Wrong Room, Wrong Groom: Now He Won't Let Me Go

For nearly three days, Isabella Brown had been locked inside the warehouse. Curled tightly in the corner, she shivered without pause, her frail body shaking from hunger, thirst, and the bitter chill that seemed to rise from the floor itself. A heavy haze clouded her thoughts, leaving her weak and half-dazed.

Throughout all that time, her stepfather never once appeared, and not even her own mother had brought her so much as a bite of food.

What tormented Isabella the most was wondering how Natalie Brown, her older sister, was doing...

She still could not understand how their mother could be so cruel, so utterly coldhearted, that for the sake of her half-brother's future, she would force her and Natalie to marry a pair of old men.

Earlier, Natalie had warned her sister not to agree no matter what happened, and she had even made plans to run away from home with Isabella in secret. But that very night, their stepfather found out.

All Isabella could do was watch in horror as Natalie was hurled hard against the wall by his brutal hands, while she herself was dragged away and locked inside this airless, lightless warehouse.

A biting chill rose from the damp concrete, creeping deep into her bones, yet Isabella could only think of Natalie—where she was, whether she was safe, and if their stepfather had already dragged her into a forced marriage.

Just as her heavy eyelids began to slip shut again, the warehouse door groaned open with a harsh scrape.

Summoning the last of her strength, Isabella forced her eyes wide, squinting into the harsh spill of light as a slender, achingly familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway.

"Bella!"

That voice—soft, urgent, unmistakable. It was Natalie.

Through her haze, Isabella watched Natalie rush forward without hesitation, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms tightly around her frail, trembling body.

"Nat…" Isabella parted her cracked lips, but her throat was so parched that no real words came out. Tears spilled down her face before she could force a sound.

"Don't be scared. I'm okay." With reddened eyes, Natalie hurriedly brushed the tears from Isabella's cheeks, even though her own were glistening.

Before Isabella could even ask what had happened over the past few days, Natalie drew a breath and said, "Would you marry into the Evans family with me? The Evans family is incredibly rich. One of the sons is thirty-two, and the other is twenty-four. Even if there's no love in it, that still has to be better than being handed over to a couple of old men..."

Everyone in Ariotin knew that the Evans family stood at the very top, powerful and untouchable. No matter how hard Isabella tried to make sense of it, she still couldn't understand why a family like that would ever agree to let her and Natalie marry into their household.

Compared to the Evans family, Isabella's stepfather's little business barely even counted.

Natalie's words left Isabella reeling, her thoughts drifting in a haze. She had no idea what choice to make, but one thing felt certain—Natalie would never lie to her.

Besides, no matter how uncertain this marriage was, joining the Evans family had to be better than being handed off to some disgusting old man.

"Natalie, I'll do it. Wherever you go, I'm going with you."

...

Three days later, the Evans family sent someone to take Isabella and Natalie and bring them to the hospital for a full physical examination.

Natalie's instructions echoed clearly in Isabella's mind. She was to marry Nathaniel Evans, the younger son, while Natalie would be paired with Alexander Evans, the eldest son.

No ceremony had been arranged by the Evans family—no flowers, no vows, no celebration. Instead, a cold condition had been set: a three-month trial. Within that narrow window, both she and Natalie were expected to conceive. Only then would the family acknowledge them as legitimate wives.

A chill of dread crept through Isabella's chest, tightening her breath. She had never even dated anyone before, yet now she was being pushed into marriage—and motherhood—without so much as a moment to prepare herself.

Rumors whispered in her ears like shadows she couldn't shake. Alexander was said to be distant and unfeeling, a man wrapped in ice. Nathaniel, on the other hand, carried a far worse reputation—a reckless flirt, notorious for his endless string of affairs.

Even so, there was no path left for them to choose.

As she lingered there, Isabella watched Natalie disappear toward the restroom, leaving her standing alone in the quiet hallway.

The person who had escorted them earlier suddenly hurried over. "Miss Brown, the hospital will forward your examination results directly to the Evans family. If there are no issues, two cars will arrive tonight to take you and your sister to the residences of Mr. Nathaniel Evans and Mr. Alexander Evans. As for the marriage registration, that will be completed tomorrow." After that, he gave two nearly identical license plate numbers—one for Alexander's car and one for Nathaniel's—and made her commit them to memory.

