Olivia's pov

Two hefty men were standing outside my door. I didn't know either of them. No uniforms, just dark suits. One tall, one wide, standing on either side of my door like they'd been posted there all night waiting for exactly this moment.

"Mr Morgan sent us," the tall one said. Calm, like he was telling me what time it was. "You're needed at the courthouse first thing in the morning. Please go back in and get some rest." He smiled as he pointed at my room signalling me to go back in.

I stepped back. My hand went tight around the bag strap, the handle slick with my own sweat.

"I AM NOT GOING!!!" My voice echoed loudly.

The wide one took one step forward.

"You're going. It's our job to bring you to the courthouse safely. We have prepared your civil outfit. It will be here at 6 am.

Neither of them touched me.

I looked past them. Down the stairs. I imagined the front door. The street. The bus station. Somewhere else. I was foolish. I shouldn't have returned after that meeting. That was a terrible mistake. I might as well have been on the moon. My life was about to take a drastic turn and I couldn't do anything to change it. The cold hit my chest again.

I went back into my room and put the bag on the bed and took everything back out. The jeans, the shirt, the money and put it all back in the drawer. Sat down. The springs creaked. I couldn't sleep. Morning came so fast.

I heard a knock on the door. "It's time." Everything happened so fast.

The courthouse was small and empty. Wooden benches, a judge, a table. No flowers. No music. The judge looked old and tired, like this was just another Tuesday for him.

My father stood by the table with his arms crossed, face blank, not looking at me as I came in.

My mother sat on a bench with her hands folded in her lap. She didn't look either. She seemed to be avoiding me since yesterday.

Jessica wasn't there at all.

Two men were standing in front. Based on their outfit, I couldn't already tell which one was Nathan Hayes. Dark blue suit, expensive looking, tie crooked, hair a mess. His eyes weren't focusing right.

He was drunk. I caught the whiskey smell from across him, sharp and sweet at the same time. He swayed a little on his feet. He blinked slowly like it took effort to open his eyes back up each time.

He looked at me when I walked in and his eyebrows pulled together like he was trying to place me.

"Where's Jessica," he said. The words ran together at the edges.

Nobody answered him.

We were seated and the procedure started. I signed papers.

Then it was over.

Nathan came toward me, stopped a foot away, and really looked at my face for the first time. Green eyes. Brown hair. Nothing like Jessica at all.

"Jessica," he said.

I didn't correct him.

He said it again at the courthouse door. Jessica, car's waiting.

He said it in the car. Jessica, you're being quiet.

He said it that night in a bedroom that wasn't mine, in a house that wasn't mine, in a life that had nothing to do with me at all.

Jessica.

I lay still on silk sheets in a bed big enough for four people, in a room that smelled like whiskey and his cologne and something else I couldn't put a name to.

He was on his back, mouth open, breathing heavy, shoes still on his feet, tie still crooked, shirt half untucked.

Jessica, he mumbled. Then his breathing settled into something even. 

I was twenty-two years old. I had never been kissed. Never been on a date. Never been loved or…wanted…or chosen by anyone, not once, not even a little.

And now I was lying in a stranger's bed. A stranger who'd married me thinking I was someone else.

The door opened.

A woman stood there. Older, her gray hair pulled back, lines on her face, hands that looked like they'd done real work for a long time. She was holding a tray, water, a sandwich, and a small knife. She walked in quietly, and set the tray down on the table by the bed, and looked at me. Her eyes were kind. First kind eyes I'd seen all day.

"This is for you," she said with a wuiet voice. Some kind of accent. "If you need anything."

"Who are you," I said. My voice came out rough. I hadn't talked since the courthouse.

"Mia. I'm the housekeeper." She glanced at Nathan, passed out with his shoes still on. "He isn't usually like this."

"I wouldn't know," I said. "I don't know him at all."

She looked at me properly then. My green eyes. My brown hair. My face that I had clearly been crying for hours.

"You're Jessica," she said.

"No. I mean. Yyes." I said hurriedly, nodding my head.

She nodded slowly.

