When the old man I had to marry for money took off his mask, I understood everything.

A Bargain of Rain: The Story of Sienna Brooks

Chapter One: The Rain That Changed Everything

My name is Sienna Brooks, and at twenty-three years old, I thought I understood what struggle looked like. But nothing prepares you for the moment your own father tells you that your future no longer belongs to you.

The rain that afternoon was loud enough to drown out every noise in our small apartment in Charlotte, North Carolina. I stood by the window, watching gray water stream down the glass, and for a moment, it felt like my whole life had turned into those blurred lines.

My mother lay weak in the next room, breathing in shallow, painful rhythms. The smell of medication filled the air, mixing with the quiet despair that had settled into our home. I had just returned from my shift at the public library when my father called my name. His voice cracked in a way I had never heard before.

When I stepped into the living room, he was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. The sight alone made my stomach twist.

“Sienna, we have a problem,” he whispered. “A problem I cannot fix.”

I knew instantly this was about the debt. The debt he had taken from the wrong people. The debt he had taken because he was desperate to save my mother. But what he said next felt unreal.

“Their boss wants to see you. If you agree to marry him, the debt disappears. Your mother gets full treatment. Everything goes away.”

I stared at him, shocked, unable to breathe. That was the moment my old life ended.

Chapter Two: The Bargain

I could barely move after hearing my father’s words. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as though every breath carried a new layer of fear. My father, Wayne Brooks, had always been a proud man, the kind who worked two jobs without complaint. Seeing him tremble like that told me everything. He had run out of options.

Mom lay in the bedroom, too weak to stand on her own. Martha Brooks had always been the heart of our home, the warmth that held all three of us together. But over the past year, her illness had stripped away her strength, her energy, and now our financial stability. Medical bills stacked up higher than the books I shelved at the library. Insurance denied half the treatments. Every day felt like a race we were losing.

Dad had tried everything. Borrowing from relatives, asking his boss for an advance, selling our car, but none of it had been enough. And in his desperation, he turned to the wrong people. Dangerous people. People who smiled while threatening to take everything from us.

He said they gave him one week. One week to pay back a debt no normal person could ever gather in such a short time. My father avoided my eyes as he spoke, his guilt weighing heavier than any words he could say.

“Sienna, I never meant for this to happen,” he whispered. “I just wanted to save your mother.”

I sat down across from him, feeling my pulse pounding in my ears. “Who is he? Who is this man who wants to marry me?”

Dad swallowed hard. “Vincent Mercer. He is fifty-eight, wealthy, lives outside the city. After a stroke, he can barely walk, but he has money, power enough to erase everything we owe.”

I felt my stomach knot. A man I had never met, offering to buy my future in exchange for my mother’s life. My father looked up, his eyes full of shame.

“I am so sorry, Sienna. I never wanted your life to be part of this.”

And yet it already was.

 

 

Chapter Three: The Choice

The next morning arrived before I was ready. I barely slept, replaying my father’s words again and again. By noon, a black car pulled up outside our apartment building. The engine barely made a sound, the kind of vehicle that belonged in another world, not in a cracked parking lot surrounded by peeling paint and rusted railings.

The man who stepped out introduced himself as Ethan Row, Vincent Mercer’s assistant. He stood tall, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than our monthly rent. His expression was polite, but distant, as if stepping into our neighborhood required effort. He handed me a card with an address and said the car would take me there if I chose to go.

I chose.

The drive was silent, leaving behind the crowded streets and moving into open stretches of quiet land. The deeper we went, the more it felt like entering someone else’s life. Tall iron gates appeared ahead, opening slowly as the car approached. Beyond them was a sprawling estate, the kind of place I had only ever seen in films. Perfect lawns, marble statues, a mansion towering like a monument.

Inside, everything gleamed. Floors polished smooth, chandeliers the size of small cars, paintings with gold frames that looked older than the United States itself. Ethan led me through long hallways until we reached a set of double doors.

“Mr. Mercer is waiting in the library,” he said quietly.

I stepped inside. The room smelled of old books and cedar. Shelves rose high above my head, filled to the ceiling. Near the window sat a large leather chair turned away from the door. A man’s silhouette rested in it, still as stone.

“Come closer,” his voice instructed. Deep, controlled, but carrying a hint of strain.

I walked slowly around the chair, and the first thing I noticed was the mask. A dark half-face mask covered the upper part of his features. The left side of his face, partially visible beneath it, was slack and unmoving. His left hand rested lifelessly on the armrest. He didn’t look at me for a long moment. When he finally did, his right eye studied me with unsettling precision.

“So, you are Sienna Brooks?” he said.

I nodded, unsure whether to sit or stay standing. He gestured toward a chair opposite him.

“You want to know why I asked for you? Why someone like me would make such a request?”

My voice felt trapped in my throat. I managed only one word. “Why?”