Never particularly skilled at handling things on her own, Isabella had always relied on Natalie to guide her.

She gave a small, uneasy nod as her heartbeat thudded loudly in her chest.

By evening, the Evans family's cars were already waiting at the entrance of their house.

Keeping her head lowered, Isabella—slender and fragile—followed closely behind the bodyguard, her entire body tense as though every step required effort.

She strained to remember which plate belonged to the right car, hesitated, and then convinced herself she had it straight before slipping inside—only for the cold truth to be that she'd chosen the wrong one.

Lingering a step behind, Natalie paused, her gaze flicking between the two cars with a hint of confusion before she quickly slipped into the other one.

Under the cover of night, the two sleek black cars pulled away, heading in completely opposite directions.

By the time the car finally rolled to a gentle stop, Isabella had lost all sense of how long they'd been driving. She pushed the door open in a hurry, nerves prickling under her skin, afraid that even a small misstep would make her seem inadequate.

"Miss Brown, Mr. Evans' bedroom is the first door on the third floor."

Nothing about Nathaniel's villa matched what she'd imagined—it was far larger, far emptier. At such a late hour, the silence felt unsettling, as if the entire house had gone dark, with only the soft, golden glow along the staircase barely lighting the way.

Keeping her steps light, she crept upstairs, her heartbeat echoing in her ears until she finally reached the bedroom door.

Without pausing to look around, she pushed it open, her mind fixed on every word of Natalie's instructions.

All she'd been told was simple: shower carefully, and then lie on the bed and wait—no matter what, she couldn't let Nathaniel see any fault in her.

Nervous breaths caught in her throat as Isabella slipped into the bathroom. Panic buzzed under her skin, and without thinking it through, she turned the water cold and stood beneath it, letting the chill wash over her trembling body.

Only after stepping out did it hit her—there were no clothes for her to change into. Flustered, she hurried back to the bed, bare feet silent against the floor as she dove under the sheets, pulling them up in a rush.

In her mind, she tried to justify it. Since she would have to undress eventually anyway, skipping that step now hardly made a difference.

Darkness swallowed the room completely, leaving her staring upward with wide, restless eyes. The sheets carried a faint cedar scent, clean yet unfamiliar, and it only made the cold seep deeper into her bones.

A subtle sound finally broke the silence at the bedroom door.

Her chest tightened in an instant, breath hitching as her fingers clenched the fabric, dragging the sheets tightly around herself. Only her wide, fearful eyes remained visible as they fixed on the door.

From the dim spill of hallway light, a tall, straight-backed silhouette stepped inside, bringing with it the crisp scent of cedar laced with a faint trace of alcohol that drifted toward her.

Without bothering to flip on the light, he lingered comfortably in the shadows, as though the darkness belonged to him. He pushed the door closed behind him, sealing away the last thin strip of hallway light.

Instantly, the room sank into thick, suffocating blackness, and Isabella found herself holding her breath without realizing it.

After a brief stillness—like he'd picked up on something—he stepped closer, the faint shift of air warning her before the mattress dipped under his weight.

Hidden in the dark, she felt his attention settle on her, sharp and deliberate, as if he were studying every inch of her without needing to see.

Without warning, his cool, slightly rough fingertips brushed along her cheek, sweeping aside the damp strands of hair clinging to her skin.

A tremor ran through Isabella, her body reacting before she could stop it.

Then his hand slid beneath the sheets.

"Not wearing anything?" His voice came out low and even, lacking the careless charm she'd expected from someone with his reputation; instead, it carried a quiet, controlled weight.

Isabella was too scared to speak. She took a couple of deep breaths. "I... I couldn't find anything to wear..."

A faint crease formed between Alexander's brows.

Memory flickered—his mother's calm assurance that this girl was composed, sensible, the kind who could run a household without trouble—but the trembling figure before him didn't match that description at all.

Without a word, he reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one with unhurried precision.

A cold shiver ran through Isabella as his presence closed in, heavy and undeniable, pressing down on her senses until her thoughts scattered, slipping further and further beyond her control.