Channel

"Tsk." I let out a dry, mocking chuckle, shaking my head slowly, pitying his foolishness. Did he really think I would sink that low-crawl beneath him-just because I was desperate?

"I'd rather rot in jail than agree to become your maid and live under your feet." I scoffed, fixing Rowan with a piercing, unyielding glare.

He tilted his head back slightly, surprise flickering across his face. Was he truly shocked that I dared to talk back?

"Woah, Channel." His lips curled in disdain. "Not only are you a whore, but now you've grown bold enough to challenge me?"

"Mind your damn words." My voice trembled with rage. "I am not a whore. Let me go this instant so I can find your money!"

Each time that word left his mouth, it felt like shards of glass tearing through my chest. I was reaching my limit.

"Fine." His tone dropped, cold and venomous. "Go get the money the way you're used to-by spreading your legs for men. You have until next week. Fail, and I won't hesitate to throw you in jail."

"You're not the judge." I snapped immediately, anger bubbling over. "The court gave me two weeks, not one. I'll bring your money when I have it."

I pushed myself off the bed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break, and strode toward the door.

"And thanks for the advice," I added, forcing a bright, fake smile as I glanced back at him. "I'll make sure to sleep with thousands of men and bring you double your compensation."

The way his face flushed crimson with fury sent a strange sense of victory through me. Without waiting for his response, I walked out of Rowan's mansion, my steps firm-even though everything inside me was crumbling.

---

"Argh!" I screamed, frustration ripping out of my chest.

My hands clutched the back of my neck as my legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed onto the soft grass in the park.

I had wandered through almost every street in New York, searching-begging-for even the smallest job. Anything. Just enough to get food and a place to sleep for the night.

But every door had been shut in my face.

And I knew why.

Rowan Reynolds.

His name alone carried weight-power, wealth... and fear.

The Reynolds family wasn't just rich; they were untouchable. Proud to a fault. They didn't associate with people beneath their class, and I had been the greatest stain on their perfect image.

A poor girl who somehow caught Rowan's attention.

Rachel and her mother never let me forget it.

Their insults. Their humiliation. Their constant reminders that I didn't belong.

And when I couldn't give Rowan a child...

That was the final blow.

My chest tightened painfully as anger surged through me again.

Rowan was no different from them. Not anymore. The man I once knew-the man who had looked at me with warmth-was gone.

In his place stood someone cold... cruel... unrecognisable.

I let out a bitter laugh that quickly dissolved into silence.

I couldn't even apply to proper jobs. No CV. No qualifications. Nothing.

Just a high school certificate and a life that had already fallen apart before it even began-thanks to my father's illness.

The sun burned mercilessly against my skin, making my head spin. I stumbled toward a shaded corner of the park, but my vision blurred before I could even settle properly.

My body gave out.

I collapsed onto the damp grass, my eyes squeezing shut as a violent tremor ran through me.

I hadn't eaten all day.

Only water.

Just water... given to me by the same man who now wanted to destroy me.

Lying there, breathing shallow, my thoughts spiraled out of control.

Tears slipped down my temples, soaking into the grass beneath me.

I cried.

For myself.

For the child growing inside me.

For the man Rowan used to be... and the monster he had become.

"A hundred million dollars..."

The number echoed endlessly in my head, suffocating me.

"Why am I even thinking about it?" I whispered brokenly. "Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?"

A sob tore through me, louder this time, raw and unrestrained. I didn't care who heard.

I stayed like that for what felt like forever-lost, broken, drowning in hopelessness.

There were only two paths ahead of me.

Death...

Or prison.

And neither offered escape.

"Hey. Get up."

A deep, rough voice cut through my thoughts.

Before I could react, a sharp kick landed against my side.

Pain shot through me.

"What the-?" I groaned inwardly, irritation flaring as I forced my eyes open. Who the hell was this idiot?

Still clutching my side, I looked up-

And froze.

A man stood over me.

Tall. Imposing.

Starting from his polished white loafers, my gaze trailed upward-tight black jeans outlining long, powerful legs, a navy-blue turtleneck hugging his frame, and a crisp white designer coat draped effortlessly over his shoulders.

Gold gleamed on his wrist-an expensive watch accompanied by stacked bracelets. His fingers were adorned with rings of different metals, each one catching the sunlight.

His presence screamed wealth.

Power.

Control.

His hair was styled in a soft Afro, curls defined perfectly. His beard was neatly groomed, framing sharp features-long jawline, striking eyes, and thin, red lips that held no warmth.

He was... breathtaking.

Dangerously so.

"Gosh..." My mind whispered in stunned disbelief.

