Sean extended his hand as soon as Jackob and Skye stood before him. Without hesitation, Jackob forcefully pulled Skye's hand from his arm and placed it into Sean's.
Sean took her hand gently—too gently. As if this wasn't the cruelest moment of her life. As if he wasn't part of it. Without a word, he led her to stand before the pastor.
Now, they faced each other—two strangers about to seal a sacred vow. The ceremony moved forward. And then, Sean spoke. He recited his wedding vows—calmly, clearly, flawlessly.
His voice steady, his words sharp like glass. He said her full name as if he had known it forever. Skye blinked. She hadn't expected that. Not the ease in his tone. Not the way her name left his lips like it meant something. How could he say her name so perfectly, when she couldn't even remember the pastor's voice when he said his?
Skye looked at Sean, then down at their hands—his gently holding hers. She couldn't do this. This wasn't right. This was a trap. She wasn't here for a wedding. She came for the money her father promised. That was it.
But now, here she was—standing at the altar, about to make a vow she never agreed to. A vow she couldn't possibly mean. She couldn't marry Sean. She couldn't do any of this. Her heart pounded in her chest as panic surged through her. She shook her head. A small, desperate gesture. It was all she could manage. Her lips wouldn't move, her voice wouldn't come out. So she shook her head again—slowly, then more firmly. The only way she could say what her heart was screaming: "No."
Gasps echoed softly across the chapel. The pastor blinked, momentarily stunned, his hands still holding the open vow book. He glanced at Sean, then at Skye—his expression confused, unsure whether to continue.
Sean's brows lowered just slightly, his eyes still fixed on Skye. He didn't say anything. Didn't flinch. Didn't loosen his grip on her hand. The guests started to murmur.
Whispers slithered like smoke between the pews. "She shook her head." "Is she refusing?" Skye could feel their eyes burning holes through her dress, through her skin. But she didn't care. She shook her head again—sharper this time, a visible plea. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she pulled her hand, trying to break free from Sean's grasp. Still, Sean held on.
Whispers from the guests filled the air—soft, curious, judgmental. Their murmurs seemed to grow louder with each passing second. Sean suddenly pulled Skye into his arms, holding her close. To the crowd, it looked like a protective embrace. A groom calming his frightened bride.
"I'm here," Sean said loudly, his voice firm and filled with conviction. "No one will hurt you. I'll protect you."
The guests sighed, touched by the sight. To them, it was beautiful—romantic, even. But they were wrong, all of them. Because as Sean's lips hovered close to Skye's ear, his tone changed completely. "If you don't want to be beaten by your father for refusing this marriage," he whispered darkly, "then don't say no."
Skye froze. "Look at him," Sean continued, his voice low and venomous. "Isn't he ready to hit you?" Skye slowly turned her head within Sean's embrace. Through the gap in his shoulder, she saw her father sitting with clenched fists, jaw tight, eyes burning. Her breath caught in her throat. She was truly trapped.
The moment the wedding ceremony ended, Sean wasted no time. He immediately took Skye away for their honeymoon. Everything she might need had already been prepared by Sean's assistant.
As the car pulled away from the church grounds, Skye finally asked, "Where are we going?"
"Paris," Sean replied.
"What? Paris?" Skye repeated in shock.
"Yes," he said shortly.
"I don't want to! I have college—I can't just go to Paris. And this marriage… it's fake! So there's no need for a honeymoon in Paris!" she protested.
Sean turned his head sharply, his gaze piercing through her. "Fake marriage?" he echoed, his voice cold and firm. "Was that pastor fake too? Were our families just pretending to be there?" "Tell me, Skye—how can this be fake when everyone saw us exchange vows?" The intimidation in his tone left no room for argument.
The driver taking them was Sean's grandfather's personal chauffeur. Sean knew better than to speak carelessly in front of him. If the truth about their contract marriage ever slipped out, his grandfather would surely tighten the noose—and cancel everything. And worse… Oliver would be the one to pay the price.
Sean knew exactly what his grandfather was capable of. He held more power than Sean ever could. If he wanted to ruin Oliver's life, he could do it with a snap of his fingers. That's why Sean had to keep everything quiet. That's why he had to marry Skye.
Oliver had suggested using a surrogate. Artificial insemination, no strings attached. But Sean knew—it was an impossible dream. His grandfather would never accept a child born outside of marriage. And he'd use it as an excuse to erase Oliver from Sean's life permanently. So Sean chose the only path he could. He chose Skye. She was desperate. She needed money. And most importantly… she didn't seem like the type to get emotionally involved or ask for too much. She was perfect for a contract. At least, that's what he had thought.
Sean could easily solve her problems. Her debts, her career, her future—he had the power to hand it all to her on a silver platter. As long as Skye agreed to one thing. His rules. Their marriage would be by his terms. No questions. No complications. He just needed her to carry his child.
Once she gave birth, it would all be over. He could finally be with Oliver—free of the pressure, free of the demands to produce an heir. Skye would be the perfect vessel. A quiet solution to a problem that had haunted him for years. No emotions, no love. Just a contract. A child from Skye's womb, and peace with his powerful, merciless grandfather.