking up at my window for a second, then smiled. Not wide, not cruel.

Just a smile that said, I see you. I know why you're here. I know what you mean to me even if you don't yet.

I stepped back from the window. My fingers felt cold.

I know that smile meant a lot more. It wasn't kindness and whatever it was, it didn't feel safe.