Chapter 2
I stared at the yellowed marriage contract in my hands.
*When Mom showed me this contract back then, I was still giddy over the cheap necklace Jake had bought me.
"Lisa, this is the Crown family's son," she'd said, "your engagement was arranged by Margaret and me twenty years ago."*
What did I say? "Mom? Arranged marriages? I have Jake now—we're in love! Real love!"
I'd shoved that contract into the back of my drawer. My head was full of Jake back then—his smile, his promises, all that sweet talk about building a little family together. I thought we'd grow old together. I thought he'd never betray me.
How naive. How utterly stupid.
If I'd listened to Mom back then, if I'd taken that contract seriously, maybe everything would have been different. Maybe I wouldn't have been working at the mall, wouldn't have met Amanda, wouldn't have been framed by her. Maybe my parents would still be alive.
Crown Manor rose before me like something out of a Gothic novel.
Eight years ago, I would have been intimidated by all this, I thought.
A distinguished older man in a pressed black suit appeared at the massive front doors before I could even knock.
"Miss Mitchell, I presume? I am Henry, the family butler. Mr. Howard Crown is expecting you."
"Actually," I said, "I was hoping to see Michael first."
Henry's composure faltered slightly. "Miss, Master Michael's condition—"
"I know he's been in a coma for five years. I know he was injured trying to save lives." I met his eyes steadily. "He's the reason I'm here."
Henry studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Follow me, please."
Henry led me up a grand staircase and down a hallway that could have housed three families.
He stopped at heavy oak doors and knocked gently before pushing them open.
"Master Michael, you have a visitor."
The bedroom was massive but somehow felt intimate, filled with afternoon sunlight. And there, in the center of it all, lay Michael Crown.
Even unconscious, he was beautiful. Strong jawline, dark hair slightly mussed against the pillow, aristocratic features that spoke of good breeding. The machines monitoring his vitals beeped steadily.
I sat in the chair beside his bed and reached for his hand. His skin was warm, surprisingly so. I'd expected him to feel cold, lifeless. But he was very much alive, just... sleeping.
"He looks peaceful," I murmured.
Twenty minutes later, I found myself in a wood-paneled study. Howard Crown sat behind a mahogany desk, at seventy-eight still commanding respect—silver hair perfectly styled, piercing blue eyes that missed nothing.
"Miss Mitchell," he said, gesturing to a leather chair. "Henry tells me you're interested in the position caring for Michael."
I remarked, "Mr. Crown, before we discuss employment, I think you should know the real reason I'm here."
His eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh?"
I continued, "Five years ago, your son was injured trying to save people. He was a hero."
Howard's composure cracked slightly.
"Mr. Crown," I said, reaching into my bag, "I need to show you something."
I pulled out the yellowed piece of paper and placed it on his desk. Howard leaned forward, squinting at the faded ink.
"A marriage contract. Signed by your late wife Margaret Crown and my parents twenty years ago." I watched his face carefully. "It's a betrothal agreement between myself and Michael."
Howard's face went white. He fumbled for reading glasses and examined the document. I could see the moment recognition hit him.
"This..." he breathed. "I remember Margaret mentioning the Mitchell family, but I thought it was just friendly talk, not..."
I leaned forward. "Mr. Crown, I'm here to honor this agreement. I want to marry Michael."
"Child," Howard said slowly, "you understand what you're saying? Michael is unconscious. The doctors say..."
I replied, "I know exactly what I'm saying. I want to marry your son, care for him, and protect him until the day he wakes up."
The sound of gravel crunching under tires interrupted us. Through the window, I could see a red pickup truck speeding up the driveway.
Car doors slammed outside, followed by raised voices. I smiled grimly as Henry's confused voice echoed from the front hall.
"Mr. Crown," I said, standing slowly, "you're about to meet the real reason I need the protection of your family name."
The study doors burst open. Jake Morrison stormed in first, still in his firefighter uniform, face red with anger.
Amanda Walsh followed. She'd changed into a black dress—because Amanda never missed an opportunity for dramatic costuming.
"Lisa!" Jake's voice bounced off the walls. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Howard drew himself up to his full height. "I beg your pardon, but this is private property."
Amanda's laugh was sharp as glass. "Mr. Crown, I'm afraid Lisa has misled you."
"Amanda," I said pleasantly, "you look lovely in mourning attire. Practicing for someone specific?"
Her smile faltered. "Lisa, darling, you're clearly having some sort of breakdown. Eight years in prison has obviously affected your judgment."
"My judgment is clear," I replied. Then I turned to Howard. "Mr. Crown, these are the people who destroyed my family. Jake Morrison provided false testimony that sent me to prison for a crime I didn't commit. Amanda Walsh is the one who actually committed that crime."
Jake's face went purple. "You're insane! Lisa, you killed three people in that fire!"
"I didn't kill anyone," I said, my voice dropping to freezing. "But someone did. Someone who's been living off blood money for eight years while I rotted in a cell."
Amanda stepped forward dramatically. "Lisa, I know prison was hard, but these conspiracy theories... honey, you need help, not a rich husband."
"Howard," I said, ignoring them both, "I'd like to get married today."
Jake exploded. "This is fucking insane! Lisa, you can't marry a vegetable! What kind of sick gold-digging scheme is this?"
"Scheme?" I laughed.
Howard had gone very still, watching this exchange with calculating eyes.
"I'm marrying the most honorable man I've ever encountered," I said simply. "Even unconscious, Michael Crown has more integrity than both of you combined."