Married to the Bastard Who Will Save Me

The automatic doors of Mercy Hospital opened on a hard October wind. I tightened my hands around the wheelchair armrests as the scar above my temple began to pulse.

One month had passed since my car went through a guardrail on Route 29. I had spent three weeks unconscious and another week learning how to stand without the room tilting. Now Lucas waited beside the curb with white lilies and the same devoted smile he had worn for ten years.

"We're finally going home, Ivy."

He set the flowers across my lap and covered my hand with his.

The hospital disappeared.

Rain struck a black umbrella. A gray headstone rose from wet earth, its name blurred by water. Lucas stood beside it in a dark coat, laughing under his breath.

"She finally left that fifty-one percent to me."

I tore my hand away.

The lilies slid to the floor. Petals scattered across the polished tile.

Lucas stared at me. "Did I hurt you? The neurologist said your nerves might misfire for a while."

His concern was flawless. So was everything else about him: the careful voice, the expensive coat, the tired eyes he had shown every nurse who entered my room. He had slept beside my bed for a month. He had also met twice with Grandfather's attorney while I was unconscious.

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking. Let me help you into the car."

"No."

I pushed myself upright. My knees trembled, but I locked them and reached for the wall.

Lucas moved toward my waist. "Don't be stubborn."

His phone lit inside his coat pocket. I caught only part of the preview before he turned the screen away: VOSS - transfer documents ready. Lucas silenced it without reading the message.

"Who is Voss preparing documents for?" I asked.

"Routine estate work." His answer came too quickly. "You have been unconscious for weeks. Business did not stop because you were hurt."

I slapped his hand aside. "Don't touch me."

Annoyance flashed across his face before the gentle mask returned. "All right. The crash was traumatic. I'll give you space."

I left the wheelchair and forced myself down the corridor. One step. Then another. The discharge nurse called after me to use the chair until my balance returned, but I kept moving. I needed distance from Lucas, and I needed to know whether the vision had been brain damage or something worse. If physical contact had shown me a real future, then everyone around me had become evidence.

A tall man leaned against the vending machine near the exit.

Rowan Stone.

Mud dried across his work boots. A faded black canvas jacket stretched over his shoulders. He was the unrecognized son of Nathan Stone, Grandfather's late cofounder, and had been pushed into the North District vineyards five years earlier. He looked as if he had come straight from the fields because he probably had.

"The old man sent me with the backup truck," he said. "Apparently the golden boy's car isn't comfortable enough for you."

He watched me struggle without offering help.

Good. I did not want kindness. I wanted proof.

I released the wall and let my right knee buckle.

"Watch it."

Rowan stepped forward on instinct. Before he could catch me, I grabbed his bare wrist.

Rain flooded my mind.

The corridor became a cemetery. Rowan stood over the same grave, soaked through, his face hollow with grief.

"If I'd told her the truth about the crash sooner, she wouldn't have died."

I let go with a gasp.

Rowan caught my elbows before I hit the floor. His hands were warm through the thin hospital clothes, but no second vision came. The future had appeared only when I touched him first.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked.

"The crash." I stared at his chest because I could not yet meet his eyes. "What do you know about it?"

His grip tightened, then vanished. He stepped back.

"You lost control near Mile Marker Fourteen and hit a delivery truck."

"That isn't what I asked."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

He pushed open the glass doors. "The truck is outside. Try not to collapse before we reach the estate."

He knew something. Lucas expected to profit from my death, and Rowan believed he could have prevented it. Whatever had happened on Route 29 was not finished.

That evening, a crystal chandelier lit the long dining table at Mills Estate. Roasted pheasant cooled untouched between polished silver and old family china.

Grandfather sat at the head of the table. He dropped a manila folder onto the runner.

"Your medical leave ends next week," he said. "The trust clause is now active. You and Lucas will complete the civil marriage by Friday. The board wants stability after your accident."

Lucas sat at my right, relaxed in a velvet chair. "I've reserved an appointment with the county clerk and spoken to the key directors. No one expects Ivy to handle business while she recovers."

I looked at him. "You spoke to the board while I was in a coma?"

"I protected your interests." His smile was soft enough for a camera. "Sign the documents. Let me take care of everything."

She finally left that fifty-one percent to me.

The future voice rang in my head.

If I married Lucas, the voting shares protected by my mother's trust would eventually become his leverage. The vision ended at my grave because that was where his plan ended.

"No."

Grandfather raised his eyes. "What did you say?"

I stood. The chair scraped across the marble.

"I won't marry him."

Lucas's voice lost its warmth. "Sit down, Ivy. You're confused."

I looked beyond him to the small side table in the shadowed corner. Rowan ate alone, separated from the family as if sharing our blood were a stain. He held the missing truth about my crash. I needed him close enough to expose it.

Grandfather struck the table with his palm. "The trust requires you to marry within the approved family circle or surrender your inheritance. You do not get to refuse."

"I know the clause."

I held Rowan's gaze.

"I'm not choosing Lucas."

The room fell silent.

"I'm marrying Rowan."

Lucas's smile vanished.

Rowan's fork struck his plate with a sharp crack. He raised his head slowly, green eyes fixed on mine, and for the first time that day, he looked shocked.