Chapter 3

Victoria's POV

The graduation ceremony at London Business School had just ended. I tossed my cap into the air as my phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket—seventeen missed calls from my father.

Three years. Three years since the engagement disaster, since I fled to London for graduate school. Ever since that humiliating night, Father had been relentlessly setting me up on blind dates. One business alliance after another, each suitor more revolting than the last.

I'd thrown myself into my studies in London, practically living in the library, interning at financial firms on weekends. I wanted to prove I wasn't just some trophy to be bartered away—that I could make it on my own.

Now the phone was ringing again.

"Graduated? Good. Time to come home. We've missed you."

Father's voice crackled through the speaker. No congratulations, just demands.

I stood in my dorm room, surrounded by boxes that needed packing, gripping the phone.

While packing, that photograph slipped out from between my books again.

Nathaniel and me watching the sunrise in the desert. Over the past three years, I'd thrown away everything that reminded me of him—everything except this photo. I couldn't bring myself to destroy it.

Looking at his gentle smile in the picture, my heart hammered against my ribs. He'd looked so sincere then, so devoted...

"Liar!" I ripped the photo in half.

But halfway through, I stopped. Carefully, I pieced the fragments back together, then tore it again. I repeated this several times.

Finally, I sighed and gently placed the mended photo in my wallet.

I'd already tracked down information about him through mutual friends: after the engagement fiasco, Tesla family stock had plummeted. His father had disowned him, stripped him of all assets. After Scarlett gave birth to a boy, she'd claimed she was going abroad on business and never returned. Now he was raising the child alone in Las Vegas.

Back home, I was greeted by the smell of cigars the moment I walked through the door. A middle-aged man sat in our living room—pot-bellied, balding. He stood when he saw me. "Miss Victoria, I'm Theodore Morrison."

"Victoria's home!" Father beamed. "Come, let me introduce you to Mr. Theodore Morrison."

I nodded warily. "Mr. Morrison."

Theodore approached, extending a greasy hand. "Miss Victoria, I've been eager to meet you. Your father speaks of your talents constantly."

I didn't extend my hand in return, instead fixing my father with a hard stare. "What is this about?"

Father's smile looked forced. "You two chat. I'll check on dinner."

He actually left us alone in the living room.

"Victoria, I hear you earned an MBA in London?" Theodore stepped closer. "Very ambitious. I like intelligent women."

I stepped back. "Thank you."

"We could start as friends, get to know each other..." He reached out to guide me to sit.

I immediately pulled away. "Mr. Morrison, I don't think we're compatible."

"How could we not be?" Displeasure flickered in his eyes. "I have more experience—I could teach you so much. And my wealth could give you a princess's life."

He spoke as if he were shopping for a toy.

Father emerged with tea, saw our standoff, and gestured for me to sit.

"Victoria, have a proper conversation with Mr. Morrison. He's one of Las Vegas's most successful businessmen."

"Indeed," Theodore said smugly. "My company is worth five billion dollars with global operations. Marry me, and you'll be a queen."

I looked at these two men—one willing to sell his daughter for profit, the other wanting to buy a young wife to feed his ego.

Rage burned in my chest.

"Enough!" I exploded. "I'm not merchandise! I'm not some tool for your transactions!"

Father's face darkened instantly. "Victoria! Watch your tone!"

"My tone?" I laughed bitterly. "I spent three years abroad, earned a degree from a top business school to prove I could succeed on my own merit! And what do you do? Try to marry me off to some old man!"

Theodore's expression soured. "Victoria, you're being very rude."

"Rude?" I whirled on him. "A 63-year-old man wanting to marry a 25-year-old—that's what's rude!"

"Victoria!" Father barked. "Mr. Morrison is our honored guest!"

I completely lost it. "He's your investor! You're using your daughter's happiness as collateral!"

I pointed at Father, three years of hurt and fury pouring out:

"When Nathaniel betrayed me three years ago, when I was heartbroken, did you comfort me once? No! You immediately lined up the next suitor!"

"When I escaped to England, did you ever ask if I was okay? No! You just kept pressuring me to come back and get married!"

"Now I've graduated, and you can't even congratulate me—you just want to push me onto this old man!"

My voice grew louder, tears streaming down my face.

"Am I your daughter, or just a commodity you trade for business deals?"

Father's face flushed red. "This is for your own good! For the family!"

"My own good?" I wiped my tears, laughing coldly. "Marrying me to someone old enough to be my grandfather—that's for my own good?"

Theodore finally had enough. He stood, adjusting his suit. "Richard, your daughter needs discipline. This temperament isn't suitable for my wife."

He grabbed his briefcase. "Call me when she comes to her senses."

The door slammed shut, leaving Father and me glaring at each other.

Father pointed at me, trembling with rage. "Look what you've done! You've ruined our family's most important business opportunity!"

"Business opportunity?" I stared at him coldly. "Father, I'm not cargo. I'm not a bargaining chip for your deals. If our family's success requires my misery, then I don't want that kind of success."

I headed for the stairs without looking back:

"I will never marry Theodore Morrison. Never."

"You're my daughter! You should contribute to this family!" Father roared behind me. "Then prepare to have nothing!"

I grabbed my suitcase and left without looking back. Las Vegas was alive with nightlife as I wandered aimlessly, eventually collapsing on a bench in a small downtown park.

"Daddy, I'm hungry." A small voice drifted over.

I looked up to see a man walking with a little boy. The man wore a cheap jacket and looked exhausted, but he spoke gently to the child: "Jackson, we're almost home. Daddy will make you noodles."

Nathaniel.

Three years had changed him dramatically. He was much thinner, his cheeks hollow, his hair unkempt. The confidence in his eyes had dimmed—he looked like someone life had beaten down.

And the little boy... Jackson, with the same blue eyes but a sadness that seemed too old for his age.

"Daddy, you forgot to buy milk again." Jackson looked up at Nathaniel.

"Sorry, baby. Daddy will get some first thing tomorrow." Nathaniel knelt to adjust the child's clothes.

As they passed my bench, Nathaniel suddenly stopped.

He slowly turned, and when he saw me, shock, pain, and something unreadable flashed in his eyes.

"Victoria?" His voice trembled. "You... you're back?"

In that moment, three years of emotions—anger, pain, longing, resentment—crashed over me.

I stood, forcing myself to appear indifferent. "Yes. I'm back."

Jackson looked at me curiously. "Daddy, is she Mommy?"

This child—living proof of his betrayal—was calling me Mommy? Looking at his innocent face, I found I couldn't hate him.

"Jackson, let's go." Nathaniel tried to lead the child away.

"Wait." My voice cut through the night air. "We need to talk."

Nathaniel stopped, his eyes full of complex emotions. "Victoria, I know I have no right to talk to you about anything..."

"You're right. You don't." I cut him off coldly. "But right now, I have something to say to you."

I looked at this father and son, thought of Theodore's greasy face, and suddenly had a crazy idea.

"Let's get married." I stared directly into Nathaniel's eyes.