The Runaway Heiress's Accidental Contract Marriage

The dining room was bathed in the bright morning light. Annabelle sat at the long mahogany table, carefully slicing her Eggs Benedict.

But her eyes kept darting across the table. She was covertly watching Davion.

He sat diagonally across from her, wearing a crisp white shirt, reading the Wall Street Journal. Every time he lifted his coffee cup, his movements were deliberate and elegant. He was exactly what a high-society husband should be.

Suddenly, Davion lowered the newspaper. His eyes caught hers. He offered a soft, knowing smile.

Annabelle's breath hitched. She quickly looked down at her plate, her ears burning hot.

Gabriella walked into the dining room, tossing her purse onto a chair. She caught the exchange and her eyes gleamed with mischief.

"Ugh, my car is in the shop," Gabriella complained loudly, sitting down. She looked directly at Davion. "Davion, you have to drop Anna off at her office in Manhattan today."

Annabelle's head snapped up. "No! Gabriella, I can take the Long Island Rail Road. It's really no trouble."

Davion folded his newspaper and set it aside. "It's no trouble at all, Anna. I'm heading to the city anyway. I'd be happy to give you a ride."

Ten minutes later, Annabelle found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Davion's Aston Martin. The cabin was small and intimate. The scent of his expensive, woody cologne filled the air, making her pulse race.

As they drove, Davion asked her about her new job at Apex Digital Comics. He listened intently, asking smart questions about the digital illustration process. Annabelle found herself talking freely, completely at ease. He was so easy to talk to.

When he pulled up to her office building, he smiled and wished her a great first day.

Annabelle stepped out onto the sidewalk, waving as he drove away. But as the car disappeared into traffic, a heavy feeling settled in her stomach.

He was being nice to her because she was his sister's friend. He had no idea she was the girl he was contractually obligated to marry. Holding this secret felt like a lie. It felt manipulative. The moral weight of her deception made her feel slightly sick.

That evening, during dinner at the estate, Annabelle set her silver fork down on her porcelain plate. The soft clink drew the attention of Eleanor and Gabriella.

Annabelle took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. "Mrs. Barrera, Gabriella... I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking me in. But I got my first paycheck advance today. I'm going to look for an apartment this weekend and move out."

The dining room went dead silent.

Gabriella's eyes instantly welled up with tears. She reached across the table and grabbed Annabelle's hand. "No! Anna, why? Do you hate it here?"

Eleanor frowned, her elegant brows pulling together. Her voice carried the weight of a matriarch. "Annabelle, has someone made you feel unwelcome? The staff?"

"No, no! Everyone is wonderful," Annabelle stammered, feeling terrible. "I just... I can't keep living off your hospitality. It's not right."

Eleanor let out a soft, elegant laugh. Her sharp eyes studied Annabelle's face for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. There was a calculating, knowing gleam in the older woman's gaze-a look that suggested she knew exactly who Annabelle Jenkins was and the weight of the crest she carried.

Eleanor reached over and placed her hand over Annabelle's. Her grip was warm but possessed an unyielding, authoritative strength. "My dear, this house is practically empty. Having you here brings a wonderful energy to the place."

Eleanor leaned in slightly. "Winter is coming to New York. Finding a safe, decent apartment right now is nearly impossible. I insist you stay at least until after Thanksgiving. We would love to have you for the holiday. Think of it as... honoring a family connection."

"Please, Anna," Gabriella begged, squeezing her hand. "If you leave, I'll starve myself. I swear."

Annabelle looked at the two women. She had grown up without a mother, without a warm family table. The genuine desire in their eyes to keep her here broke down her walls. A lump formed in her throat.

She bit her lip and slowly nodded. "Okay. Until Thanksgiving."

Gabriella cheered, throwing her napkin in the air.

Later that night, Annabelle walked alone down the quiet, dimly lit hallway toward her room. She looked out the window at the moonlit lawns. She had tried to leave, but fate-and Eleanor-had forced her to stay. She would just have to endure this awkward, secret cohabitation with her "fiancé" until the truth came out.