Married to the Bastard Who Will Save Me

"Let go of me," I said, yanking my wrist free from his iron grip.

His fingers released immediately, leaving red marks fading on my skin. Rowan didn't offer a single word of apology. He just turned his broad back to me and walked toward the rusted woodstove, grabbing a heavy iron poker to stoke the dying embers.

I grabbed the handle of my leather suitcase. The wheels scraped loudly against the uneven floorboards as I dragged it toward the cabin's narrow second bedroom.

I pushed the door open. The space was barely larger than a closet. A single hard wooden bed sat pushed against the far wall. No mattress pad. No blankets. Above the frame, a faded paper calendar hung from a bent nail. Someone had circled next Tuesday in thick red ink.

The upcoming board meeting.

The exact day I had to walk into the main estate and prove this fake marriage was real enough to secure my fifty-one percent. I shoved my suitcase into the corner and sat on the bare wooden slats, the cold seeping straight through my jeans.

At dawn the next morning, the biting wind of the North District woke me.

I walked out of the cabin, my boots sinking into the damp, freezing earth. The sprawling vineyards stretched out before me, barren and gray under the morning fog.

Three years ago, I had stood in this exact same dirt. I had convinced Grandfather to let me lead the "Red Heather" vintage project. I poured everything into it, practically living in the soil. It failed spectacularly, wiping out five hundred thousand dollars of family capital. Grandfather never let me forget it, and Lucas had used that failure to slowly strip my operational power at the winery.

A sharp snapping sound broke the morning silence.

I spotted Rowan fifty yards away. He gripped a pair of heavy steel shears, snapping off thick branches from a row of dead, blackened vines.

"Why are you cutting those?" I asked, stopping a few feet behind him. "They've been dead for years."

Rowan didn't turn around. "Roots are still good. Mind your own business."

"If the roots are good, why is the surface rotting?"

He stopped cutting. He lowered the shears and finally looked at me over his shoulder. "Because people up at the main house don't know how to treat soil. You all just dump chemicals and expect miracles."

I opened my mouth to press him further, to ask what else the main house had ruined, but a high-pitched roar cut through the valley.

A silver Aston Martin tore down the dirt path, its low chassis scraping against the deep ruts. Mud sprayed across the pristine paint job as the car slammed to a halt just inches from the vineyard perimeter.

The driver's door popped open. Lucas stepped out, brushing imaginary dust from his tailored navy suit.

Celeste emerged from the passenger side, clutching a designer bag against her chest. She picked her way around the puddles, a sickly sweet smile plastered across her face.

"Ivy!" Celeste called out, waving her left hand high in the air.

A massive, square-cut diamond caught the morning sun, flashing brightly.

I stared at the ring. It was the exact diamond Lucas had kept hidden in his top desk drawer for the last six months.

"You work fast, Lucas," I said.

Lucas adjusted his cuffs, his expression smooth. "The board needs stability, Ivy. Since you threw a tantrum and abandoned your post, I had to secure the family's image. Celeste understands duty."

"I understand love," Celeste corrected, leaning her weight against Lucas's arm. She looked around the barren field, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Are you really going to live in this filth? You belong in a hospital, Ivy. Or a psych ward."

"I belong exactly where I am," I said.

Lucas stepped forward, his polished Italian leather shoes sinking slightly into the mud. "It's not too late. Annul this farce with the bastard. Come back to the estate. I'll make sure Grandfather forgives you."

"You really think I'd go back to a man who laughs at my grave?"

Lucas frowned, his perfect mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "What are you talking about? Grave?"

He didn't know about the visions. He just thought I was losing my mind.

I offered a sharp, cold smile. I pointed at the silver car sinking deeper into the muck. "That chassis is too low for this terrain. If you don't leave now, you'll need a tractor to pull you out."

"You're making a mistake," Lucas warned, his voice hardening. "You won't survive out here without my protection."

"Get off my property," Rowan's gravelly voice boomed from behind me.

I didn't wait to see Lucas's reaction. I turned my back on both of them and walked straight toward Rowan, matching his steady, unyielding stance.

Behind us, the sports car engine revved furiously, the tires spinning and spitting mud before finally catching traction and speeding away.

Hours after the sun dipped behind the hills, the temperature plummeted.

I sat on the edge of the hard wooden bed, rubbing my freezing arms. Through the crack in the door, I watched Rowan move around the main room.

He wore his heavy canvas jacket. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, rusted iron key. He hung it on a small metal hook right next to the front door.

"I'm checking the perimeter," Rowan said, addressing the wall rather than me. "Lock the door behind me."

He walked out, shutting the heavy wooden door with a solid thud.

I stood up and walked into the main room. I stared at the rusted key swinging slightly on the hook.

Rowan never left things out in the open. He was too guarded.

I grabbed the key. The metal was freezing against my palm.

I slipped outside into the biting wind. The night was pitch black, save for a faint, unnatural glow coming from the far edge of the property.

I followed the dirt path toward the light. Hidden behind a row of overgrown, dead oak trees sat an abandoned glass greenhouse. The panes were caked in years of grime, but the glow inside was unmistakable.

I stepped up to the heavy steel door. A massive padlock secured the latch.

I slid the rusted key into the lock.

It fit perfectly.

I twisted my wrist, feeling the heavy mechanism click open.

I yanked the padlock off and pushed the door, listening to it groan loudly as it swung inward to reveal rows of thriving, vibrant vines bathed in an eerie, purplish-red temperature-controlled light.