Two days later. I settled down by the large cushion window seat after having slipped out from that boring lecture, doing nothing except waiting and watching if Xavier had returned from wherever he went, leaving me for two days locked up in the house. I had been stuck with two etiquette teachers, and they were instructing me on how to behave in a Mafia home, how to answer questions, and what to do, as if studying Mafia rules were obligatory worldwide.
Madison, the old head maid of this household, had shown me around the estate, pointing out the places I shouldn't go. She informed me I was very lucky to be treated nicely by him because he didn't waste time "doing away with" his enemies, male or female.
I snorted at her words. Was that supposed to make me feel better or worse? I was marrying a total stranger whose reputation wasn't a good one. To be honest, he looked like a walking temptation, yet I was happy that I could be alive and finally get my revenge on those two fools for the pain they'd caused me.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of tires screeching on the pavement. I pushed myself up, not with excitement, but with focused intent. I just wanted to go downstairs and ask him why he had placed full surveillance on me.
I walked downstairs, and there he was, whispering something to his bodyguard. "Did you enjoy the lecture?" he asked, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"Thanks for the lectures," I said flatly. "If only you'd get rid of the surveillance. I feel like I'm in solitary confinement."
He scowled, a visible crease forming on his forehead. That didn't damage how beautiful he looked; rather, it made my heart beat harder with fear. "So you could run away, isn't it?"
I swallowed a thick knot of saliva, my hands suddenly damp. "You'll undergo the etiquette training without running off again. And secondly, Miss Frost, you'll be on constant watch until I say no more."
"Do I make myself clear?" he demanded, his tone rough and deadly, shooting icicles toward my heart as I broke out into a cold sweat.
"Yessss..." I answered fearfully, my voice barely a whisper. I was stunned when he placed his hand over my head, patting it gently.
"I don't want my partner to be scared of me, so ease up a little bit," he warned, causing me to relax a fraction. "But if you ever try to betray me—I'll flay your skin and make you a classic reminder of the cost."
I gulped, immediately pushing his hand away. "I don't plan on betraying my biggest benefactor."
Soon after, we were in his study. The bodyguard stood beside him, and another man, Mr. Quinn, his most trusted lawyer, stood nearby. The room felt suffocating because his eyes were on me the entire time.
"Here, read this," Mr. Quinn said, placing a document before me with a big stamp reading CONTRACT on it.
"What is this?" I asked, puzzled. It got to the point that said I was going to pretend to be his comatose fiancée, Samantha Rowling.
He leaned closer to the table, intertwining his fingers. "This is part of the deal. You have to play as my fiancée. For it to be believable, I have to marry someone who I'm familiar with and who my family members know."
"We don't look alike, and I don't know how you expect them not to catch on to our lie," I said, but he didn't seem bothered. He slid a picture out of his pocket, pushing it across the table toward me.
I turned the picture over. Behold: a girl who looked just like me, with the only exception being her black hair, which was short, unlike my red, long hair.
"Is this supposed to be real or photoshopped?" I asked, unsure and doubting. "She looks just like me, and that's probably the only reason why you've not ended my life by now."
He chuckled. "You sure are a smart woman, and that is why, to perfect our deal, I've assigned you to learn everything about her and perfect her lifestyle. Then we're good to go."
"So you're looking for a soft and elegant wife?" I asked, tapping the pen over the desk, the soft tip-tap echoing the room.
"I'm looking for a shield rather than a wife, so no need to get ahead of yourself. I'm only going to marry Samantha when she wakes up," he gritted out, slamming his hand on the table. "Now sign the freaking papers. My patience is wearing thin."
I signed the papers hurriedly, not bothering to ask what happened to Samantha. He wasn't going to tell me, and that didn't concern me, for I was getting my revenge on Magnus Dawson.
After signing the contract, I stood up from my seat, walking straight into my room and slamming the door shut. The IED symptoms I had tried to suppress were coming out little by little, nonetheless I controlled it thanks to my relaxing perfume that helped to soothe my nerves. It reminded me of my father's presence; he was the anchor that guarded my activities, however, because of my stubbornness, I had caused his destruction and that of my other relatives.