Chapter 2 Forced Nude Photos

[Sera]

My childish hope shattered in an instant. I wasn't being welcomed home; I was being called in as a transaction.

I felt my momentary joy crumbling. "Father, I... I don't want to marry someone I don't love. I can't imagine spending my life with a stranger just for business." I took a deep breath. "Besides, I got accepted to the architecture program at the university. Full scholarship. I can help rebuild our family's construction company with actual skills and knowledge. I've always had a talent for design—my portfolio got me that scholarship. I want to contribute in a meaningful way."

His expression hardened. "Love? You think marriage is about love?" He scoffed. "Such childish notions. This isn't about what you want." He waved dismissively at the mention of my acceptance letter. "And what exactly do you think a little girl with some sketches can do for a failing construction empire? Design pretty dollhouses?"

"I'm not a little girl anymore! I can learn the business, modernize our approach. The industry is changing, and we need to—"

"Enough!" he snapped. "What we need is capital and connections, not your juvenile ambitions. You think you can waltz in with a college degree and save us? Don't be ridiculous. Be grateful I found you a purpose that's actually within your capabilities."

When he saw my continued defiance, something calculating flickered in his eyes. He leaned closer to the camera.

"So... a full scholarship to the architecture program," he said, his voice deliberately casual. "That's quite an accomplishment."

My expression brightened slightly. "Yes, I worked really hard on my portfolio."

"You know, I have several connections at that university," he continued, examining his fingernails. "The dean of admissions is an old friend. We play golf together."

A cold feeling settled in my stomach. "What are you saying?"

"Universities take character references very seriously," he said with a thin smile. "One call from me expressing concerns about your... stability, your tendency toward rebellion, your difficult past... Well, scholarships can be revoked as easily as they're given."

My heart sank. "You wouldn't."

"I've invested too much to see you throw away this opportunity for our family." His eyes narrowed slightly. "That full scholarship is the only way you'd be able to attend. Without it, where would you find tuition money in the next six weeks? " He laughed coldly. "Student loans take time to process, and I doubt your foster parents would contribute a penny. You'd lose your spot by default." He paused meaningfully. "Unless, of course, you're willing to be reasonable about this date."

The message was clear without him having to spell it out.

I stared at the floor, my mind racing. Architecture wasn't just some passing interest for me—it was everything. Ever since I was little, I'd filled notebooks with designs, studying buildings wherever I went, seeing possibilities where others saw only structures. This scholarship wasn't just a way out of Harper Town; it was my chance to become someone who mattered, to create something lasting.

The thought of giving it up made my chest physically ache. Marriage to a stranger? Fine. I didn't believe in fairy tales anyway. Love was a luxury I'd never expected, growing up in the Walkers' house where affection was just another performance. What did it matter if I married for connections instead of feelings? At least there would be a purpose to it.

"I understand," I whispered, my fingers unconsciously touching my pendant. I'd do whatever it took—charm investors, impress business partners, even marry someone I didn't love—if it meant I could still pursue architecture. The blueprint of my future mattered more than some romantic fantasy.

He nodded, satisfied. "Someone will pick you up tomorrow. Prepare yourself."

Just as I was preparing for bed, my door opened again. Harold entered with Meredith right behind him, locking the door with a deliberate click. "One more thing..." he said, his face twisting into a predatory leer.

"We need to make sure we understand each other," Meredith added, her smile vanishing, replaced by a hard, calculating stare.

Harold pulled out his phone and pointed it at me, the camera lens glinting under the dim bedroom light. "Your father wants to see you're doing well, so we'll show him."

Before I could react, Meredith lunged forward and grabbed the collar of my worn-out pajama shirt. "Take it off. Now." Her voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument, her fingers digging into the fabric.

I backed away in horror, my heart pounding in my chest. "No—please!" My voice cracked, desperation flooding through me as I pressed myself against the wall, clutching the edge of my shirt like it was a lifeline.

Harold's face twisted into a sneer, the phone still aimed at me. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, girl. We're just taking a few pictures. Proof that you're healthy, well-cared for. But if you ever tell anyone we mistreated you," he threatened, his tone low and menacing, "these photos will be everywhere. You'll regret opening your mouth."

Meredith stepped closer, her grip tightening as she yanked at my shirt again, forcing the top button to pop off. "Hold still," she snapped, her nails scratching my skin as I tried to twist away. I could feel the cold air on my shoulders as the fabric started to give, my arms trembling as I fought to keep it on. Tears burned in my eyes, blurring my vision, but I could still see the cruel satisfaction on her face as she worked to expose me.

"Stop fighting," Harold barked, adjusting the phone for a better angle. The flash went off once, twice, each burst of light making me flinch as if it were a physical blow. My stomach churned with shame and fear, every click of the camera searing itself into my memory. I wanted to scream, to push them away, but my body felt frozen, trapped under the weight of their control.

"Remember, we're your loving foster parents," Meredith hissed, her voice dripping with venom as she finally stepped back, satisfied with the damage done. "You've been very happy here. Understand?" She smoothed her hair, her fake smile creeping back as if nothing had happened, while I stood there shaking, pulling the torn fabric of my shirt back over my shoulders.

Harold lowered the phone, giving me a final, chilling look. "Keep quiet, and this stays between us. One wrong word, and everyone sees these. Your father, your fancy new family—everyone."

That night, curled up in bed, I clutched my mother's pendant and cried silently, the cold metal pressing into my palm as if it could somehow shield me from the nightmare I'd just lived through. Tomorrow I would leave Harper Town forever—but at what cost?