Business magnate's daughter, Isla Templeton (Feather), is the youngest of André Templeton's three children. And the top topic in the upper-class gossip in New York City.
Isla has always been a fighter; after losing her mother at a young age by sui...
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"Noah, please hand me the folder with Claude's information from the top drawer of your desk." Standing from his chair, my father grabbed a small key from his pocket, throwing it my way.
I've never seen what is inside of this drawer before.
Turning my chair back, reaching for the drawer. A file cabinet opened with what seemed to be folders with all our names printed on them.
I slid my fingertips on top of the files, stopping when Claude's name appeared; my face switched from curious to scared when I spotted Claude's name marked with an X.
"Don't worry, kid," walking towards me, reaching for the folder with a smirk on his face. "It's just the information with all the suitors and suitresses for you three." Opening the file, taking two pages out, and leaving them on my desk-
Isla Templeton - Claude Matthews- Set to marry three years after Isla's eighteen-year-old birthday celebration.
Some things in life are decided before you even get a say. For our family, it was always Isla and Claude. Arranged, expected, inevitable. We all knew it. I knew it. Claude definitely knew it, though he liked to pretend he didn't.
It happened about a year ago.
The rain had stopped, but the city lights reflected off the wet streets. Claude sat next to me, barely puffing on a cigarette he didn't even want. It was just something to do, to keep his hands busy.
I had been holding off on this conversation for as long as I could, but the clock was ticking.
"You know why we're here, Claude," I said, cutting through the silence.
He didn't respond; he just kept staring out at the city. I knew he didn't want to hear it, but this wasn't something he could keep avoiding.
"It's time you accept the contract," I said, more matter-of-fact than I felt.
Claude took a long drag and exhaled slowly. "And if she doesn't want it?" he asked, still not looking at me.
I leaned back, rubbing my hand over my face. "She doesn't get to decide. You know how this works."
He flinched a little at that. Maybe it was too blunt, but I wasn't here to sugarcoat it. Isla didn't have a say in her future, not really. Not unless someone stepped up.
"She deserves more than this bullshit," he muttered, flicking the cigarette away. "She deserves a choice."
I could hear the frustration in his voice. Hell, I felt it, too. But we didn't get the luxury of choices, not in our world.
"You think I don't know that?" I said, my tone softer now. "You think I want this for her? To marry some old guy who'll treat her like a goddamn doll?"
