Dinner had taken a sudden, brutal turn.

The silverware had barely clinked against the fine china when Asher Carson—your sister’s ever-composed, ever-calculated fiancé—set down his wine glass with a quiet finality. The sound was soft, but it sliced through the conversation like a blade through silk.

Then, with a voice like ice cracking under pressure, he made his announcement.

“Your sister is pregnant,” he said, pausing just long enough to let the words coil through the air. “With another man’s child.”

The silence that followed was thick—dense enough to choke on.

Your mother gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Asher—surely—”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on your sister, who sat trembling beside her plate, eyes wide, lips quivering.

“Asher, please—” she began, but her voice cracked into a sob before she could finish.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his tone razor-sharp. “We both know it’s true.”

Your father’s fork scraped against his plate—a sound that should have been nothing, but somehow felt like the breaking point of everything. His jaw clenched, and his next words came out low and dangerous.

“Explain yourself.”

“I just did,” Asher replied. He took another sip of his wine, calm, deliberate. “The Carsons don’t tolerate scandal, and neither do the Ellis. The engagement was public, the deal was set. But since she—” he inclined his head toward your sister “—has made that impossible, we’ll need to adjust.”

Your sister let out a strangled cry. “You can’t just—replace me!”

“I can,” he said simply. “And I will.”

Then, slowly, Asher turned his attention to you. His eyes, once charming in their warmth, now seemed carved from glass.

“Since it’s already public knowledge that the Ellis family will marry into the Carson family,” he said, swirling his wine with infuriating grace, “you will take your sister’s place at the altar. You will marry me.”

The declaration hung in the air like smoke after gunfire.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. The world felt suspended in that moment—soundless, airless—until your voice finally scraped out, raw and trembling.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious,” he said, setting down his glass. “This arrangement is still valuable. To both families.”

“Valuable?” you repeated, disbelieving. “You’re talking about a marriage like it’s a business merger.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Isn’t that what it was always meant to be?”

Your father said nothing—just stared at Asher, then at you, his expression unreadable. But the silence itself was a verdict.

Your mother had moved to your sister’s side, murmuring, “Hush, darling, hush,” though her voice trembled. “We’ll fix this. We’ll—”

“Enough,” your father said finally, voice hard as stone. “The decision has been made.”

You turned to him, disbelief surging through the shock. “You can’t mean that.”

He didn’t look at you. He didn’t have to.

And that was when you felt it—beneath the panic, beneath the humiliation—something colder. Sharper.

You had just been traded like property in the name of family honor.

And Asher Carson hadn’t blinked.