15 - The Wedding Preparation
The grand chandelier above the Blackwood dining hall glittered like a crown, casting warm gold across the room. Light danced off crystal teardrops and scattered prismatic flecks across the polished surface of the long mahogany table. The air shimmered with old wealth and quiet tension.
Mathew Landon rose, the scrape of his chair harsh against the marble floor. He smoothed his silk tie—a nervous tell—and cleared his throat. Fatigue weighed beneath his eyes, but they shimmered with something deeper: gratitude, edged with the cost of swallowing pride.
His gaze swept across the table before settling on the patriarch. "Mr. William," he began, voice wavering before he anchored it with a breath. "I can't express how grateful I am. You've given my family a second chance. For that, I'll be forever in your debt."
His fingers curled around the back of his chair, knuckles turning white. The room hushed beneath the weight of his words, as if everyone could feel the invisible ink of promises already signed.
At the head of the table, Sarah Blackwood lifted her wine glass, the stem caught delicately between manicured fingers.
Her silver-streaked dark hair was swept into an impeccable chignon, each strand locked in place like strategy on a chessboard.
She smiled, the curve of her lips elegant but calculating.
"Family stands together in times of need, Mathew," she said smoothly, her voice warm but lined with iron. "And we haven't forgotten the help you gave us during... trying times." Her eyes flicked, just for a moment, to her son. "Especially when Ethan's father faced his challenges."
Ethan remained silent, his gaze fixed on his untouched plate. Sarah continued, her voice honeyed and deliberate.
"What better way to strengthen this bond than through the union of our children?"
The words dropped into the silence like a stone in water.
Across from her, Emma Landon twisted her napkin in her lap, fingers trembling despite the practiced smile on her lips. "Yes, of course, Sarah," she said quickly, too quickly. "Let's start planning the marriage as early as possible."
Scarlett's fork hovered midair. Her breath caught in her throat.
The word rang in her mind like a starting bell she hadn't agreed to. She lowered her fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she glanced at Ethan from beneath lowered lashes.
He didn't flinch. His expression was carved from granite. Slowly, he speared a piece of duck—too forcefully—and placed it in his mouth with mechanical indifference.
Scarlett turned back to her plate, her appetite gone. The roasted duck, spiced and perfectly seared, now tasted like ash.
After the last course was cleared and polished conversation resumed, Sarah leaned forward slightly, her tone syrupy.
"Ethan, dear, why don't you give Scarlett a tour of the house? Spend a little time together."
Her smile said it wasn't a request.
Ethan's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Of course," he said coolly, standing and gesturing to Scarlett. "Shall we?"
Scarlett rose, smoothing her dress. She followed him out into the long, chandelier-lit corridor, silence trailing them like a ghost.
Ethan's footsteps echoed down the hallway as he walked ahead, hands buried in his pockets, not bothering to wait for Scarlett.
She followed, her heels clicking against the marble floor, tension tightening in her shoulders with every step. The silence between them was no longer awkward—it was hostile.
He stopped in front of a heavy oak door and pushed it open without ceremony. "Library," he said flatly, stepping aside so she could enter first.
Scarlett barely glanced at the room. "You don't have to pretend this is a real tour," she snapped.
He arched an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm not pretending. This is a performance, remember? You and I are just props in a very expensive charade."
Her jaw clenched. "A performance I never agreed to."
Ethan gave a hollow laugh. "Did you think you had a choice? You signed the contract."
"Yes, I am," she said coolly. "Just like I am. This isn't about love or compatibility or any of that fairytale crap. It's leverage. You're the price your family paid for survival." he said.
Her face flushed, part humiliation, part fury. "At least I'm not hiding behind cold politeness while selling off my soul. Don't act like you're above this. You benefit from it too."
He pushed off the wall and took a step closer, eyes narrowed. "You think I want to be shackled to someone who despises me? My mother made it clear: marry you, or she pulls my inheritance and torpedoes the Henderson merger."
Scarlett's breath caught. "So that's what this is about. Power and money. The Blackwood legacy."
He leaned in, voice lowering but laced with venom. "You're just a clause in a contract to preserve the empire. You're not even the first name they considered. You were just... convenient."
Scarlett recoiled, blinking back heat behind her eyes. "You arrogant..."
He didn't flinch. "Say what you want. But when this is done—after the parties and the headlines and the staged smiles—you'll go back to your wing of the mansion, and I'll go back to mine. We don't have to play nice behind closed doors."
She stared at him, chest heaving. Just for a second. "I didn't forget."
"Good," he said.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, lips trembling with the effort not to scream. "I hate this. I hate all of it. I hate you."
The corners of his mouth twitched into a dark smile. "Good. Then we're perfectly matched."
Neither spoke for a long moment. The silence was loud—ugly, acidic.
Then, without another word, Ethan turned on his heel and walked back down the hall.
Scarlett followed, her footsteps heavier than before, each step echoing with the sound of a future she hadn't chosen.
Later that night, when the Landons were preparing to leave, Sarah intercepted her son at the door.
"Take Scarlett home," she said lightly. "It'll give you two more time to talk."
He didn't argue. He never did.
Ethan's sleek black Mercedes glided down the Blackwood driveway and cut through the cool evening toward the Landon home. The colonial-style house glowed warmly ahead, its porch lights inviting, its modesty almost quaint compared to the sprawl of the Blackwood estate.
They'd spoken barely a dozen words.
As he parked, Scarlett smoothed her dress with trembling fingers.
Ethan glanced at her, finally breaking the silence. "It's just a formality. We make an appearance, say the right things, and leave."
Scarlett opened her mouth, but the door creaked open before she could answer.
"Scarlett! Ethan!" Adam burst onto the porch, his school uniform rumpled, tie askew. His face glowed with excitement.
"You're here! Did you hear? The wedding date's been set! It's happening in three months!"
Scarlett froze. "What?" Her voice pitched higher than intended. "Already?"
Ethan stiffened beside her. His mouth flattened into a line. "No one thought to consult us first?"
Emma appeared behind Adam, cheeks flushed and glowing. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, flour dusted on her shoulder like she'd been baking.
"There's nothing to consult, darling. Everything's coming together beautifully. We've already spoken to the caterer and florist. Everyone is thrilled!"
Scarlett turned to Ethan. Her eyes pleaded with him—say something, please.
He stared ahead, unreadable.
"Fine," he said at last, his tone clipped. "They're faster than I expected."
Scarlett flinched as if he'd struck her. His indifference was worse than any declaration.
She clenched the strap of her purse, struggling to steady herself. This wasn't a conversation anymore. It was a machine—set in motion long before she'd realized she'd been strapped in.
Morning light streamed through the damask curtains in Sarah Blackwood's private study, casting sharp shadows across the Persian rug. The scent of Earl Grey tea mingled with old books and something colder—steel wrapped in silk.
Sarah sat behind her mahogany desk, her blouse pristine, every strand of hair in place. She didn't look up.
"You'll take Scarlett to visit the wedding venue today."
Ethan, seated stiffly across from her, stared at the polished wood between them. "I have meetings. The Henderson merger. The board—"
"I wasn't asking."
She lifted her gaze then, eyes as sharp as glass. "A marriage isn't just a business arrangement, Ethan. It's optics. Image. Commitment."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration breaking through his composure like a hairline crack.
"Fine," he said after a pause. "I'll take her."
Sarah smiled. It never reached her eyes.
"Excellent. The appointment is at two. Don't be late."