Chapter 3
Chapter 3:
The next morning, Gracie and Ellie set out with neatly wrapped gifts to visit the Stanleys.
Lunch proceeded with flawless harmony; every gesture was polished and every word perfectly measured.
When the dishes were cleared, Valeria Stanley, the mother of Theo and Brayden, offered a gentle smile. “You’re both so sweet. No need to stay cooped up with us all afternoon. Since you’re all here, why don’t you youngsters go out and enjoy yourselves for a while p>
Her suggestion drew easy agreement, and Gracie rose from her seat, smoothing her skirt before following the others out.
Moments later, the dining room stood deserted.
“Gracie.” The low timbre of Brayden’s voice broke the quiet. He appeared beside her without warning, his expression unreadable. “Come with me p>
Before she could get a word out, he had already turned and strode off.
Left with no choice, she hurried after him, her heels clicking softly as they entered the study.
The door clicked shut behind him, the muted sound slicing straight through her composure. In an instant, she was yanked back into the horrors of her past life.
Each time Theo lost patience with her defiance, he would haul her into a room, drop his mask of gentleness, and unleash his cruelty—his belt striking again and again until her skin burned and welted. The phantom sting still haunted her, sharp enough to steal her breath.
A tremor coursed through her body as she instinctively retreated a step, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Brayden caught her startled reaction and halted, keeping a measured distance between them. “Relax,” he said evenly. “I’m not going to touch you. Some conversations are simply better held in private p>
Gracie drew in a quiet breath and steadied herself, her fingers curling into a tight fist. “I get it,” she murmured.
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Even now, she hadn’t completely escaped the fear Theo had carved into her.
Pulling her thoughts together, she studied Brayden’s composed face.
In her previous life, their paths had crossed only twice—once during the engagement arranged between the two families, and again after his devastating car accident, when he was left scarred and confined to a wheelchair. She had only glimpsed him from a distance back then.
Unlike the broken, humiliated man he had become in her past life, this version of Brayden still carried the sharp confidence of a man untouched by downfall.
Standing a solid six-foot-three, his slicked-back hair caught the light, and the dark shirt clinging to his frame highlighted his broad shoulders. Rolled-up sleeves revealed lean, powerful forearms that spoke of strength and control.
“What do you want?” Gracie murmured, her eyes dropping instinctively.
A chill prickled her skin as it struck her—if someone like him ever chose violence, she’d have no way to fight back.
Brayden moved toward the desk, his stride steady and unhurried. He pulled out a document, dropped it onto the surface, and said flatly, “Let’s set things straight. I may have agreed to this marriage, but there’s no affection between us p>