He leaned forward slightly, the cane in his right hand supporting his weight. “Because you are not here for greed. You came because you want to save your family. And that, Miss Brooks, tells me everything I need to know about your character.”

I didn’t know what to say. I only knew my life had just crossed a line there was no stepping back from.

Chapter Four: The Wedding

I left the library that day feeling as if the ground beneath me had shifted. Vincent Mercer had not threatened me, had not begged, had not pretended. He simply laid out the truth and allowed me to choose. But when a man holds your mother’s life in his hands, is it really a choice?

The next morning, Ethan arrived again. This time, he brought documents confirming that my mother’s treatment would begin immediately. Another set confirmed that my father’s debt was cleared. No conditions, no hidden clauses.

All that remained was my decision.

By noon, I packed the few clothes I owned and stepped into the car waiting outside. My father tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. My mother, still too weak to stand, reached for my hand.

“You do not owe us your life,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”

I swallowed hard. “I know, but I also know you deserve to keep yours.”

The estate felt different this time. Less intimidating yet more imprisoning. A beautiful cage is still a cage.

Ethan led me to the third floor where a set of double doors opened into a suite larger than our entire apartment. Pale walls, soft lighting, a bed draped in rich fabrics. A walk-in closet that felt endless. Inside were clothes, dozens of them, dresses, blouses, coats, shoes arranged in perfect rows, all my size.

“Where did these come from?” I asked quietly.

“Mr. Mercer had them prepared,” Ethan said. “He believes a wife should be comfortable.”

A wife—the word echoed like an unfamiliar tune.

Dinner was scheduled for seven. I changed into a simple dress and made my way downstairs. The dining room I entered was not a room. It was a hall, its long table set for two at opposite ends. Vincent sat already, mask in place, posture straight despite the stiffness in his body.

“Please sit,” he said.

The distance between us felt symbolic. He ate slowly, movements careful. I barely touched my food. The silence stretched long between us, yet it did not feel hostile, more like two people learning the outline of each other’s presence.

“Tell me about your life,” he said eventually. “What did you do before all this?”

“I worked at the public library,” I answered. “I like to read classics, stories that make you feel less alone.”

He nodded. “I know something about loneliness.”

There was no accusation in his voice, only truth. And as I looked at him across the table, surrounded by wealth I could never fathom, I realized something unsettling.

I was not afraid of him. I was afraid of what my life had become.

The wedding happened three days later, though calling it a wedding felt generous. It was more like a quiet transaction written into the fabric of an ordinary morning. No guests, no music, no celebration, just a signature that tied two lives together for reasons neither of us would ever brag about.

Ethan drove us to the county clerk’s office, a modest brick building with flickering fluorescent lights, and a waiting room that smelled faintly of old coffee. Vincent walked with his cane, each step slow but deliberate. I stayed beside him, unsure whether to offer an arm or keep my distance.

The ceremony lasted less than ten minutes. The clerk read the vows in a monotone voice, barely glancing up as he did. Vincent repeated his lines quietly, steady, despite the strain I could hear beneath his words. When it was my turn, my voice shook, but I spoke clearly. I had to. My mother’s life depended on it.

When the clerk pronounced us husband and wife, Vincent did not reach for my hand. He simply lowered his head slightly, as though acknowledging the weight of what we had just done.

“Thank you, Sienna,” he murmured when we stepped outside. “Thank you for giving an old man a little more time.”

I did not respond. The air felt heavy, too full of unspoken truths for either of us to navigate.

Chapter Five: The Beautiful Cage

The car ride back to the estate passed in silence. I stared out the window, watching the world blur by. I was Mrs. Mercer now. But nothing about it felt real.

In the days following the wedding, my new life settled into a rhythm that felt both too quiet and too heavy. I woke in a room bigger than the library office where I used to work. I ate meals prepared by people who barely spoke above a whisper. I walked through hallways so wide they echoed with every step I took. But nothing felt like it belonged to me.

Vincent and I kept a polite distance carried by a strange courtesy that did not erase the truth beneath it. He never demanded anything from me. He never crossed a line. In fact, he barely came near me unless necessary.

Our interactions were simple. Breakfast at eight, dinner at seven. A few minutes of conversation in between.

One afternoon, I found him in the library sitting near the window with a book open in his lap. The mask was still on, but his posture seemed different, softer somehow.

“Do you want me to read to you?” I asked without thinking.

He looked up, surprised. “If you would like to.”

I took the chair beside him and opened the book to the first page. As I read, his breathing slowed and for the first time the tightness in his shoulders uncoiled. He closed his eyes, not sleeping, but listening. Truly listening.

When I finished the chapter, he spoke quietly. “I used to read to my daughter like that before the accident.”

It was the first time he mentioned having a child. I turned to him unsure if he wanted to continue. He did.

