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Chapter 9: The Inconvenient Protector
Last Updated:
2025-01-09 23:00:42
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When neither side feels secure in their stance, a certain calm falls over them. It's significant, nearly tangible, and might be cut with a knife. That was the kind of silence that had recently settled between Williams and me. It was a matter of something far more baffling than hostility. Whenever I looked at him, something made my heart quicken and my thoughts swirl. I couldn't exactly explain it, but the more time I spent with him, the more I began to doubt all of my preconceived notions about this marriage contract.Initially, it was simple. It had a certain clarity, a tidy little box that I could file away in my mind and declare, "This is what it is, no more, no less." A deal. A win-win situation. I was never meant to fall in love with the man beneath the aloof, businesslike exterior. His faint grins and the fleeting moments when his eyes softened as he regarded me across the room were never meant to matter to me.Nevertheless, I found myself looking at him more than I wanted to a
Last Updated : 2025-01-09The Billionaire's Hidden Bride Chapter 11: A Family Revealed
The photograph Marcel held out was like a ticking bomb. Even from a distance, I could see it wasn’t just any picture—it was a weapon. His smirk deepened as he moved closer, the glossy image catching the faint light of the hallway outside the gala. “What is that?” I questioned, my voice firm despite the anger growing inside me. Marcel chuckled, slow and deliberate. “Ah, Freda. Always so curious. This little gem might answer a few of your burning questions—or maybe spark a few more.” Williams stood in front of me, his big form obstructing Marcel’s path. His voice could have broken glass. "Marcel, what are you up to?" Marcel cocked an innocent-looking head. “I'm merely attempting to assist dear Freda in discovering the truth. That's why you married her, isn't it? to conceal from her the *true* history of the family?” My chest roared with my heart. Marcel waved the picture tauntingly, as if the room were closing in on me. I stepped around Williams and demanded, "Let me see it."
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The Harrington Estate was a gilded maze with expansive marble floors, glistening chandeliers, and an air of riches that seemed to emanate from every nook and cranny. I felt like an imposter wearing someone else's flesh as I stood at the base of the grand staircase and looked up at the hundreds of faces that had arrived for tonight's soirée. Williams said next to me, his hand grazing mine, "Just breathe." Despite his apparent comforting presence, the issue just became more pressing. I muttered, "I don't belong here," as I adjusted the diamond bracelet that was a tad too dazzling on my wrist. He reminded me, "You're Mrs. Williams Harrington now." "You do, then." However, his statements seemed vacuous. As we walked into the room, I could feel the looks and the murmurs that followed. I was a stranger who had suddenly become the centre of attention in their elite world, and to them, I was nothing. A flurry of small conversation and introductions characterised the evening. William
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The tension in the air was oppressive, but the Harrington mansion was surprisingly silent. I sensed it as soon as we entered the expansive foyer, with Williams taking deliberate steps in front of me. I had learnt to identify the harsh glint in his eyes and his set jaw as the quiet before the storm. "Remain here," he remarked in a hurried tone. "Why? What is happening?” He answered, "It's family business," but his refusal to let me alone was evident from the way his fingers lingered on my arm. I started to protest, but he had already left, vanishing into the opulent study at the end of the hallway. Behind him, the big oak doors slammed, and soon after, the muffled sound of heated voices came. After a brief moment of hesitation, I walked down the hall and pressed my ear to the door. "You're allowing her to sabotage everything!" Anger was evident in Marcel's piercing voice. With a dangerously low tone, Williams retorted, "Freda has nothing to do with this." "Marcel, this is
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The Harrington Estate Library was an architectural masterpiece, featuring towering shelves that appeared to stretch infinitely upward, filled with books so ancient they seemed poised to crumble into dust. A solitary, flickering light on the large wooden desk at the center of the room provided the sole source of light. I glanced at my watch. 11:58 PM The enigmatic message of the note echoed in my mind constantly, burning in my pocket. *The truth will set you free.* Whose truth, though? Why now, too? I encircled myself with my arms in an attempt to stay warm as the room's coldness crept into my body. At the exact moment of midnight, a shadow appeared in the doorway. "Who is there?" My voice was sharper than I meant when I cried out. A wiry man in his sixties with a severely creased face and grey hair slicked back emerged as the person moved into the light. He exuded a sense of authority that seemed strangely familiar. "Ms. Freda," he uttered softly. "I've known about you for a
