My Wealthy Creditor Demanded Marriage To Erase My Debt — He Was Not Prepared For My Ultimatum
Part 1
It does not sound like an act of defiance.
It sounds like a dry bone snapping in half.
He commanded me to marry him, fully expecting my desperate and immediate compliance.
Instead, I picked up the heavy vellum with freezing fingers that trembled only once.
Rainwater dripped heavily from the frayed hem of my ruined wool coat.
It pooled darkly on his priceless Aubusson carpet.
A dull sense of guilt layered itself over my bone-deep exhaustion.
My boots were stuffed with newspaper to plug the holes in the soles.
My toes were completely numb from the November chill.
Brian sat behind a desk large enough to dine a family of ten.
He continued writing with his gold-nibbed fountain pen.
The nib scratched a harsh rhythm against the heavy ledger paper.
It reminded me of the rats scratching in the walls of my miserable boarding house.
The library smelled of beeswax, old leather, and a faint trace of expensive tobacco.
The hearth fire roared aggressively behind an ornate iron grate.
It kicked out a dry heat that made my damp wool coat smell distinctly like a wet dog.
He finally told me to sit down without ever gesturing to a chair.
He did not even bother to raise his eyes from his ledger.
I refused to sit.
I was genuinely afraid that if I sank into that plush velvet, I would simply fall asleep and never wake up again.
It was my father’s press, the one I had ruined my hands and eyesight trying to save.
I had eaten nothing but half of a bruised apple since Tuesday morning.
Brian’s pen finally stopped moving.
He carefully capped it and aligned it perfectly parallel to his crystal inkwell.
His eyes were the exact color of slate roofing right before a brutal winter storm.
They were flat and entirely unforgiving.
Brian was all sharp angles and immaculate charcoal tailoring.
His dark hair was cut severely.
He stated that I was bankrupt as a concrete fact, not a question.
I replied that I was temporarily lacking liquidity.
The dry rasp of my throat instantly betrayed my desperation.
I swallowed hard, tasting brass and fear.
The leather creaked with a wealthy, substantial sound.
He listed my failures with mathematical precision.
He informed me that my creditors were preparing to petition for debtors’ prison by Friday.
He stated my exact debt down to the final pence.
The exactness of the number felt like a physical slap across my face.
I stared at the intricate knot of his silk cravat.
I told him that if he brought me here just to gloat, he was wasting his expensive coal.
He calmly replied that he did not gloat, he solved problems.
He clamped it unlit between his teeth.
He studied me like a problematic ledger entry that simply refused to balance.
He reminded me that I had no living relatives to interfere and absolutely no options left.
I stubbornly reminded him that I was a printer.
He said it with the casual cruelty of a man merely stating the weather.
He opened a leather folder and withdrew a thick sheaf of cream-colored vellum.
He required a wife immediately to satisfy an inheritance clause before his thirtieth birthday.
He had no time for affection or complicated women.
He outlined the incredibly simple terms.
I would be the duchess of Westford, attend social functions, and manage the staff.
I would receive a massive allowance and never face the inside of a cell.
My starved, frantic mind immediately calculated how much paper and ink that money could buy.
But then I looked up at his bored, certain posture.
He was not looking at a human being.
He tapped his finger against the mahogany and commanded me to sign the bottom.
I reached out and picked up the thick, expensive paper.
A sickening lurch of violent physical rejection twisted in my empty stomach.
I desperately wanted the money and the warmth.
Silence thickened in the library.
I gripped the contract with both of my shaking hands.
The heavy vellum tore with that jagged, final sound.
I stacked the halves and tore them again, reducing my salvation to mere confetti.
He was utterly and completely speechless for the first time in his meticulously orchestrated life.
I let the torn scraps flutter down onto his polished desk and expensive carpet.
I told him I was bankrupt, but I was not for sale.
I turned on my heel and practically ran for the heavy double doors.
The freezing rain hit me instantly like sharp needles.
I slipped on the marble step and cracked my knee hard against the stone.
I scrambled up with muddy hands and limped away into the darkness.
I had just thrown away absolute security for foolish pride.
Every step sent a jolt of pure fire through my hip.
The adrenaline faded fast, leaving me hollow and vibrating with cold.
I slumped against the peeling wooden frame of the door.
My freezing hands shook too violently to force the key into the rusted lock.
A quiet sob escaped my throat as I dropped to my bruised knees to search the wet wood.
Heavy boots splashed in the puddle behind me.
Brian stood there in a heavy riding cloak, blocking out the weak street lamp.
He looked down at me with an uncomfortable tightening in his jaw.
He calmly informed me that he had just visited my primary creditor.
He had bought every single one of my promissory notes.
He leaned in close, bringing the smell of clean rain and expensive tobacco.
He whispered that I no longer owed the bank.
I asked him why he couldn’t just leave me alone.
He stated that I was the most logical candidate for his needs.
He took the rusty key from my frozen fingers and slid it into the lock.
The door opened, but as I stepped into the suffocating dark, I realized my real cage was standing right behind me.
