Chapter 2

Maddie

Since the beginning, it's been a relentless pursuit of perfection—planning and shopping consumed my days. My stepmother's lists were my guide, demanding precision. Stephanie, my stepsister, embodied the ideal bride in this whirlwind.

In quiet moments, I attempted to breach her fortress, pleading with her to address the chaos with our father.

"Stephanie, can we talk for a minute?" I implored, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror.

"Sure," she replied, a subtle glare revealing her irritation.

"I want to plead with you."

"About what?"

"About all of this," I said, bridging the gap between us.

"I'm sleeping with your husband in your place."

"What about it?" Her response hung in the air, a mix of detachment and a tempest of emotions beneath the surface.

"What do you mean, what about it?" I exclaimed, shocked. "How can you be okay with this? I'm your sister, for crying out loud."

"So, what do you want?" she retorted, standing up. "Huh? Tell me, you want to be the one to get married, don't you?"

"I only want to go back to school, not any of this," I asserted, met with a steely gaze from her.

"If you mess this up for me, I will end you. I saw the way Victor looked at you, mistaking you for his wife-to-be instead of me, so mess this up, and it will be the end of you.

"With those words, she left the room, leaving me against the wall, tears welling up.

I stood against the wall, my eyes brimming with tears. The weight of my reality sank in—compelled to share an intimate moment with a stranger, all to facilitate my sister's marriage and alleviate my father's debt.

The overwhelming emotions threatened to engulf me in a sea of despair and helplessness..

Throughout the wedding preparations, I shied away from everyone, avoiding contact with servants and event planners alike. The plan was to remain unseen, unrecognized by anyone.

As the wedding loomed, the weight of the situation became suffocating. I existed in the shadows, a silent player in a charade with seemingly no way out.

The weight of it all made it hard to breathe at times. There was no one to turn to for help. My father had ensured that, forbidding any contact with my mom's family when she passed away. It felt as if he had foreseen this day.

On the morning of the wedding, our house buzzed with activity, busier than ever. From cooking to decorating the venue to dressing the bride, every corner echoed with preparation. Even my father and stepmother were caught up in the whirlwind, getting ready for the grand affair. However, my father's attention shifted to me.

"What are you wearing, Maddie?" he questioned as I stepped into the hotel lobby. I donned a black fitted gown, accentuating my figure. Long hair fashioned into a messy bun, a few strands framing my face, and minimal makeup – a choice I made, following my mom's advice against hiding my natural beauty.

"I'm dressed for the wedding, Dad," I replied. He moved closer, whispering sharply in my ear.

"Go back inside and change into something simple; you are not going to mess this up for me or your sister, did you want to look prettier than your sister " he commanded, the bitterness over the mistaken identity still lingering. The weight of his resentment bore down on me, threatening to break the fragile composure I struggled to maintain.

Sometimes, I find myself pondering over what changed. Dad used to be the most caring father I had ever known, but everything shifted abruptly when my mother passed away, and his new wife and daughter entered our lives.

"Okay Dad, I'll go and change the dress," I responded, slipping back into the obedient daughter role I had always played. As I retraced my steps to my hotel room, whispers of compliments surrounded me like a fleeting embrace, offering a brief respite in the form of validation.

The air in the room hung heavy with tension as I changed into a simpler outfit. The weight of my father's expectations pressed down on me, and the reality of the role I played in my sister's life felt inescapable.

Returning to the lobby, I caught sight of Stephanie, adorned in her wedding gown, poised at the entrance, radiating pride and confidence. She looked every bit the perfect bride, about to marry one of the city's wealthiest men. Meanwhile, I played the part of a mere seal, solidifying the union.

The wedding unfolded in grandeur, and I played my role dutifully, lingering in the shadows. Stephanie and Victor exchanged vows, but beneath the surface, I battled a growing nausea.