"Eat something," she said. "You'll need it."

She left, and the door closed soft behind her.

I sat up and looked at the tray. The sandwich. The water. The little silver knife.

I was starving. I hadn't eaten properly in two days. Just bits of bread, cold pasta, nothing much.

My hand moved toward the sandwich. I eat like a bush girl. I had no choice. I took a deep breath after I was done eating.

I put my hand back down and lay back against the silk sheets and looked up at that perfect white ceiling.

Tomorrow he'll wake up sober. He'd see my face and know exactly who I wasn't. And then it would all start. I have been abused physically and emotionally my whole life. Would this be any different when he finds out the truth? 

Morning came already. I woke up before him. He finally woke up and looked at me with a confusing look. 

I swallowed hard. “Good morning,” I said.

He squinted his eyes.

“ Who are you?” He said. My jaw dropped instantly.

Nathan's Pov

The light was too bright.

I shut my eyes again. The room kept tilting a little even with them closed. I remember going to the bar last night to ease my frustration. My mother Patricia, had made an alliance with Morgan's tech through marriage. That meant I had to marry one of his daughters, Jessica. I wasn't happy but I couldn't refuse either.

I forced my eyes open and turned my head, which made everything tilt worse. She was still there. I thought I was hallucinating from the effect of the alcohol. But apparently, I wasn't.

My brain was working in slow motion.

"What the hell." My voice came out wrecked. I sat up too fast and the room spun. I pressed my palm against my forehead. "I said, who are you and how did you get in here?"

She turned her head and looked at me. She had green eyes. Sad in a way that told me she already knew what was about to happen.

"Olivia," she said softly.

I stared at her, trying to drag something out of last night. The courthouse. The judge. Papers. A woman who wasn't…

"What a minute. Where's Jessica," I said. Sharper now. The fog was burning off, just not fast enough.

She didn't answer. Just looked at me with those tired eyes.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My skull throbbed with the movement. "Jessica," I said again, louder. "Where is she?" I moved frantically around the room. “What did you do? This better not be what I think it is because if it is, you are going to regret it. I am going to ask you for the last time. WHERE IS JESSICA?”

"Not here," Olivia said.

I actually looked at her properly. Brown hair. Pale. Small. Wearing some old black dress that had clearly seen better decades.

“Oh. Are you looking at my clothes? I changed into this last night after eating. Sandwich.”

"I am a joke to you? Who the hell are you! What were you doing on my bed?" I said again.

"Olivia Morgan. I'm Jessica's sister."

The room swayed and I grabbed the bedpost. My shirt was untucked, my shoes were still on, and I looked exactly as bad as I felt.

"Sister?" I said. "Her sister?" I said as my eyes widened in shock. 

"Yes."

I ran a hand through my hair. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking. "What happened last night. Where's Jessica? And why is her sister here in my bed?"

She sat up slowly. Her hands in her lap, gripping her own fingers hard enough to give them another shape.

"I tried telling you," she said. "Last night. But you were too drunk. You kept calling me Jessica."

I stopped breathing for a second.

"Calling you Jessica," I repeated.

"Yes."

I stood firm 

"Explain," I said. I didn't turn around. I couldn't look at her yet. "Now."

"The marriage was supposed to be Jessica's," she said. Soft. Shaking a little. "My father arranged it. But he…” she took a deep breath and continued. He said Jessica was too young to get married and that I should go instead. So they used me."

I spun around. "Used you?" I was confused by that statement.

She flinched. Just barely. But I caught it.

"My father told me if I refused he'd throw me out. I am sorry. I didn't have a choice. Please.” Her eyes softened. “Forgive me, please.” 

She dropped to her knees fidgeting.

"You expect me to believe that." I laughed and it came out hollow. "You didn't see a rich husband sitting there for the taking?"

"I don't want your money," she said. "I don't want any of this."

"Then why'd you do it."

"Because I didn't have a choice. Don't you see it?"

“Hmmm. Truly, what is there to see?” I gave her a disgusting look.

