Uncrowned

Miranda was very bitter.

It came as a shock to her because she thought she could never feel this way. She had endured a lot. A whole lot. She had been patient, quietly hoping for a better future. But as she sat in front of her mother and father, listening to their plans to marry her off, the anger, pain, disappointment, and disgust she felt all blended and fused together to form one massive ball of bitterness.

Her mother leaned forward and rested her arms on the dining room table. "So, you see, Miranda, we have no choice. This will be the best thing for the family. Forget about the age difference. Focus on the money and the future."

Miranda watched as the filthy words poured from her mother's mouth and suddenly realized how much she hated the woman. This was her mother—the woman who gave birth to her—and she was willing to sell her daughter to make up for the bad decisions she made in the business and her addiction to shopping.

Forget the age difference. Twenty years. Is that something I can forget so easily? Focus on the money? The money is for you, not me.

"Yes, focus on the future. It won't be only us benefitting. You will benefit too. You will live a life of luxury. He is a millionaire," her father added, stroking his beard and looking very evil.

Miranda turned to the other culprit. Her father. A gambling addict and a drug user. He had squandered the family and his personal funds and was now desperate to get out of debt. Yes, even marrying his own daughter to a man as old as he was.

This was the family she was born to. A family where she was unwanted. A family where she was shunned. And it hurt.

But the worst part was that when it came to being treated in this manner, she was alone. If her parents treated all their children in the same manner, it would have lessened the pain and the humiliation she felt. Her two little sisters were treated like the stars of the universe, while she was the scum of the earth.

She knew she deserved more, but this was her life, her sad reality.

"I won't…I won't do it." Voice shaking, Miranda raised an objection. This was one of the few times in her 24 years of living that she had ever done such a thing. It couldn't be helped. She was timid, preferring compliance over defiance. But this…this was too big a change not to object.

"I can't do it. I just can't." As she continued expressing her refusal, tears began to flow unwillingly from her eyes. She was in intense pain. It was too much for her to handle.

Her parents looked at each other and back at her, pity nowhere to be found on their faces. As one, threats and insults poured from their mouths.

"Miranda. If you don't marry him, you'll have to find a new place to stay. Do you think I'm going to house an ingrate, a lousy, hideous fool like you? You will leave this house! You will leave and never come back. If you come back here, I'll kill you. I'll kill you." Her father's voice had reached a crescendo. He slammed his hands on the table, eyes bulging from their sockets. This was a man desperate and afraid. The thoughts of his debts immersed him in fear so great, he was willing to kill his own daughter.

"Yes, you will have to leave. We won't accept you here. As your parents, we have cared for you, fed you, clothed you, and housed you. Is this how you'll repay us? By refusing to help us? Count yourself lucky that such a distinguished gentleman wants an ugly person like you. You will go there and behave yourself. However, and whichever way he wants to touch you, you must allow him. It's the least you can do."

Tears filled Miranda's face. Her parents' words were too hurtful, each one causing more pain than the last. She didn't know what to do. She wished she could stand up and walk out. Turn her back on everything and everyone.

It would feel good. But the truth was that it wouldn't last. As a fresh graduate, she had yet to find her feet. She was unemployed, living with her parents, and currently working at a coffee shop. That was her only source of income and the only way she managed to get herself to job interviews. It was not enough to support her if she decided to move out.

No relatives were willing to take her in. Despite her family's condition, they were still better off than their extended family.

So, she stayed. With her hands on her knees and head bowed, crying, broken, and scarred, she stayed.

"I…I…I will go." Miranda sucked in a breath, trying to stop her tears. "I will go."

"Then stop crying like a cow. Your puffy eyes will become even more swollen," came her mother's sharp voice.

Miranda wiped her eyes and lifted her head. She stared at her parents on the other side of the table, certain she could not hate anybody more than she hated them. But she would go and marry a man over twenty years her senior. She would sell her body to a man to get even the slightest bit of freedom from this toxic environment.

