Forced To Marry The Heiress (GL)

Chapter 21: Prenup

Afternoon

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Eisenthurn mansion’s living room, casting golden rectangles across the marble floor.

Dust motes danced in the beams, floating lazily in the warm air, and the faint scent of lavender and rose drifted from the fresh flowers arranged on the side table.

Asteria stood by that table, her hands gently working among the flowers. She loved the smell of fresh flowers—the way they filled a room with life and color, the way each petal felt soft and cool against her fingertips.

Arranging them brought her a small sense of peace, a moment of quiet in a world that had been nothing but chaos for as long as she could remember.

She couldn’t just sit down and let others do all the work. That wasn’t who she was. Even though Faye and Alfonso had strictly told the servants that Asteria was not to do any house chores, she had asked the kindhearted maid earlier if she could arrange the flowers.

The maid had hesitated at first, glancing nervously toward the door as if expecting Faye to appear and scold her. But Asteria had smiled—that small, tentative smile she was slowly learning to use—and the maid had relented.

So here she was, her fingers buried in stems and leaves, arranging white lilies and pink roses into an elegant display. She stepped back to admire her work, tilting her head, then leaned forward to adjust a single rose that was leaning too far to the left.

She could feel the shift in the air—the sudden tension, the weight of a presence that demanded attention. Keres’s footsteps echoed through the foyer, each one was a countdown.

"Asteria."

Keres’s voice was cold, flat, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. There was no warmth in it, no greeting, no acknowledgment that they hadn’t spoken in days. Just her name, spoken like a command.

Asteria’s head snapped toward the direction of the voice. Her hands stilled among the flowers. Her heart lurched in her chest.

Keres was approaching with her long, confident strides, her tall figure silhouetted against the light from the windows. She was dressed in her usual style—Navy blue trousers, a black vest over a white button-down, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, and her eyes were fixed on Asteria with an intensity that made her want to shrink.

"K-Keres—"

Asteria didn’t get to finish.

Keres reached her in seconds, her hand shooting out to grab Asteria’s wrist. Her grip was firm—not painful, but unyielding—and Asteria gasped as the flowers slipped from her arms, scattering across the floor in a tumble of petals and stems.

A lily landed on the marble with a soft thud. A rose rolled away. A cluster of baby blues scattered like fallen stars.

Keres didn’t look at the mess. She didn’t apologize. She simply pulled Asteria forward and began dragging her toward the grand staircase.

"M-Ms. Keres—please—where are we—"

Keres didn’t answer. Her long legs ate up the distance, forcing Asteria to half-walk, half-jog to keep up. The servants in the hallway saw them coming and immediately stepped aside, pressing themselves against the walls, their eyes fixed on the floor.

No one dared to intervene. No one dared to even breathe too loudly. They had learned long ago that when Keres moved with purpose, you stayed out of her way.

Faye and Alfonso were not in the mansion. They had gone to the wedding venue hours ago, busy taking care of everything—the seating arrangements, the lighting, the flowers, the music, the guest list, the security detail.

They wanted everything to be perfect for their daughter’s wedding. They had no idea what was happening back home.

Keres dragged Asteria up the stairs, down the corridor, past the guest suites, and finally stopped in front of her own bedroom door. She pushed it open with her free hand and gestured for Asteria to enter.

Asteria hesitated on the threshold. Her shoulders were tensed, her body small and curled inward, trying to take up as little space as possible.

She felt small in Keres’s presence—smaller than she had ever felt, even with her father. Because with her father, she knew what to expect. She knew the rules. The beatings. The silence afterward.

But Keres was unpredictable, a storm that could shift direction without warning, and that uncertainty was more terrifying than any certainty.

"Sit down."

Keres’s voice was cold and commanding, leaving no room for argument. She released Asteria’s wrist and walked to the opposite side of the room, settling onto a white plush sofa.

She crossed one leg over the other and looked at Asteria like a predator sizing up its prey—calculating, assessing, waiting for the first sign of weakness.

Asteria hesitated for a moment longer. Then, slowly, she walked to the plush chair facing the sofa and sat down. She kept her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting together, her eyes fixed on the floor.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Keres. Looking at Keres felt like looking into the sun—something that would leave her burned.