For a moment, everything else faded-my pain, my hunger, my despair.

Even my heartbeat seemed to skip.

"Wh-" My lips parted, but no words came out. My tongue felt heavy, useless.

Pathetic.

His eyes narrowed slightly, impatience flickering through them. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slid both hands into his coat pockets, stretching one leg forward casually.

There was something unsettling about how composed he was.

How detached.

"Let's skip introductions," he said, his voice smooth but cold. "We don't know each other, and that's not important."

His gaze locked onto mine-sharp, assessing.

"Why are you here?" I managed to ask weakly, confusion clouding my thoughts.

He exhaled softly, almost as if he were bored.

Then he spoke.

And the world around me seemed to stop.

"Channel Sidney..." His voice dropped, deliberate and steady.

"Let's get married."

Channel

I blinked multiple times when I heard him say that.

"Uuh..." I finally found my lost tongue, though it felt like it didn't belong to me anymore.

"I hate repeating myself. You heard me clearly earlier; don't act like a dimwit." He growled, his sharp eyes slicing into me without mercy.

Gosh!!

I was completely taken aback.

Who the hell was this disrespectful, glittering, annoyingly confident man who walked into my breakdown like he owned the air I was breathing and started talking about marriage like it was a business transaction?

"Are you in-"

He raised his hand midair, cutting me off effortlessly.

"Get married to me in exchange for your freedom from Rowan Reynolds." His voice dropped-cold, precise, and commanding. "I'll settle your one hundred million debt, and in return, you'll fill the position of my wife for two years."

He spoke fast, like a man who had already decided everything long before I ever existed in the conversation.

His eyes never left my face-not even for a second.

And that foot of his... it kept tapping against the grass impatiently, like patience itself was something he didn't believe in.

I frowned.

Who exactly did he think he was?

"I don't even know you," I snapped, pushing myself to my feet. "Who the hell are you?"

"Your new husband." He said it flatly, like it was already written in law. Then he tossed a stack of documents and a pen onto the grass. "Sign them. We're leaving."

That was it.

That was the moment something inside me snapped.

I laughed, sharp and bitter, dragging my fingers through my messy hair. "Are you okay? Did you escape from somewhere– a mental hospital, maybe? Which sane man walks up to a stranger and commands her into marriage without pleading or proposing?

"Plead?" He scoffed. "You want me to plead?"

His eyes darkened slightly.

"I am offering you freedom, and you want me to beg?" His voice dropped lower. "Reject it, and stay chained to your debt. I'll find someone else who understands opportunity when it's placed in their hands."

Silence fell.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

I stared at him, my chest tightening, my thoughts scattering in every direction.

Freedom.

The word hit too hard.

Too painful.

Who... was this man?

"Who are you?" I whispered again, but softer this time.

"Calvin Blackwood," he replied sharply. "A man in need of a wife."

He pointed at the papers again.

"If you're not interested-"

"I'll marry you."

The words left my mouth before my brain could stop them.

My fingers trembled slightly as I dug them into my hair, my emotions colliding violently inside me.

This was insane.

Utterly insane.

But then-

Rowan.

Just his name alone was enough to tighten my chest.

His control.

His anger.

His silence that always felt louder than shouting.

I swallowed hard.

"I'll marry you," I repeated, firmer this time, like saying it twice would make it real.

I needed out.

Even if it meant jumping into another unknown fire.

Without reading a single line, I bent down and signed the papers.

One stroke.

Two strokes.

Done.

The sound of the pen scratching felt like I was sealing away the last remaining piece of my old life.

When I stood, my breathing was uneven.

"It's done," I said quickly. "We're married. I'm Channel Blackwood now. When are you settling my debt?"

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then-

A slow, unreadable smirk formed on his lips.

It wasn't warm.

It wasn't kind.

It was controlled.

Like he had just gotten exactly what he came for.

He pulled out a black card and placed it in my hand.

"It has no limit," he said. "Use it to clear your debt. Take care of yourself. For two years, you belong to this agreement."

Two years.

The number echoed in my mind longer than it should have.

Before I could ask anything else, he turned away.

"Follow me," he added. "There's a file in the car. You have two hours to memorize everything. My father does not tolerate mistakes."

-

Inside the white Rolls-Royce, my world started shifting in real time.

The air felt heavier.

Stranger.

Like I had stepped into someone else's life without permission.

The file in my hands wasn't just paper.

It was identity.

Rules. Answers. Instructions.

How to speak.

How to sit.

How to breathe around his family.

How to exist without slipping.

Each page felt like a layer of me was being rewritten.