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The magnificent Harrington estate was a flurry of activity, a never-ending procession of wealth, influence, and power. Every look felt like a chess play in a game I was only starting to grasp, and every area appeared to hold mysteries. That morning, as I came down the grand staircase, Marcel and Sophia were already sitting in the bright parlour, speaking softly but firmly. As soon as I walked in, their laughter stopped and was replaced by rehearsed smiles that stopped short of their eyes. "Freda," Sophia remarked with ease, pointing to a vacant chair. Come along with us. I was just talking to Marcel about the charity gala that is coming up. I paused, my gut telling me that this was a test, not an invitation. I sat down, maintaining a neutral expression while forcing a courteous grin. "Good morning. How about the gala?” Marcel reclined on his seat, evaluating me with his keen eyes. “It's among the year's most significant occasions. As Williams' spouse, you must be... ready. You
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I never thought I would be in the spotlight myself. In this setting, privacy became a luxury, and I no longer possessed it, despite my constant preference for the silence, distant from the limelight. The reporters were persistent, their cameras snapping as they pressed me with inquiries I wasn't prepared to answer. It began rather casually. A headline here, a picture there. They had first only been interested in my abrupt arrival at Williams' side and had questioned the terms of our "contract" marriage. But the rumours became stronger as the days passed. The journalists sucked up every tidbit of rumours they could find. That morning, as I sat at the library trying to piece together the missing pieces of my life, I heard my phone ring. I knew the area code—it was the press office—but the number was unknown. I sighed and swiped the screen to respond."Freda, we have a small issue," the voice was saying. "What issue?" Trying to speak in a neutral tone, I asked.The voice went on, "A t
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After Marcel's appearance at the press conference, the days that followed were a haze of whirling media, constant interrogation, and increasing pressure from all sides. The Harrington name weighed heavily on me in a way I never would have thought possible. The stakes were much higher than I had imagined, and what had begun as an apparently simple contract marriage had quickly turned into a full-scale conflict.Although his tactics were frequently a convoluted combination of well-considered choices and covert intentions, Williams appeared committed to protecting me despite his icy and aloof manner. But despite his constant assurances, I couldn't shake the sensation that I was being drawn more into the vicious web of the Harrington family and that they were playing a game I didn't comprehend.I received another summons to the estate that morning. By this point, the scene was recognisable: a car waiting outside, the driver dutifully obeying commands without ever questioning them. My thou
Last Updated : 2025-01-14
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The assurance of a new beginning and the remnants of history were highlighted in a soft golden glow as dawn broke over the vast estate. Freda situated herself at the brink of the balcony, looking out towards the horizon. Her mind was anchored by the constant noise of the waves hitting the jagged shore beneath. Weeks had gone by since the truth was uncovered to everyone. Despite being held responsible for her family's wrongdoings for several weeks, she continued to feel the weight of their decisions bearing down on her. Nevertheless, the atmosphere has shifted now. An alteration. A breath of optimism. The hush was interrupted by the gentle noise of footsteps trailing her. Williams stood there, both reassuring and authoritative. She was pulled back against his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist. He stated, "You're overthinking it." Smiling, she nestled into his embrace. "I can't prevent it." I constantly have thoughts. Nonetheless, you are right. I've been attempting to fix
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The room fell into absolute silence.Freda stood, stunned, unable to form words. Her gaze locked with the stranger at her door—no, not a stranger. Not anymore. His face wasn’t just familiar—it was known. Like a dream half-remembered, engraved deep into the soul.“I—” she started, but her throat tightened.The young man stepped into the room. His movements were careful, calculated, as though afraid the moment would shatter if he moved too quickly. He looked about her age—tall, lean, a quiet intensity behind gray eyes that mirrored Jonathan Harrington’s.“I’m sorry to just... show up like this,” he said quietly. “But my name is Elias Jonathan Harrington. And I think I’m your twin brother.”The name hit her like a hurricane. Elias Jonathan. Named after both their father and grandfather—an ironic twist if it weren’t so heartbreakingly true.“How did you find me?” Freda finally managed.He reached into his coat and pulled out a weathered letter. “This arrived for me on my twenty-third birt