I crossed the room toward her. Every step made my headache worse. I stopped right in front of her. She looked up. Didn't flinch this time. Didn't look away either.

"You could've said no. Walked out. Done literally, anything else."

She shook her head slow. "You don't know my father."

"Your father," I said. "Richard Morgan."

"Yes."

I turned and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. I scrolled to his contact and called.

It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing.

I tried again. Nothing.

"He's not picking up." The words came out through my teeth. I was gripping the phone so hard my knuckles could scream for help. "Shocking."

"I don't know where he is," Olivia said.

I threw the phone onto the bed. It bounced once, landed face down. "This is insane. I never agreed to this. None of this. You and your father played me. You guys played all of us.” I said firmly through my teeth while pointing at her.

"The marriage is legal," she said quietly. "We signed papers. A judge witnessed it."

"Because I was drunk!" My voice came out way too loud, bouncing off the walls. "Someone shoved papers in front of me and I signed them! That's not consent! If I was stable, I would have married you. Let alone bring you home!”

She didn't say anything to that.

"Your father did this," I said, pacing now, back and forth. The walls felt like they were closing in a little. "He set the whole thing up. Drunk man, marriage certificate, and…" I stopped and looked at her. "He gave me you."

"Yes."

"Because Jessica was too young."

"Yes."

"And you're not."

"Apparently not."

I sat down heavy on the edge of the bed. I put my head in my hands. Everything was shaking. My hands, my legs, all of it.

"This is a nightmare," I said. "An actual nightmare."

"Someone had to marry you," Olivia said. So quietly. I almost missed it. "My father needed the merger. He needed the money from it. So he found someone else to hand over. He found me."

I looked at her through my fingers. "You're really saying you had no choice in this."

"I'm saying I had no good choices. I could've said no and he'd have thrown me out. No friends. No money. Nothing waiting for me anywhere to fall to."

"So you chose this."

"I chose to survive."

I stared at her. The sadness was still there in her face but something else had crept in underneath it. A bit of fight. Small, but there.

"You're telling me you're a victim," I said.

"I'm not telling you anything," she said. "You asked. I answered. Believe whatever you want."

I opened my mouth to say something cruel back. Something to make her feel even a fraction of what I was feeling.

My phone buzzed before I could.

Unknown number. A video attached.

I clicked it.

Nathan's Pov

It was a basement. Concrete floor. Pipes running across the ceiling. One bulb hanging off a wire. And Jessica, curled up on the floor, hair was a mess, mascara smeared, eyes red.

"Please," she was saying, her voice shaking. "Please help me. My sister locked me in here. She stole the wedding from me. She wanted Nathan for herself. She locked me in the basement. Please. Somebody."

The video was cut off.

I looked up at Olivia. She was watching me, waiting.

I held up the phone. "What is this?"

Her face was drained of color. Her eyes widened. "WHAT?"

"Your sister. Locked in a basement. Crying. Saying you did this to her."

She shook her head, hands starting to shake harder. "That's not true. I didn't do that. I never did that."

"She's on video, Olivia. Right there. Crying. Saying you locked her up…In the basement. What do you have to say to that?"

"That's not true!" Her voice came up for the first time. "I never locked her anywhere. I never would."

"Then why's she saying you did."

"I don't know! She lies! She always lies! She is just trying to sabotage me! She always does this! Please believe me! I had no hand in this!"

I laughed, broken and ugly. "She's lying. Right. Because she's the liar and you're the saint."

Olivia stood up. Her hands had curled into fists at her sides.

"I am the victim," she said. "I've been the victim my whole life. My entire family has treated me like trash since I was a kid and I never did one thing to deserve it."

"Your sister's on video…"

"Jessica has been cruel to me since the day she was born!" Her voice cracked right down the middle. "She's mocked me. Made me feel like nothing. Over and over. And now she's doing it again and you're falling for it. Just like everybody always does."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. She was breathing hard, her chest going up and down fast, and there were tears on her face now too. It didn't look fake.

But Jessica's video. Jessica's face. Jessica's tears.

