Page 1

Part I

Chapter 1

Mariya

I stood outside my father’s study in shock. The way my family has been kissing the Chartwells’ asses lately, I should have seen this coming. The hints my mother made, my older brother being nice to me for a change and my simpleton father who thought I would agree to this madness. Owen Chartwell was a well-known dickhead, and there was no way on this earth that I would marry him. I wouldn't want his diseased dick anywhere near me.

Unfortunately for my family, I had been planning my escape for quite some time, since my mid-teens. My brother was the heir to a crumbling estate and a nonexistent empire, while I had been making money by betting options on the markets and stashing away my profits in Bitcoin. It was the only way to hide my funds from them.

Most people had some semblance of a normal family, but mine was an entirely dysfunctional one. I almost felt normal some days, but those were the no-contact days. It was challenging to have a no-contact policy when I lived with them. I made a break for my room because it was time to accelerate my plans.

???

I sat at the dinner table to watch the clown show—the show of wealth, gluttony and vulgar words about their mutual associates.Owen’s hand moved under the table to rest on my thigh. My eye twitched, and I looked at the silver knife on the table, wondering if it was sharp enough to slice through his diseased dick.

“Do you like your ring?”

I lifted my hand to see the tiny rock surrounded by gold and even smaller diamonds around it. If I were to estimate the ring's price, it wouldn't be any more than £200.

“It’s beautiful,” I said with a smile.

His hand tightened on my leg, and he leaned close.

“Why don't we go upstairs and have a—private chat?”

“I’m sorry, Owen, that wouldn't be appropriate,” I said demurely.

When his hand moved further up my leg, inching between my thighs, I abruptly stood up.

“Please excuse me for a moment.”

I walked through the kitchen, picking up a knife, and went around the house to the back door until I reached the garden. The warm evening air and complete silence were what I needed.

Once I had taken a few long breaths, I snuck around the house and stabbed the knife into Owen’s tyre before deciding to fuck up some of the paintwork at the rear bumper. Somewhere, he wouldn't notice for a few days. His Mazda sports car was as cheap as his ring. I took my time, enjoying each knife scrape against the paintwork.

Feeling somewhat better after my spur-of-the-moment destructive artwork, I returned to the house, dumping the knife in the kitchen sink and returning to the room full of laughing hyenas. I sat beside my lecherous fiancé to enjoy our engagement party.

???

“Owen was furious someone drew a phallus into the paintwork of his car,” my mother said to my father. “What is this world coming to?”

“People are simply jealous when others do well,” he said, sniffing his nose before reaching for the teapot.

I kept my eyes down since I was tempted to roll my eyes. All they had done last night was bitch about people who were doing better than them. I could have left in the previous year but decided there was no harm in living in their house while I built more wealth for the real world. My educational and freeloading days were over.

“You’re quiet,” my brother said to me, which would have been sweet, but for the fact that he didn’t care.

I shrugged my shoulders. If I was lucky, I could go for a full day without speaking to any of them. From the age of fifteen, I realised fighting with them didn’t resolve anything because they would never acknowledge how toxic they were. The only way I avoided getting sucked into how they chose to exist was to separate myself from them emotionally and physically.

Little did any of them know the sheer excitement bubbling away inside of me, desperate to spill out into the open. I wanted to laugh at their insipid conversation. There would be no marriage to Owen, and my parents remain broke.

The incubator, the sperm donor, and their precious dickhead of a son could beg, borrow, or steal. I was not going to be sold off like a fucking Victorian-era package deal bride because of my father’s gambling, my mother's shopping and my precious brother’s needs being fulfilled. They had a useless aristocratic title but not a single pot to piss in.

“We have a wedding to plan,” the incubator said.

“Make it small,” the sperm donor said.

I glanced at Julian, who side-eyed me with a smirk.