At the post-wedding party, I feigned happiness, engaging in conversation and deliberately avoiding Victor's gaze. With each passing moment, the inner turmoil intensified. I began questioning why my father had struck this deal; it felt like a pact with the devil, and Victor Reynolds embodied that devilish presence. I felt ensnared in a web of lies spun by my own family.

Despite the revelry around me, my silent struggles went unnoticed. Laughter and cheers drowned out my internal turmoil, and I sought solace in the quiet corners of the venue, my sanctuary from the chaos within.

In the subdued glow of dim light, our eyes locked, a silent connection holding us captive for a fleeting moment. His gaze lingered on mine until Stephanie demanded his attention, and our visual tether was broken. It was the first time I truly noticed the color of his eyes, and as he averted his gaze, a blush painted my cheeks.

But the pain quickly overcame the momentary warmth, a stark reminder of the perilous situation I found myself in.

As the night concluded with cheerful congratulations and farewells, I braced myself for the challenging journey ahead. While others left in high spirits, my night marked the beginning of an arduous path. As the festivities subsided, I retreated into seclusion, knowing that my ordeal was just starting.

Changing into the lingerie Stephanie had chosen, panic set in; it was my first time, and I felt lost. Moving into Victor's meticulously decorated bedroom, where love-shaped flowers adorned the king-size bed, I momentarily forgot the coercive circumstances. At that moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if it were my choice.

Stephanie burst into the room with an urgency, her eyes reflecting a blend of mischief and disgust. I found myself already on the bed, trapped in a situation I hadn't chosen, grappling with a surge of conflicting emotions.

"Once he is done with you, leave immediately; don't stay the night."

“I understand; you don't have to tell me what I already know," I retorted, eyeing her. She wore the exact same lingerie I was clad in.

“You better leave now," I taunted her. After she departed, I extinguished the lights and reclined on the bed.

For about five minutes, I lay there, the silence interrupted only by the creaking door. My heart skipped a beat as he undressed and settled beside me.

“We won't do it if you don't want to," he said sweetly as if sensing the predicament I was in. Yet, I could tell he was too intoxicated, mirroring the role my father played.

I teetered on the edge of agreement, but the gravity of the situation pulled me back. Clearing my head, I took control, launching myself at him. In the motion, I felt something rigid beneath me, and we both released a moan.

Caressing him, his reciprocation sent shivers through me. As he sensed my trembling, he restrained me, whispering in my ear, "Let me." Another moan escaped as he turned his attention to my breasts, his mouth exploring while his fingers played beneath the lingerie. Unrestrained moans echoed recklessly; the sensations overwhelming me were unlike anything I had ever experienced.

He discarded his briefs, and as he drew near, my heart raced with a mix of fear and anticipation. Perhaps sensing my trepidation, he whispered reassurances into my ear, promising to be careful. Intense sensations flooded over me as his fingers explored, gliding along my inner thigh, teasing me with delicate touches. Shocked by the waves of pleasure, I arched my back, pulling him closer and tangling my hands in his thick hair.

Close to the edge, a sudden twinge of pain shot through my inner thigh. It was fleeting, replaced by an overwhelming rush of emotions. At that moment, we both released a loud moan. He continued his rhythmic movements, and I clung to him, my fingers gripping his hair and shoulder. Profound sensations coursed down my inner thighs. Leaning in, he whispered,

“You are close; so am I." His voice, a blend of desire and urgency, intensified the pace, and we reached the peak together. The experience was surreal, defying any expectations I had, leaving me caught between the raw intensity of the moment and the conflicting emotions swirling within.

He sank onto the bed, tossed the duvet over us, drew me in close, and drifted off to sleep. It should have been my cue to escape, but I found myself immobilized; his arm secured me in place, and slipping out without waking him seemed impossible.

"I'm confused about what I am going to do," I pondered in the quiet of the room. The weariness began to settle in.

"Two hours of sleep isn't bad," I reassured myself softly. Nestling comfortably under the duvet beside him, I hoped to wake up before he did, finding solace in the fragile embrace of a restless slumber.