“Her name was Leela. She was thirteen. Bright, gentle, everything good in my life.” His words drifted off, swallowed by the ache behind them.

The room seemed to shrink around us. “What happened?” I asked softly.

He kept his gaze on the garden outside. “I lost my wife and daughter in a car crash eight years ago. After that, I drifted. Money does not fill a house that has no voices left in it.”

A long silence followed. In that moment, the mask he wore felt less like a barrier and more like armor—a way to hide not just the effects of the stroke, but the hurt carved deep inside him.

That evening, when he struggled to stand from the dining table, I instinctively moved to help. His hand gripped my arm, steadying himself.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.

It was the first time he looked at me, not as a duty, not as a bargain, but as a person. And for the first time, I realized I was starting to see him that way, too.

Chapter Six: The Brother

A week later, the quiet routine I had begun to grow used to shattered in a single moment. When I returned from visiting my mother at the clinic, an unfamiliar luxury car was parked in the circular driveway. Its engine was still warm, humming low like something alive.

Inside the entrance hall stood a man who resembled Vincent in all the ways that mattered, yet none of the ways that softened him. He was younger, maybe in his early fifties, sharply dressed and wearing a smile that felt more like a blade than a greeting.

“You must be the new Mrs. Mercer,” he said, extending a hand. “Caleb Mercer, Vincent’s younger brother.”

I hesitated before taking his hand. His grip was firm, too firm, as if he felt the need to prove something within the first five seconds of meeting.

“I did not know Vincent had a brother,” I said.

He chuckled. “That is because Vincent prefers keeping secrets, especially the ones that expose how lonely he is.”

Something about his tone made my skin crawl.

Ethan appeared down the hall, tense as if expecting trouble. “Caleb is here to see Mr. Mercer,” Ethan said carefully.

Caleb brushed past me without waiting. “Lead the way. I would hate to let my older brother think I came all this way just to admire the wallpaper.”

When they disappeared upstairs, I followed at a distance. Not close enough to intrude, but close enough that when Caleb raised his voice, it carried through the cracked doorway.

“Well, Vincent,” he scoffed. “So this is your solution. You went and bought yourself a young wife. Must be nice to use money to fill the silence.”

Vincent’s reply was steady but tired. “What do you want, Caleb?”

“Oh, nothing. Just checking whether you have updated your will. After all, accidents happen, and we would not want the wrong person inheriting the estate.”

My breath caught. Caleb continued, his voice dripping poison. “Let me guess. You promised her the fortune already, did you not? Or is she still waiting?”

Silence, heavy, sharp. For the first time, I realized Vincent had not yet changed his will. The entire estate still belonged by law to the man now standing over him with a smile that could kill.

My hand shook against the doorframe. This visit was not about family. It was about what my life had stepped into.

Caleb left the estate shortly after, satisfied in the way a person is only satisfied when they know they have caused damage without lifting a finger.

I remained frozen in the hallway long after the front door closed behind him. Every word he said clung to me like cold air.

Chapter Seven: The Truth Revealed

That evening, I found Vincent sitting in his study, the mask resting on the desk beside him. His posture was rigid, his gaze distant. He did not need to turn to know I was there.

“You heard everything,” he said quietly.

I stepped further into the room. “Yes, I did.”

He nodded almost as if he had expected it. “I planned to change the will. I asked the notary to prepare the papers, but he was out of town. I just wanted time to tell you properly.”

He looked up then, and there was no power in his eyes. Only worry, only fear that I might see him the way his brother wanted me to.

I sat down across from him. “I do not want you to do it.”

His brows furrowed. “Sienna, you deserve security. After everything you gave up, everything you stepped into for your family, it is only right that I—”

I shook my head. “No, if you change your will now, every time you feel sick, every time you stumble, I will wonder if you think I am waiting for your money. I do not want that hanging between us.”

His throat worked as he tried to speak. I leaned forward. “When you leave something behind, let it be because you truly wanted to, not because we made a deal on one desperate day.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his voice broke in a way I had never heard. “You are remarkable, Sienna. More than I ever expected and more than I deserve.”

For the first time since I entered that house, the weight between us shifted. We were no longer two people bound by a bargain. We were two people trying to choose something different.

Chapter Eight: The Conspiracy

The calm that followed our conversation did not last long. Something in the house felt different over the next few days, as if an invisible thread had been pulled too tight. Ethan moved around quietly, more cautious than usual. The staff spoke in softer tones. Even the air seemed to shift.

It was Esther, the housekeeper, who came to me first. She knocked on my door late one evening, her face pale.

“I heard something you need to know,” she whispered. “Ethan was on the phone earlier. He thought he was alone, but I was in the hallway. He was speaking to Caleb.”

My stomach dropped. “Speaking about what?”