I genuinely didn't know who to believe.

Before I could figure out what to say, the door opened.

A woman walked in. She was older, had gray hair, and a suit that cost a fortune. My mother. Patricia Hayes.

She stopped in the doorway and her eyes moved across the room. The bed. The sheets everywhere. Me. Olivia.

"What is going on here," she said. Cold and flat. Her disappointed voice.

"Mother," I said. "I can explain…”

"I'm sure you can." She walked in,her heels clicking on the floor, and stopped right in front of Olivia, looking her up and down at her." And who is this?" She was clearly irritated.

"Olivia Morgan," I said. "She's... my wife."

Patricia's eyes went wide for half a second. Her face didn't move but her eyes turned to ice.

"Your what."

"My wife. Apparently. From last night. When I was drunk."

She turned to look at me with her eyes sharp. "You married this woman while you were drunk?"

"It wasn't supposed to be her," I said fast. "It was supposed to be Jessica. The younger one. Something went wrong."

"Something went wrong," she repeated. She turned back to Olivia, eyes crawling over her face, her dress, her hands, her hair. "You look like a servant."

Olivia flinched.

"I cut my business trip short to come home and find my son married to a stranger," Patricia went on. "A stranger who looks like she crawled out of a gutter. What did you do to my son." She looked stunned.

"I didn't do anything," Olivia said. Her voice had gone small. The fight from earlier was gone, replaced with something closer to fear.

"Don't lie to me. I know your type. You saw money and you took your shot."

"That's not what happened." She said softly.

"Then what happened." Patricia's voice cut like glass. "Explain why my son woke up married to a woman he's never met. Explain why his actual fiancée is missing. Explain why I'm looking at a gold-digger who thinks she can marry her way into this family."

"I'm not a gold-digger," Olivia said, voice shaking. "I was forced into this. My father…"

"Your father." Patricia laughed. An ugly sound. "That's your excuse? Daddy made me do it?"

"Yes! He told me if I refused he'd throw me out. I had nothing. No one. No choice."

"There's always a choice," Patricia said flat. "You chose to trap my son into a marriage. You chose to ruin his engagement to a perfectly good woman. And now you want sympathy?"

"Mother." My voice came out sharper than I meant it. "That's enough."

She turned on me. "Don't tell me what's enough, Nathan! You're the one who got drunk and married a stranger! You made this mess! Now, I have to clean it up! Like always! I thought you were going to be responsible just this once!" She looked sternly at my face.

"I didn't know what I was doing…"

"Exactly. You never do. You drink, you wreck something, and I fix it. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME."

I started to respond. Then more footsteps came up the stairs. Two sets this time.

Richard Morgan came through the door first. Then, Diane followed him. His face was completely blank.

"Nathan," Richard said, as he stretched his hand out. "My sincerest apologies."

I looked at his hand and didn't take it.

"Apologies for what. Giving me your other daughter? Getting me drunk and shoving a marriage certificate in front of me? Wrecking my engagement?"

His face didn't shift. He lowered his hand. "I understand you're upset. This must be confusing."

"Confusing." I laughed. "It's insane. Completely insane."

"I agree," Richard said. "My daughter has a habit of causing problems." His face gave a quiet melancholy expression–downturned, heavy-lidded eyes, a small downward curved mouth with furrowed eyebrows.

I looked at him, then at Olivia, who'd backed into the corner of the room, arms wrapped around herself, crying profusely. Something in me wanted to believe her but the evidence said otherwise.

"What's that supposed to mean," I said.

Richard sighed. The boardroom sigh. "Olivia has always been difficult. Jealous of Jessica. She has been her whole life. When she found out Jessica was marrying you, she got desperate and locked Jessica in the basement. That was when she stole the wedding for herself."

"That's not true," Olivia said, shaking. "That's not what happened."

"Quiet!" Richard didn't even look at her. He kept his eyes on me. "You should know. My daughter isn't well. Always been unstable. We tried therapy. She wouldn't go. This is just who she is."

"I'm not unstable," Olivia said, louder. "You're all lying!"

