The Runaway Heiress's Accidental Contract Marriage

The Rolls-Royce glided to a smooth stop in front of a massive, tiered stone fountain. The driver was out instantly, opening the door and shielding them with an umbrella. Annabelle stepped onto the wet marble driveway. She tilted her head back, staring up at the imposing facade of The Crestwood Estate. The sheer scale of the architecture pressed down on her, making her feel incredibly small. The heavy, double oak doors swung open before they even reached the steps. A butler in a tailored suit bowed his head. Warm, brilliant light spilled out from the foyer, chasing away the damp chill of the night. Annabelle stepped inside. Her wet sneakers squeaked embarrassingly against the polished marble floor. Above her hung a crystal chandelier so large it looked like a frozen waterfall. The air smelled faintly of fresh lilies and lemon polish. Footsteps echoed on the grand sweeping staircase. A woman descended. She wore an elegant, pearl-colored silk robe. Her posture was flawless, her face beautiful and stern. This was Eleanor Barrera, Gabriella's mother and a former prominent television anchor. Eleanor's sharp eyes swept over Annabelle's dripping hair and damp coat. Annabelle's stomach plummeted. She felt like a stray dog dragged onto a Persian rug. Gabriella ran up the stairs and linked her arm through her mother's. "Mom, this is Anna. Her landlord was a total creep, so I brought her home. She's staying with us." Annabelle clasped her hands tightly in front of her. "Good evening, Mrs. Barrera. I am so sorry for the intrusion. It's only for a few days." Eleanor walked down the remaining steps. The sternness in her face melted into a surprisingly warm, gracious smile. She reached out and gently squeezed Annabelle's shoulder. "Nonsense, dear. Gabriella should have brought you here immediately. No friend of my daughter should be out in this weather," Eleanor said, her voice smooth and authoritative. The genuine kindness in her tone made the tight knot in Annabelle's chest loosen. She unzipped her damp tote bag. She had to show her gratitude. She pulled out a waterproof plastic tube. "I... I don't have much to offer as a hostess gift," Annabelle said softly, her cheeks flushing. She unscrewed the cap and slid out a small, rolled canvas. "But I painted this. I'd like you to have it." Eleanor took the canvas and unrolled it. It was a small, quick watercolor study of a European countryside, unsigned and unassuming. Yet, the lighting was captured with an undeniable, raw emotion. Eleanor's eyes widened slightly. She traced the air above the canvas, clearly intrigued. "My my. The depth of this lighting... Annabelle, this is quite lovely. You have a remarkable eye for composition and a very rare spirit." "Thank you," Annabelle breathed, relieved. Eleanor turned to the butler. "Have a room prepared in the east wing. The one with the balcony facing the gardens. And bring up a pot of hot ginger tea immediately." The butler took Annabelle's suitcase. She followed him up the grand staircase and down a long hallway lined with thick, sound-absorbing carpets. He opened a door. The guest room was massive. A king-sized bed with a velvet canopy dominated the space. A fire was already crackling in the marble fireplace. Annabelle went straight into the en-suite bathroom. She stripped off her wet clothes and stood under the scalding hot shower until her skin turned pink and she stopped shivering. She dried off and slipped into a pair of silk pajamas a maid had left on the counter. When she walked back into the bedroom, a silver tray with steaming ginger tea and pastries sat on the table. She picked up the porcelain cup. The spicy, hot liquid burned pleasantly down her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. A soft knock sounded. Gabriella poked her head in, holding a fluffy pillow. "Can I sleep here? My room is lonely." Annabelle smiled and pulled back the heavy duvet. Gabriella jumped in. They lay side by side, staring up at the intricate plaster molding on the ceiling. Gabriella talked for an hour about her cousins and aunts, filling Annabelle in on the complex family tree. Eventually, Gabriella's breathing evened out. She was asleep. Annabelle turned her head toward the nightstand. She picked up her phone. The 'No SIM' notification in the corner was a silent relief—a physical barrier Archer couldn't cross. She connected to the estate's Wi-Fi and opened her email app. She stared at the offer from Apex Digital Comics. She started on Monday. She had a job. She had a safe bed. She set the phone down and pulled the lavender-scented covers up to her chin. She closed her eyes, letting the safety of the mansion pull her into a deep, dreamless sleep.