Keres watched her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, filled with everything neither of them was saying.

Then Keres reached into her briefcase and pulled out a folded document, thick with legal text. She tossed it onto the low table between them, followed by a ballpoint pen that skidded across the surface and stopped at the edge.

"Here. Sign that."

Asteria blinked. She looked at the document, then at the pen, then back at the document. Her brow furrowed.

"W-What’s this?" Her voice was timid, barely a whisper, the words stumbling over each other like frightened children.

Keres’s jaw tightened. She rolled her eyes—a small, dismissive gesture that spoke volumes. She hated that behavior of Asteria. The way she made herself small, the way she looked like she was about to cry at any moment, the way she acted like an elegant saint or a frightened little girl.

It grated on Keres’s nerves, scraping against something raw and irritated.

"Could you please stop acting like you’re scared?" Keres’s voice was sharp, impatient, each word a slap. "And don’t you understand what’s in that document? It’s a prenup."

She heaved a sigh, trying not to get angry, but the irritation was already bleeding through her words, coloring them with contempt.

Asteria’s confusion didn’t clear. If anything, it deepened. "W-What’s a prenup?"

It was an innocent question—genuinely innocent, asked without any intention of being difficult. How could she know? She had never been married for love. Her previous marriages had been arranged, transactional, and no one had bothered to explain legal contracts to a woman they saw as nothing more than a bargaining chip.

But to Keres, it sounded like ignorance. Willful ignorance. The kind of ignorance that was either an act or a sign of stupidity, and she wasn’t sure which was worse.

She stood abruptly and walked to the small desk in the corner of the room, where a crystal decanter of whiskey sat beside a single glass. She poured herself a generous amount—three fingers, maybe four—and drank half of it in one long swallow. The liquid burned going down, but it steadied her, dulled the edges of her irritation.

"It’s a legal contract," Keres said, her back still to Asteria. Her voice was cold, clipped, each word precise and cutting.

"For you. If I divorce you, you won’t get anything from me. No money. No property—"

She turned around, expecting to see confusion on Asteria’s face, or maybe hurt, or maybe the slow dawning of understanding.

She expected Asteria to ask questions, to hesitate, to demand time to read the document or consult a lawyer. She expected resistance. She expected negotiation.

Instead, Asteria picked up the pen, leaned over the table, and signed her name at the bottom of the last page.

Keres froze. Her glass stopped halfway to her lips. She stared at Asteria—at the way she signed without reading, without asking, without a single moment of hesitation. Her signature was small and neat, almost childlike, but it was there, at the bottom of the page, binding her to nothing.

"Why’d you sign so fast?" Keres asked, almost suspicious. She lowered her glass and set it on the desk.

Asteria set the pen down and looked up at Keres for the first time. Her eyes were clear, steady, without a trace of fear or manipulation or hidden agenda.

"Because it seems important," Asteria said simply. "And I have no interest in getting anything from you. Even if you divorce me."

For a moment, Keres’s heart thumped—an unexpected, unwelcome beat of something that felt almost like surprise. She stared at Asteria, searching her face for lies, for tricks, for the hidden agenda that must be lurking beneath those soft eyes and that gentle voice.

She found nothing.

Keres scoffed. She let out a short, sharp laugh that was more sarcasm than humor, and smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a smile that was more weapon than expression.

"Wow~" She sat back against the sofa, stretching her arms along the backrest, and took another long drink of her whiskey. She swirled the liquid in her glass, watching the light catch the amber waves.

"Shit!" She laughed again, louder this time, the sound echoing off the walls. "Hahahaha!" She shook her head, her eyes gleaming with mockery.

"Why? Oh, I see. I know..." She leaned forward, pointing her glass at Asteria like a weapon. "You’re thinking that my parents will save you even if I divorce you. Wow." She set her glass down and clapped her hands together slowly, sarcastically, each clap a punctuation mark. "What a leech."

The word hung in the air, ugly and sharp.

Asteria’s fingers tightened in her lap. Her throat constricted. But she didn’t look awa and didn’t cry. She had been called worse by people who were supposed to love her.