My chest tightened.

"Why me?" I muttered under my breath.

Then, louder-

"Did Rowan send you?"

The car slowed slightly.

Calvin didn't look at me immediately.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"I married you because I need you," he said coldly. "I have nothing to do with your ex-husband."

I didn't believe him.

Not fully.

"How do you know about me?"

"Search your name," he replied. "Everything is already out there."

My stomach twisted.

Of course.

The humiliation.

The headlines.

Rachel.

That name alone burned.

"Rachel..." I whispered.

My fists clenched tightly.

She didn't just ruin my marriage.

She broadcasted my ruin as entertainment.

But before the anger could fully consume me, the car slowed again.

We stopped.

I looked up.

An airport.

Private.

Quiet.

Expensive.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To my country," Calvin replied, already stepping out. "I don't stay anywhere near your ex-husband."

My pulse jumped.

"You're starting a new life," he added flatly. "With a new identity."

A new identity.

The words should have comforted me.

Instead, they felt like a warning.

I stepped out slowly, my eyes fixed on the private jet ahead.

The wind brushed against my skin, colder than I expected.

Freedom.

That was what I kept telling myself.

But it didn't feel like freedom.

It felt like a transition.

Like something I couldn't reverse.

I followed behind him, my heels clicking softly against the ground.

Each step felt louder than the last.

The jet loomed closer.

Massive.

Silent.

Waiting.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

This was the beginning of something new.

Something better.

Something-

My thoughts suddenly fractured.

A cold sensation spread across my chest.

Like something invisible had brushed against my skin.

My steps slowed without permission.

My fingers tightened slightly at my sides.

The wind shifted.

Or maybe I imagined it.

Maybe it was just fear.

Just nerves.

Just my mind catching up to reality too slowly.

I swallowed hard.

It didn't matter.

I was almost there.

Almost free.

Almost-

"Stop right there, Channel."

The voice came again.

Clearer this time.

Closer.

Too close.

My body locked instantly.

Not a single muscle obeyed me.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to blur my vision for a second.

No.

No, no, no.

That voice...

It didn't belong here.

I was at an airport.

Leaving.

Escaping.

Starting over.

Rowan wasn't supposed to be part of this distance.

He was supposed to be behind me.

In the past.

Locked in everything I was trying to run from.

But that voice-

It sounded like it was right behind my ear.

Like he was standing so close I could feel his breath.

My throat went dry.

My mind began to fracture between logic and fear.

Don't turn.

If you turn, it becomes real.

If you turn, it means he's here.

But what if he's not?

What if it's just my mind breaking under pressure?

What if I'm finally losing it?

My breath turned shallow.

My fingers curled slightly as if searching for something to hold onto.

Calvin was ahead.

The jet was ahead.

Freedom was ahead.

But behind me-

That voice lingered like a shadow that refused to leave.

"Stop right there, Channel," I heard the unmistakable voice of Rowan behind me.

My entire body froze instantly; my heart began thumping violently against my chest.

Rowan

Every day blurred into the next like a punishment I couldn't escape.

I kept waiting for Channel.

Waiting for her to show up at my gates, trembling, breaking, begging-eyes wet with regret as she finally realized there was nowhere left to run. I imagined her collapsing on her knees, her voice shaking as she asked for mercy, for time, for anything.

And I would have given it to her.

Not because she deserved it.

Because I wanted her close.

That was the part I hated admitting.

A month and two weeks had passed.

No Channel.

No trace.

No whisper.

Just silence that pressed against my skull until it felt like madness.

I stood by the window of my study, staring at nothing in particular, hands clenched behind my back. My mansion had never felt this large-or this empty.

"Boss Rowan," a voice called from the doorway.

I didn't turn.

"Don't come in here without her-alive or dead," I said flatly. It was the same order I had given for weeks.

No one had brought anything useful.

No one had found her.

And that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

Three weeks of private investigators. Three weeks of dead ends, missing trails, and silence that didn't make sense for someone like Channel-someone who always ended up somewhere, even if it was the wrong place.

"Where could she be?" I muttered to myself, voice tightening. "Where did she go?"

Anger flared, sharp and sudden, choking my throat.

Then something worse followed.

Fear.

Because the last time I saw her clearly... she had been on that bridge.

The image hit me like a strike.

Her standing at the edge. Wind pulling at her clothes. Refusing to turn back.

I jolted upright so fast my chair scraped hard against the floor.

"No..." I whispered.

The thought came like poison.

Had she done it?

Had Channel really ended everything?

My chest tightened violently.

I grabbed my coat and stormed out of the study.

