The Rich Older Man Seemed Like a Dream… Until He Revealed His Darkest Secret (2 of 3)

“You look beautiful,” Michael said quietly, his tone smooth but unreadable. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Anna gave no answer. Her gaze drifted past him, past the glittering hall, to a place in her mind where she could imagine a life that might have been.

Later that night, the last of the guests left, and the sprawling Whitmore estate fell silent. The air inside felt too still, too heavy. Michael led her into a bedroom so large it felt like a stage, and when he turned to her, his eyes locked on hers with unsettling intensity.

“I want you to call me ‘Daddy,’” he said.

For a second, she thought she’d misheard him. But his expression didn’t change.

“I’m not talking about some silly bedroom game,” he continued. “I’ve known your parents for years. I’ve watched you grow up. I always knew, one day, you’d be mine. I made sure your family got the help they needed when they needed it. I steered things here, to this night. And now—you belong to me.”

His words landed like ice in her veins. Anna realized then that this wasn’t some impulsive marriage. This was the final act of a plan he’d been weaving for years. Every move, every kindness, had been a step toward owning her.

Her body went rigid. She felt trapped in a room with no doors, her life signed away without her consent. A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it—not for him to see her pain, but because the weight of her reality pressed so hard she could barely breathe.

But somewhere beneath that fear, a spark flickered.

If Michael thought she would stay, he was wrong.

That night, lying awake in the cold expanse of that bed, Anna made herself a promise: she would leave, no matter what it took. She didn’t know where she’d go or how she’d survive, but she knew one thing—she couldn’t live in a life built on control and coercion.