Chapter 12 Arabelle
Arabelle
Ignoring any sense of etiquette, I storm into my father’s study, the door crashing open, and throw the envelope onto his desk.
This used to be one of the places I had very fond memories of from my childhood, when my father was still a loving and supportive parent.
Now, he’s turned into a parasite who exploits me.
I’ll always look at him and this place differently.
He’s tainted every memory I have of him.
His eyes meet mine, filled with disappointment as if my abrupt entrance into his sacred space has upset him, but he keeps his silence. He picks up the envelope, opens it, pulls the contract from the envelope, and flips through it until he reaches the last page.
“I signed it.”
I cross my arms over my chest. He lets out a tired sigh and places the papers on the desk before lifting his gaze to meet mine.
“I didn’t want this for you, Arabelle. Believe me.”
“Believe you? You can’t be serious? Why the hell do you think I’d believe anything you have to say!”
“Do you think I want you to marry a man like Florian Larsson?” he asks. “He’s heartless. He’s a ruthless man who shows no mercy.”
He shakes his head like he’s so distraught at my situation. Yet, he had no problem handing me a contract and asking me to sign my life away because he knows I can’t say no, regardless of how much he uses me.
“And yet, I have to marry someone who will treat me like I’m less than nothing because you’re an addict who can’t take care of his sick daughter! Raven’s an alcoholic who has liver disease! Or did you not give a damn because you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to her if I can help it?”
Do I believe he’s sorry for putting me in this position? No, I don’t. Do I think he cares he’s ruined my life? As long as he can keep his money and company, he couldn’t care less about me. That contract shows me all I need to know about what my father thinks about me.
“Arabelle.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I never wanted this to happen, especially to you.”
“Of course you did, Daddy. You’re the one who put me in this position, knowing you couldn’t pay a goddamn thing!”
“Watch your tone with me, young lady!”
“My tone!” I toss my hands in the air. “My tone! That’s what you’re worried about right now?
You’re worried about how I’m talking to you when I’ve just signed my damn life over to a man who I don’t know because of you!
” I yell, pointing at him. “And you want me to watch my tone? You’re so fucking unbelievable. ”
He jumps to his feet. “Now you wait one goddamn minute, Arabelle Michelle Williamson. If it wasn’t for me,”—he points to himself—“you wouldn’t be where you are! I’ve done everything for you!”
“When, Dad? Tell me when you’ve done anything for me when it didn’t benefit you or my sisters?”
“Who do you think paid for all those goddamn lessons, Belle?” He places both palms on his desk and leans forward, glaring at me. “It sure as hell wasn’t your mother! It was me, whether you want to acknowledge it or not!”
Of course, he would bring up that he paid for all my dance lessons, travel expenses, and whatever else I needed when I first started dancing. But isn’t that what he was supposed to do as my father?
Although he paid for everything, he seldom showed up to watch me dance. He never took me to rehearsals or recitals. Even after my mother died, the nanny took me to all those things.
When I was younger, it bothered me that he didn’t show up for anything that I did. Now, I don’t care if he ever sees me dance again. He just reaps the benefits of my hard work. He and both my sisters sit on their asses and do absolutely nothing.
I huff. “And I’ve paid you back tenfold for any money you dished out for me when I was a child!
I’ve been paying you back since I got my first paycheck, but no more.
This is it. Don’t ask me for another goddamn dime.
Your daughters, who don’t want to work, who I’ve been footing the bill for since I was fucking fifteen years old, are cut off too.
I’m no longer your or their personal piggy bank!
I’m done with you and them. You no longer have a daughter, and they no longer have a sister.
From here on out, every one of you will make your own damn way, just like I have. ”
“Arabelle, we’re your family! You know we need your help!”
“Family?” I chuckle. “None of you know the damn meaning of the word. My family died when my mother did.”
I storm out of his study with him calling my name, but I ignore him.
When I say I’m done, I’m done. There will be no more handouts given, no more saving him from shit he got himself into.
No more funding my sisters’ extravagant lifestyles or wasting money on exclusive rehab.
This will be the last time I save my family.
Sleep doesn’t come. I’ve been tossing and turning since I got to my penthouse.
I love New York, but being here stresses me out.
Little did I know this short trip to relax for a couple of days would spiral into a complete shitshow.
It’s a reminder that when it comes to my family, things are never simple.
Florian should have the papers by now. If not now, he’ll get them first thing in the morning. Will he be happy with this arrangement? Because I’m definitely not.
Unable to sleep, I open my laptop and start searching for information about my future husband. The thought that I’m going to marry someone I don’t know sends a burst of terror racing through me.
“What the hell am I going to do?” I mumble as a picture appears on the website. I instantly recognize him by his rugged beauty. “That’s the man Samuel introduced me to. One of the theater’s donors.”
I scroll through the many articles that have popped up about him.
Even though he’s been photographed a lot with a mesmerizing blonde bombshell, Florian Larsson is still considered one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, according to the popular tabloid Exposé.
“Someone who looks nothing like me.”
One article’s headline suggests that a wedding is on the horizon for them. Despite what the papers say, his body language doesn’t convey that he’s in love with her. Our arranged marriage is further evidence of this.
“Either she’s a great actress, or she’s in love with him,” I mutter as I continue to scroll through picture after picture of the beautiful couple. “She’s going to be a problem.”
In some of the photos, her eyes are fixed on him with such intensity, like he’s the only thing that matters in the world.
In other pictures, they pose for the camera, giving off the impression of being the next sought-after couple.
However, I can say that the way he looks at her falls short of the way she looks at him.
He maintains a cold and distant demeanor.
In every photograph, his gaze never meets hers and is always fixed on the camera.
“But she has to mean more to him than just someone to take to fancy functions, Belle,” I say to myself as I search through even more photos and articles of the couple that go back years.
Since this isn’t a real marriage, will he have a mistress even though it says in the contract he must remain faithful? Will it be her?
I push those thoughts out of my mind, but it leaves behind a lingering feeling of sadness.
While I don’t know him, and this marriage won’t be real, I still don’t want to imagine I’ve given the rest of my life to someone who’ll disrespect me in that way because that’s not something I would do despite this being a farce.
But his relationship with her is something I’ll deal with when the time comes.
It’s definitely a conversation we’ll need to have.
Right now, there’s something more important I need to know.
“I need to find out why the hell they call him Beast.”
After doing a little more digging, I stumble upon another article from Exposé, this time written by investigative reporter Amy Moreno.
It’s unclear whether this is a ploy for attention or fact, but the reporter alleges that he’s the head of one of the six established Swedish Syndicates who have made waves in the criminal underworld in the US in the last few years, especially with Florian at the reins.
“Oh my god.” I rub my temples, the pain increasing in my head as reality sinks in. “My dad sold me to the mob.”
Known for his cutthroat tactics in business, Florian has become a prominent figure in both legitimate business circles and the shadowy realms of criminal activity since succeeding his father, Olan Larsson, according to Amy Moreno.
He lost his mother at a young age and basically worked his way into the position he holds now. Despite his reputation for cruelty, people still view him as an enigma because he effortlessly moves between both worlds.
“Who is this man, and how in the hell does my father know him?”
Although he seemed nice when I met him after my performance, what my family had to say about him let me know that I totally misjudged the person he is.
I shut down the laptop, its screen going dark, and place it on the bedside table, adding to the clutter of books. There has to be a way to prepare for this, but how do you prepare for someone you don’t know? Someone known as Beast.
“I’m so screwed.”