My Dead Father Arranged A Secret Marriage — And Now My Powerful Husband Is Hunting A Traitor
Part 1
The gavel hovered in the suffocating cellar air, poised to destroy my life forever.
Bound by cold silk, my wrists hung limp and aching.
Turning my stomach into knots, the foul scent of stale gin and cigars permeated the room.
To keep my composure, I elevated my chin and stared straight ahead.
Refusing to let these vile men see my terror, I masked the ice freezing my veins.
Following my father’s catastrophic financial failure, I had become nothing more than an entry in a cursed ledger.
With his prized merchant ships at the bottom of the Atlantic, he cowardly took his own life.
Utterly alone, I faced the wrath of his ruthless creditors.
Materializing in the dim shadows, Craig, the venomous financier who orchestrated this nightmare, approached the stage.
Thick with the stench of cheap brandy, his breath washed over my face.
Grasping my arm, he squeezed with a grip that promised future violence.
Wrenching my trembling shoulder away, I fixed the horrible man with a stare of pure ice.
Sneering at my defiance, he stepped back just as the heavy velvet curtains parted before us.
The harsh glare of the gaslights blinded me for a fraction of a second.
When my vision cleared, I saw three dozen powerful men lounging in plush leather chairs.
These were the exact same gentlemen who had bowed respectfully to me just last season.
Now, their predatory eyes raked over my simple gray muslin dress with a sickening entitlement.
The auctioneer banged his wooden gavel against the podium, demanding order in the room.
He formally announced the public sale of my guardianship and my insurmountable family debts.
The starting bid was a staggering sum that no respectable gentleman would casually pay.
A heavy silence descended over the dimly lit room like a physical weight.
I gripped the rough folds of my skirt, desperately praying for the floorboards to open up.
A voice suddenly called out from the far left side of the smoky room.
I recognized the cruel tone immediately, and a cold sweat broke out across my brow.
It was Greg, a ruthless baron with a notorious reputation and a suspicious string of dead wives.
He leaned forward in his chair, his yellowed teeth bared in a sickening grin.
Another unknown man foolishly countered the bid from the dark back of the room.
Greg fired back with a much higher number without a single second of hesitation.
The numbers climbed rapidly, echoing off the stone walls like a rhythmic death sentence.
The stale air in the room grew unbearably hot and thin.
I squeezed my aching eyes shut, fighting a desperate urge to collapse onto the dirty planks.
Greg bellowed his final offer, demanding an end to the auction’s charade.
He claimed me as his rightful property with a horrific roar.
The auctioneer scanned the suddenly silent room, slowly raising his gavel to seal the terrible bargain.
I braced my entire trembling body for the final strike of the polished wood.
The loud crack never came.
A completely unfamiliar voice sliced through the heavy silence, echoing with lethal authority.
The auctioneer instantly froze in place, his wooden gavel hovering millimeters above the podium.
Greg whipped his large head around, his fleshy face turning a vibrant shade of purple.
I opened my tear-filled eyes and looked toward the back of the silent room.
A towering man stood framed in the entryway, dressed entirely in immaculate black tailoring.
He possessed a face of sharp angles and absolute aristocratic arrogance.
His piercing storm-gray eyes locked directly onto mine with a cold intensity that stole my breath.
Nervous whispers erupted across the crowded room like a dry brushfire catching the wind.
It was Brian, the untouchable Duke of Rothamstead.
He was a legendary man who played dangerous games with empires, not a lowly aristocrat.
Craig immediately scurried forward, his round face pale and dripping with nervous sweat.
He foolishly attempted to explain that the private auction had officially concluded.
Brian did not even acknowledge the trembling, pathetic financier.
He stalked straight down the center aisle, his heavy boots echoing like cannon fire.
The wealthy lords physically shrank back into their leather chairs as he passed them.
He stopped right at the base of the wooden stage, his dominant presence overwhelming the cramped space.
Greg stepped out into the aisle, his raspy voice shaking with rage and fear.
He loudly demanded his rightful property, arrogantly insisting he had legally won the debt.
Brian turned his head with agonizing slowness, regarding the furious baron with crushing disdain.
He stated smoothly that he had absolutely not come to this filthy cellar to pay a debt.
He reached calmly inside his dark coat and withdrew a crisp document sealed with heavy red wax.
He tossed the parchment onto the auctioneer’s podium with a sharp snap.
The trembling auctioneer quickly broke the wax seal and read the flowing script.
His eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he looked from the official paper to the imposing Duke.
Craig aggressively snatched the document away, his sweaty face draining of all remaining color.
He stammered out the completely impossible words written clearly on the page.
It was a proxy marriage contract, fully authorized by the Archbishop himself.
The heavy silence in the underground room became absolute and suffocating.
I stared down at the terrifying Duke, my mind going completely blank with shock.
The official document claimed we had been legally wed entirely in secret two full years ago.
I had never spoken a single word to this intimidating man in my entire life.
Brian stepped gracefully onto the wooden stage, seamlessly drawing a gleaming silver blade from his walking cane.
With one incredibly swift motion, he completely severed the silk cords binding my wrists.
He offered me his strong arm, his handsome expression remaining completely unreadable.
I reached out with a trembling hand, stepping away from the auction block and into the unknown.