“About Mr. Mercer’s health,” she said. “And about timing. He said it would not be long now, that the man was weaker by the day.” She paused. “His tone frightened me.”

I wanted to believe it was a misunderstanding, but doubt had already planted itself inside me. I began staying closer to Vincent, joining him for meals, reading to him more often, making sure he was never alone for long.

The truth arrived the following morning. When I entered the study with his tea, Vincent was staring at a document in his trembling hand. His face had drained of color.

“Si,” he whispered, “I never signed this.”

I took the paper from him. It was a bank transfer, a large sum sent to an offshore account. The signature looked almost identical to his, almost. But the flourish on the final letter was missing.

“Someone forged your name,” I said quietly.

“Only one person has full access to my accounts,” Vincent murmured. “Only Ethan.”

Before I could respond, the study door burst open. Ethan stood there, his expression stripped of the careful politeness he always wore. In his hand was a gun.

He sighed as if annoyed. “I hoped you would not discover this yet.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Ethan stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“You two have made this far more complicated than it needed to be.”

Ethan raised the gun as though he had rehearsed this moment a hundred times. His voice was cold, stripped of every polite tone I had heard since the day we met.

“It was supposed to be simple,” he said. “The old man falls. Everyone believes it was an accident. Caleb inherits everything, and I finally get what I earned after twenty years of serving him.”

Vincent tried to stand, but the weakness in his leg made him wobble.

“Sit down,” Ethan snapped. “You could at least make this easy.”

I stepped in front of Vincent before I even realized I was moving. “You will not touch him.”

Ethan laughed. “That is adorable. Do you really think you can stop me?”

But before he could take another step, the door slammed open. Esther charged inside, gripping a heavy brass candlestick in both hands. She swung with all her strength. The impact cracked through the room.

Ethan crumpled to the floor, the gun skittering out of his grip.

“I called the police,” Esther said breathless. “They are already on the way.”

Minutes later, officers swarmed the estate. Ethan was handcuffed and taken out on a stretcher, still unconscious. His phone, seized by the police, revealed dozens of messages from Caleb. Instructions, bank details, plans—enough evidence to have both men arrested.

Chapter Nine: Healing

In the weeks that followed, something unexpected happened. Without Ethan controlling his medication, Vincent’s health began to improve. Slowly at first, then noticeably, his walking steadied, his speech grew clearer, his energy returned.

We spent hours together in the library, reading, talking, sharing stories we had never spoken aloud before. There were moments when he watched me with a softness I had never seen. Moments when I found myself waiting for him, thinking about him, caring in ways I had not planned.

One morning, as we walked through the garden, he reached for my hand, not out of weakness, but out of intention.

“Sienna,” he said gently, “I never wanted to burden you. But I want you to know something. You have brought life back into this house, back into me.”

My heart tightened because somewhere along the way, I had begun feeling the same.

Spring arrived slowly that year, brushing the estate with softer light and new colors. By the time the flowers along the garden path began to bloom, Vincent could walk without his cane on good days. It still amazed me to see him upright, steady, no longer carrying the weight that once bent him.

Chapter Ten: The Lake

One morning, he asked me to come with him somewhere. He insisted on walking to the car himself, refusing help with a quiet pride that made me smile. The drive was short, winding through tall pines and open fields until we reached a clearing beside a small, glassy lake.

I remember gasping when I stepped out. The water reflected the sky perfectly. The air was still, barely touched by sound. Near the shore stood an old wooden gazebo, weathered by time but standing strong.

“This,” Vincent said, “is the one place I never shared with anyone, not even my family.”

He guided me to the bench inside the gazebo, sitting close enough that our shoulders brushed.

“I bought this land when Leela was little,” he continued. “I always dreamed of building a house here for her, a place where she could grow up with sunlight, books, and quiet. But life changed, and I thought I would never return.”

I turned to him. “Why bring me here?”

He held my gaze steady and warm. “Because I want to start over, not as a bargain. Not out of loneliness, but by choice—with you.”

My breath caught. He reached for my hand, his fingers warm around mine.

“I want to build a home here, Sienna. Not for you. With you, if you want that, too.”

I did not answer right away. I leaned against him, letting my head rest on his shoulder as the lake shimmered before us. In the quiet, my heart gave the answer my voice could not yet speak.

Chapter Eleven: New Beginnings

Looking back now, it is hard to believe how my life changed from the moment I stepped into Vincent Mercer’s world. What began as an act of desperation slowly became a story I never expected to live.

I learned that healing does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it comes quietly through conversations shared at sunset, through the steady recovery of someone you once feared, and through the simple act of choosing each other every day.

Our lives did not drift together because of a contract or an obligation. They intertwined because two people, both carrying their own broken pieces, were willing to build something new from them. And in that choice, we found something stronger than comfort. We found something real.

Epilogue: The Power of Choice

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