Page 7 of Bullied Pretend Mate
My brow furrows.Conditional bequest?
“‘The remainder of my estate, including but not limited to the family residence, valued at $1.2 million, all household furnishings and personal effects, the investment portfolio with Mountainside Financial, valued at $2.2 million, the savings account at First National Silverville with the sum of $125,000, and all other real and personal property not specifically devised above, shall go to Maeve Villareal, my granddaughter, subject to the following mandatory conditions.’”
He stops to take a breath, and I realize my hands are shaking. I must be understanding this wrong. There’s no way all those things he’s listing off—which I had noideamy grandmother even had—are coming to me. This must be a mistake. Maybe she wasn’t actually of sound mind when she made the will.
“Firstly, Maeve must be legally and ritually mated to an alpha within the Silverville Pack, as recognized by pack law and tradition, including the completion of the marking ceremony. This requirement must be fulfilled within one hundred andeighty days from the date of my—Ms. Villareal’s death. Failure to meet this deadline will result in forfeiture of the entire bequest.”
I’m dizzy, my mouth is going dry.
“‘Upon mating, the union must be verified by both the pack alpha supreme and a licensed attorney specializing in pack law before any assets may be transferred.’”
He continues on, talking about the witnesses, notarization, and other legal things my brain wouldn’t hold onto on a good day. And right now is not a good day.
Right now, I am feeling my grandmother’s spite from beyond the grave. The last time I spoke to her was before I left Silverville, when I stopped by her place to let her know that fact.
“Well, you can’t just run away,” she’d said, stamping her cane angrily on the kitchen’s hardwood floor.
In the past, her declarations had been enough to get her whatever she wanted. But this time was different. Silverville had never been hospitable to me, but now it was downright hellish.
Literally, considering the daemon fire.
“I am not running away,” I’d replied, holding my back as straight as I could. That day, I was wearing a baggy gray sweatshirt and sweating my ass off in it. It was late June in the mountains, and though there was a cool breeze outside, it was too hot for that outfit.
But back then, I still thought it pertinent to hide my body.
“Sure looks like it,” she said, shaking her head and taking a step toward me, placing the tip of her pointer finger on the kitchen counter. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, Maeve. You’re going to find yourself a respectable alpha and mate. We may not be the finest family on this mountain, but I can pullsome strings and call in some favors. There has to be an alpha close to the supreme family that would answer to some money.”
“I’m not going to…topayfor marriage,” I said, cheeks flaming at the thought. Of course, my grandmother assumed a literal dowry would be the only way I could find a man.
Then, the next words came out with little consideration of who I was talking to. In fact, all they did was react to the most recent embarrassment of my life.
“In fact, I’m never going to take a mate at all. Especially not with an alpha.”
My grandmother gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth in a dramatic recreation of an old-timey movie. As suddenly as the shock arrived, she seemed to overcome it, turning back to outrage.
“Now, you listen to me. I know you have these big ideas in your head, but you are anomega, and that means something. It means you have a responsibility to continue on this family’s legacy, and the legacy of this pack. So far, you have been doing a wretched job.”
“I amwell-aware of that,” I said, stumbling back, shaking my head, wiping away tears with the backs of my hands. “But you don’t have to worry about that—I’m not going to be around to drag the Villareal name through the mud anymore.”
With that, I turned and ran out the front door.
It only occurred to me much later that the last part could have been interpreted much differently, and even if it was, it’s not like my grandmother even wasted the breath to call after me, to try to stop what I might have been about to do.
“…sign right here.”
I snap out of the memory, eyes rising to the attorney’s annoyed gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, “what is this?”
“To acknowledge that I’ve read you the will,” he prompts, shaking the pen at me as though he’s said all this before. He likely has. “And that you understand the conditions of the inheritance.”
My hand shakes as I take the pen and sign the document. But when I’m done, and the ink of my name is still wet, I know that I’m not going to be fulfilling them.
No matter how nice—no, howlife-changing—that money might be, I am not taking the bait.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, learning to live in and love this body, it’s that nothing is worth my freedom. Not even the approval of others.
I’m just stepping out of the lawyer’s office when I hear a familiar voice, and it’s too late to run away.