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Freda’s breath caught in her throat as the control room plunged into darkness. The hum of machines died. The only sound was the frantic thump of her heartbeat—and the voice."We’ve only just begun."She reached for Williams instinctively, fingers finding his. His grip tightened, anchoring her. On her other side, Grace clicked a flashlight on, casting a beam through the stale air. Dust particles swirled like ghosts. The control panels flickered—faint static pulses, nothing operational.“What the hell was that?” Grace muttered, scanning the corners of the room. “This wasn’t part of Cassian’s theatrics.”Freda’s spine stiffened. “That voice... it wasn’t him. It was different. Younger. Calculated.”“System override,” a mechanical voice droned from a nearby panel. “Engaged. Level Four lockdown initiated. Harrington protocols activated.”Doors slammed shut around them.Williams cursed. “He’s locked us in.”“No.” Grace crouched by the panel, fingers flying across an auxiliary screen. “This i
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The silence in the safe room was too loud. Freda's ears rang with the noise of her heart pounding in her ribcage. The voice had only just stopped, and she remained still, staring at the one who spoke. The words appeared to have gained a life of their own, resonating in her mind. "We've located her."Williams shifted to stand next to her, his stance rigid. "Who is it? "The prototype?" There was an intensity in his voice.With her stomach in knots, Freda nodded slowly. Although she had anticipated this day, the burden of it was nearly too much for her to handle. Her sister, the one born before her, the one designed to be the ideal representation of the Harrington legacy, was here now after her entire life had been a lie. She was coming for what Freda had put so much effort into creating.However, Freda couldn't simply stand by and watch everything happen. Not when she had all she had to fight for at her fingertips. With Williams at her side, no.Grace's clear, concentrated voice cut t
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The voice from the other side of the line echoed in Freda's ear, causing her heart to race. The voice was calm and steady as it declared, "I was the initial prototype." "Yes, Freda, I do recall you." She remained perfectly still, the vial tightly gripped in her hand, as the surroundings seemed to fade away. Williams, who had just entered with a serious resolve, observed her complexion fade. "Who was that?" he demanded in a quiet voice.Freda didn't take her eyes from her phone's screen. The words were clear even if the voice was twisted, almost artificial. "Remember me? What do you mean?"Without hesitation, the voice on the other end responded. "I recall every detail. Freda, you and I are not that different. We have the same foundation, the same blood, and, regrettably, the same curse."Freda's fingers dug into the smooth phone as her hold tightened. "What are you discussing? Who are you?"The speaker went on, "I was born first, but you're the heir." The first test was me. The lea
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The scream echoed down the marble corridors of the Harrington estate.By the time Freda, Williams, and Alex arrived, security had sealed the hallway. Selene’s door was flung open. Her bodyguard was unconscious. And inside—Selene stood frozen, pale and trembling, her silk robe stained with blood.But it wasn’t hers.A man lay sprawled at her feet, a bullet lodged in his chest, the syringe he’d brought rolling under the dresser.Alex knelt beside him. “Dead,” he confirmed. “A clean shot. Straight through the heart.”“Who fired?” Williams demanded, scanning the room.“I did.” Selene’s voice was hollow. “He was already halfway across the room before I woke. If I’d been a second slower…”She didn’t finish.Freda stepped forward, gripping Selene’s trembling shoulders. “Who was he?”Selene stared at the body. “His name was Darien. He trained with me under Cassian’s program years ago. We were children then. I thought he was dead.”Freda turned to Williams. “That means Cassian’s activated mor
The Billionaire's Hidden Bride Chapter 93: The Ghosts We Bury
For a moment, Freda couldn’t breathe.Jonathan Harrington—her father, the man she believed had died before she was old enough to remember—stood in the corridor, alive and real. His once-proud frame had thinned, his eyes bloodshot with years of torment, but the commanding presence remained.“Dad…” she whispered.Jonathan didn’t smile. He didn’t reach for her. Instead, he looked over her shoulder, where Williams, Alex, and Grace hovered just behind.“We can’t talk here,” Jonathan said, his voice low, urgent. “There are eyes everywhere.”Freda’s heart pounded, caught between disbelief and instinctive trust. She stepped forward.“Where have you been? Why—why now? And what do you mean Cassian’s not dead?”Jonathan’s gaze hardened.“Because he never died in that fire. It was staged.”Freda sat across from her father in a cold, concrete-walled room beneath one of the original Harrington estates—a place so off-grid it didn’t exist in any legal registry.Williams stood guard at the door, while