Diane stepped forward, face soft and worried. The picture of a concerned mother.

"Olivia," she said softly. "Please don't make this worse."

"Worse?" Olivia's voice cracked. "You sold me! And now you're standing here acting like I'm the crazy one?"

"We didn't sell you," Diane said gently. "We tried to help you. We've always tried."

"You locked me in my room when I was ten!" Olivia was breaking apart now. "Three days! With a bucket! Nobody checked on me. Not even once!"

Diane's face stayed exactly the same. "You broke a vase. You needed to learn something."

"I was ten years old!"

"Enough!" Richard's voice cut through, sharp, and he stepped between the two of them. The mask had slipped off his face now. Just cold underneath. "This is embarrassing. You're embarrassing yourself. Embarrassing this whole family."

"Embarrassing," Olivia repeated and laughed, hollow and broken. "Right. That's what this is about."

"This is about you ruining everything," Richard said. "Being selfish. Taking something that was never yours."

"It was never going to be mine anyway," she said. "You made sure of that a long time ago."

I looked at her wet face, her whole body shaking, like she might just fold up right there on the floor.

Then I looked at Richard. Cold and controlled. 

But the video. Jessica's face. Jessica's tears.

I still didn't know who to believe.

"This is a mess," I said quietly. "A complete mess."

"That's exactly what I was thinking." Patricia had been quiet, watching, and now she stepped in. "We annul this marriage. Right now."

"You can't," Richard said. "The merger's already moving. Contracts are signed. We pull out now, we lose everything."

"So? I'm just supposed to stay married to a stranger," I said. "Who may or may not have done any of what you're claiming?"

"For now," Richard said. "A year. One year. After that you quietly divorce. Nobody has to know anything. The merger goes through. Everyone gets what they came for."

"Everyone except me," Olivia said.

Richard didn't even glance at her. "Best solution on the table. Temporary. One year and we all move forward."

I looked at Olivia. She was staring at the floor now, not at her father, not at anyone. Her eyes were empty, like she'd already given up somewhere in the middle of all this.

"One year," I said, flat. "You want me married to her for a year."

"Yes."

"And what happens to her during that year."

"Not my concern," Richard said. "She married you. She's your problem now."

I looked at her again. Small and wrecked. Defeated in a way that made something in my chest twist even through all the anger.

"Fine," I said. The word tasted like nothing good. "One year. Then she's gone. Quietly. Nobody talks about this again."

"Agreed," Richard said.

"And she stays out of sight," Patricia added. "I don't want to see her. I don't want to hear her voice. She can live here, but she's invisible."

"Mother…"

"I mean it, Nathan. If she's staying she follows my rules. She doesn't leave her room. She doesn't talk to anyone. Doesn't go anywhere. She doesn't exist."

I looked at Olivia. Her eyes had closed. One tear slid down and she didn't bother wiping it away.

"I'll stay out of sight," she said, barely audible. "I'll do whatever's asked. Just don't throw me out."

"Nobody's throwing you out," Richard said, cold. "You're staying exactly where you belong."

"Out of the way," Patricia said.

"Out of the way," Richard agreed.

They turned to leave. Patricia first. Richard right behind. Diane lingered at the door for a second, looked back at Olivia with that same soft, worried-mother face.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," she said.

Then she left too.

The door shut.

I stood in the middle of the room with my head still pounding. Married. To a stranger. A stranger who might have just destroyed my entire life, or might not have done anything at all.

I looked at her. Still in the corner. Still crying. Still shaking.

"Olivia," I said.

Nothing.

"Olivia. Look at me."

She lifted her head. Eyes red and swollen and wrecked.

"One year," I said. "That's what you get. One year. Then you're gone."

"I understand," she said.

I walked to the door and stopped with my hand on the handle. Didn't turn around.

"Stay out of my way," I said.

"Out of my sight. Don't expect anything from me. Not kindness. Not warmth. Nothing at all. If you break this rule, you will feel my wrath."

"I don't expect anything," she said. "I stopped expecting things a long time ago.”