"I... I-I’m not..." She took a breath, steadying herself, forcing the words out. "I’m thankful to your parents. For everything they’ve given me. For everything they’ve done for me." Her voice was soft but firm, like a blade wrapped in silk.

"And if you decide to dispose of me one day, I won’t appear in your lives again. I’ll disappear. Completely. You won’t have to see me or hear from me ever again." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

Keres’s smile faded.

Her eyes became serious—sharp, predatory, the eyes of someone who was used to getting what she wanted and crushing anyone who got in her way. She set her glass down on the table with a soft clink and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze boring into Asteria’s like a drill.

"Mean it." Her voice was low, dangerous, the voice she used when she was about to destroy someone. "Because I will make this very clear for you, Asteria. What we have is nothing. It’s just protection. A transaction." She paused, letting the words sink in and watching them land.

"I am marrying you fast because of that scandal, and you have no choice but to agree." She paused again, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Because if not..."

She picked up her glass again, swirling the amber liquid, watching it catch the light. Her eyes glinted with bad intention—the kind of look that had made grown men beg for mercy.

"One call." She held up her index finger. "Just one. And I can easily wipe out all the Auclairs." She smiled—a cold, cruel smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Or no..." She tilted her head, pretending to think, pretending to consider. "I will let them have you again. Let them hurt you. Let them do whatever they want to you."

She laughed again—a sharp, barking sound, the laugh of someone who had lost their mind somewhere along the way, or maybe never had one to begin with. "HAHAHAHA!"

She was always like this, Keres. She would rather acknowledge that she was a bad person than admit that she had a soft spot for anyone. It was easier to be cruel. Easier to push people away. Easier to make them afraid than to let them get close enough to hurt her. She had learned that lesson early, and she had never forgotten it.

Asteria sat frozen in her chair, her hands trembling in her lap. She was scared—terrified, but she didn’t run or cry. She simply sat there, her back straight, her chin lifted, and let Keres threaten her.

She had survived worse. She had survived her father’s fists and her mother’s neglect and her siblings’ cruelty. She could survive Keres’s words.

"Don’t worry, Keres." Asteria’s voice was steady. "I mean every word I say today. I will disappear if I have to. And I won’t break my promise."

Keres studied her for a long moment—searching for lies, for weakness, for the crack in her armor that would reveal her true intentions.

But Asteria just sat there, fragile but unbroken, like a flower that had been trampled but was still somehow blooming. It was infuriating. It was admirable. Keres wasn’t sure which.

Keres nodded, satisfied—or at least, pretending to be.

"Very well." She leaned back, pulling a cigarette from her pocket and lighting it with a silver lighter. The flame caught the tip, and smoke curled up toward the ceiling, gray and thin, disappearing into the afternoon light. "Leave my room before I decide to do something bad to you."

She didn’t look at Asteria. Her eyes were fixed on the window, on the afternoon light, on anything that wasn’t the woman sitting across from her.

Asteria didn’t need to be told twice.

She stood quickly, her legs unsteady, and rushed toward the door. Her hand fumbled with the handle, and she yanked it open, stepping out into the hallway.

Her chest heaving, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

The maids in the hallway saw her.

They saw Asteria running toward the guest suite, her hand pressed to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her whole body trembled as she fled down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the marble.

But they didn’t dare intervene. They turned their eyes away, focused on their tasks, pretended they hadn’t seen anything. Because this was the Eisenthurn mansion, and everyone knew that meddling in the affairs of the family—especially when it involved Keres—was a quick way to lose their jobs. Or worse.

The door to the guest suite slammed shut, and the hallway fell silent.

Keres sat alone in her room, the cigarette burning between her fingers, the prenuptial agreement was signed and waiting on the table.

She stared at Asteria’s signature—small, neat, almost childlike—and something flickered across her face. Something that might have been guilt. Or confusion. Or maybe just the faintest stirring of respect.

But whatever it was, she pushed it away.

She took another drag of her cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear into the afternoon light. The room smelled of smoke and whiskey and something else—something floral, something that reminded her of the flowers Asteria had been arranging.

She crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and stood, walking to the window. The garden stretched below her, green and gold, peaceful and quiet.

"Disappear," she murmured to herself, testing the word. "We’ll see about that."