Chapter 2: A Dean with no choice

The evening sky had already sunk into the deep hues of twilight when Venessa finally arrived home, the soft thud of her shoes against the worn wooden floor echoing through the quiet house. She’d lost track of time—lost in the whirlwind of part-time jobs she’d taken on to keep things afloat. Despite working every possible hour, the bills never seemed to stop. The weight of the world seemed to press down on her shoulders as she pushed the door open, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

The house smelled faintly of something she couldn’t quite place—a mix of old wood, cooking spices, and something sharper, more synthetic. It was always like that here, a mixture of warmth and a subtle, unsettling tension. She paused in the hallway, taking a moment to collect herself. The last thing she needed was to let her emotions slip.

“Venessa?”

Her stepmother’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as ever. There was no warmth, no concern—just a directness that Venessa had grown used to over the years. She turned to see Meredith Hunt standing in the doorway of the living room, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

“How did it go?” Meredith asked, the sharpness of her voice betraying just a hint of impatience. Venessa could feel the weight of her stepmother’s expectations bearing down on her, as though her entire fate hinged on her answer.

Venessa took a steadying breath, wiping away the tiredness in her expression. “It went well,” she replied, her voice calm, though there was a tightness in her chest. She couldn’t look at Meredith directly—not without feeling like she was trapped in some invisible cage.

Meredith’s lips curled into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good. It better have,” she said, the words cold and final. “You know what’s at stake, don’t you?”

Venessa swallowed, forcing herself to nod. “I know.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with unspoken things. Venessa could feel the familiar knot in her stomach tightening. Her stepmother had never been kind, never been anything but calculating and cruel. After the death of Venessa’s parents when she was just a child, Meredith had taken her in, but not out of any sense of compassion. No, Meredith had been driven by something much colder—opportunity. From the very beginning, Venessa had known her stepmother’s intentions weren’t to care for her but to own her, to use her.

And now, Meredith was using the company—her company—as leverage. Venessa’s mind flashed back to the countless late nights her stepmother had spent pushing her, manipulating her into taking on part-time jobs, studying endlessly, doing everything to help the company grow. Yet, the company had never been Venessa’s to inherit. It was Meredith’s—Meredith’s legacy, Meredith’s pride, Meredith’s empire.

But Meredith had made sure Venessa believed otherwise, filling her with false hopes that one day, the company would be hers, that she could take it, run it, and make something of herself. Venessa had worked herself to the bone for years, believing that she was doing it for herself. But it wasn’t hers at all. The truth had always been that Venessa was just a tool, a pawn in Meredith’s game. And now, she was being forced into a marriage with a man like Alex Graystone, a man who had made it clear that he saw her as nothing more than an object in his business strategy.

Venessa shook the thought away, not allowing herself to dwell on it. She had too much to do.

“I’m going to my room,” she said quickly, almost as if she were trying to escape the weight of Meredith’s gaze.

“ Time is money, Venessa ” Meredith’s voice followed her down the hall, like a sharp, jagged edge, slicing through the air.

Venessa didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She knew exactly what her stepmother meant. Meredith never cared about her. She cared only about the company, and now, Venessa’s marriage to Alex Graystone was the means to an end.

Venessa entered her small bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her, and for the first time in hours, she allowed herself to exhale. The room was dim, lit only by the weak glow of a desk lamp. Her bed was unmade, clothes scattered in the corner. It was a far cry from the pristine, well-maintained office that Meredith kept at the company, but it was hers—a space she could at least call her own. Or at least, she used to think so.

Venessa walked into her small bathroom, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion settling over her shoulders. The cool tiles felt comforting underfoot as she undressed, peeling off the layers of fatigue and frustration that had accumulated throughout the day. The shower was a brief escape from the whirlwind of her life—a moment of solitude where she could clear her mind, even if just for a few minutes.

The warm water cascaded down her back, soothing the tension in her muscles as her mind began to wander. She thought about the contract waiting for her , the marriage that would tie her life to his, and the heavy price she was about to pay.

She didn’t have the luxury of thinking about love or happiness; that had never been part of the plan. This was survival. This was a transaction. A cold, calculated decision to save a company that wasn’t even hers, to do something she never imagined for herself, simply because she had no other choice.

When the water turned cold, she turned off the faucet, grabbed a towel, and dried off. The weight of the contract loomed over her as she dressed in a simple, modest outfit—a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft sweater. There was no point in thinking of herself as anything other than a vessel for someone else’s goals.

With a deep breath, she walked back into her room and sat down at the desk. The contract was still there, exactly as she had left it. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers lingering at the edges of the document, as if she were preparing for a battle. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation, but she had no more time to waste. She had made the decision—now she had to live with it.

She opened the document slowly, the paper crinkling under her fingers as she scanned the first few pages. The terms were as cold and sterile as she expected, each clause meticulously designed to ensure Alex’s control over the marriage.

But then, something caught her eye—something so ridiculous, so absurd, that she had to reread it just to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.