I didn't think.

I just moved.

My car engine roared to life, but before I could reverse out of the driveway, another vehicle cut across my path.

A blue sedan.

Rachel.

And my mother.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel.

Not now.

Not them.

I leaned out of the window, my voice sharp. "I don't have time for pointless conversations. Move."

Rachel stepped out of the passenger side, calm-too calm.

"Get out of the car, Rowan," she said. "We have news."

"Move," I repeated, louder this time.

Then my mother's voice cut through.

"Get back inside the house."

It wasn't loud.

It didn't need to be.

It carried weight-control.

"I have something to say," she added. "About Channel."

My body froze for half a second.

Then I stepped out.

Within minutes, I was back inside the mansion I barely recognized as mine anymore.

I didn't sit.

I couldn't.

"Speak," I said tightly, eyes locked on Rachel.

She sat down slowly on the sofa.

That sofa.

The one I had ordered specifically for Channel because she once mentioned she liked soft things when she was tired.

The memory made something twist in my chest.

Rachel noticed my stare and smirked faintly.

"I'll say it quickly," she said. "Channel is dead."

The words didn't land immediately.

My brain rejected them.

"What...?" My voice came out lower than intended.

Rachel reached into her folder and dropped several photos onto the table.

"I assume you'll want proof."

I moved before I even realized it.

My hands grabbed the photos.

And the world tilted.

Images.

Blurry. Disturbing. Suggestive.

A woman-her face partially hidden-caught in compromising positions with a man I didn't recognize.

My breathing stopped.

I couldn't see her face clearly.

But I saw enough.

The body shape.

The posture.

The familiarity that made my stomach turn violently.

"No..." I whispered again, but weaker this time.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the photos until they bent.

"That's her," Rachel said coldly. "Or what's left of her reputation."

My vision blurred.

Heat surged up my spine.

Something in me snapped.

I dropped to my knees without realizing it.

The impact barely registered.

My mind was too busy collapsing.

This couldn't be real.

Not Channel.

Not her.

Not like this.

I slammed my fist into the marble floor.

Once.

Twice.

Pain shot up my arm, but it wasn't enough to match what was inside me.

"Rowan-" my mother started.

"Don't," I growled.

My voice broke halfway.

I hit the floor again.

Harder.

The rage that followed wasn't clean-it was messy, choking, suffocating.

Betrayal.

Disgust.

Grief.

All colliding in my chest at once.

I turned my face away and vomited onto the floor.

Silence followed.

Then footsteps.

My mother's hand rested on my back. "Calm down."

Rachel sighed sharply. "Clean this up."

But I barely heard them.

My eyes were still fixed on the photos.

My mind refused to accept them yet, refused to let them go.

If Channel was alive...

Then this was what she had become?

My throat tightened painfully.

"I hate her," I whispered. "I hate her..."

But it didn't feel true.

Not fully.

Because hatred that strong shouldn't hurt this much.

They helped me upstairs.

I didn't resist.

My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.

My body collapsed onto the bed, but my mind stayed standing-trapped in the images, replaying them over and over again until they lost meaning.

Or maybe I was losing meaning.

Time passed strangely.

Minutes or hours-I couldn't tell.

Then Rachel entered again.

She didn't knock.

Of course she didn't.

"I forgot to mention something," she said casually.

My eyes lifted slowly.

"What now?"

She tilted her head.

"Oh," she said. "You didn't know?"

My heart tightened again for no reason I could explain.

My mother stepped in behind her, expression unreadable.

Rachel smiled.

"Channel might have been pregnant."

The room stopped breathing.

Even the air went still.

My body jerked upright so fast my head spun.

"What did you say?"

Rachel's smile widened slightly.

"And according to the report," she continued slowly, savoring it, "she claimed you were the father."

A long silence followed before Rachel's voice broke it again.

"It doesn't matter now. She's dead already, and so is the baby," she said carelessly, her tone void of emotions.

Then something inside me cracked-not loudly, not dramatically.

Quietly.

Deeply.

Wrongly.

Because suddenly, the photos didn't matter as much as the possibility that she had been carrying something... something that belonged to me.

My fingers went numb.

"No," I said immediately.

But my voice wasn't strong.

It was uncertain.

Rachel watched me carefully now, like she was waiting for something.

My mother didn't speak.

And in that silence, one thought rose slowly inside my mind like a shadow stretching across a wall.

If Channel was truly dead...with my baby...

Why did it feel like this wasn't the end of her story?

And why, suddenly, did I feel like I had just lost something I never even knew I still had?

Something important.

Something irreversible.

Something that was still not finished.