"The appointment is tomorrow. He said he didn't want you to dress formally but don't dare dress too casually. Make sure I see you before you leave. I don't know what he sees in you, but I don't want him to change his mind tomorrow. Do you understand?" Her mother slammed a fist into the table.

Miranda sniffed and nodded. "I understand."

"Good. Now get out of here."

She stood up with another nod and sniff, bowed to her parents, and left the room. Exiting into the living room, she was met with the snarky gazes of her two sisters. They had obviously heard the conversation along with their parents' outburst. Pleased with themselves, they were about to add salt to her injury, but Miranda had had enough for one day. She turned sharply and took the stairs to her room two at a time.

She locked the bedroom door behind her, slid against the wood, and dropped on the floor. The tears she thought she had restrained came back with full force. She clamped her hand on her mouth, trying not to let sounds escape as the sobs wracked her body.

What was her life turning to?

A smile, a flip of the hair, and a subtle lean forward to expose her cleavage; all the women he met did the same thing. The coy glances, the crossing and uncrossing of the legs, and the fake laughter—it was all the same. Matthew had seen it a thousand times before, and he was sure he'd see it a thousand times more.

They all attempted to seduce him in the same manner, offering up their bodies if it meant they could get a slice of the pie—his billion-dollar fortune.

Women. Matthew hated women. The way they spoke. The way they moved. The way they walked. The way they laughed. Everything they were and everything they stood for, he hated.

Granted, there were a few exceptions to the rule. For one, his adopted mother—a kind, graceful, and intelligent woman. The only woman he loved and cared for. The only woman whose opinion he respected. The only woman who could convince him to do things he ordinarily wouldn't do. The only woman—in fact, the only person—that could persuade him to attend a marriage meeting. The only reason why he sat here, on one side of the table, with the gold digger on the other side.

Speaking of gold diggers…

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Devin. My, you are even more handsome in real life. The pictures don't do you justice."

The same lines he'd heard before. He looked at his watch. It was currently 7:13 pm. Usually, Matthew would have loved to spend his evening eating here. The décor of the restaurant was superb. Marble, gold, and silver formed the base of the look of the restaurant. It was also perfect for privacy. The room he was currently in was one of many the restaurant had for private dinners.

Yes, he would have enjoyed the evening, but he was unfortunately stuck with this woman.

Matthew reasoned that if he left now, his mother would think something went wrong. She would call and pester him, and he would probably end up here tomorrow, staring at the gold digger's plastic face once again. He had to find a way to leave without setting off his mom.

He reached into his suit jacket and fished out his check book. "How much?" He also brought out a pen, ready to write whatever amount she stated. He watched with disgust as her eyes focused on the book and her face tightened with unabashed greed.

When she noticed his observation of her, she twisted her features to give her a more chaste appearance. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what you mean."

What the…? She didn't understand. Was that why she looked like she was about to start salivating? Matthew sighed. The only thing more exhausting than dealing with gold diggers was dealing with gold diggers trying to pretend like they weren't gold diggers.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rein in his temper. "How much will it take to get you out of my sight?"

The harshness of his voice seemed to penetrate through her greed fog and enter her head. She flinched, drawing away from him. But, hey, he wasn't going to complain. He not only wanted her away from him but out of the room and out of his sight. And memory, if possible. "So, how much to get you to disappear?"

She picked up her bag and stood up in a flurry. "I didn't know you were this kind of man. I only came here because my mother asked me to. If you think you can insult me because of money, then you've got it all wrong."

Matthew shook his head. A classic case of a gold digger trying not to act like a gold digger. He was just grateful they were in a private dining room so no one else could see the theatrics. "I'm also here because of my mother. Let's come to an agreement. You tell your mother and mine that you don't like me and there were no sparks between us—that kind of thing. In return, I'll give you fifty thousand dollars, and you never appear in front of me again. Does that sound fair?"

This time around, it wasn't just her face that showed the greed. Matthew watched as her throat moved up and down as she swallowed. She still looked undecided, though. Like she was weighing walking out with her dignity or fifty thousand dollars. To hurry up the decision, Matthew picked up his pen, hand poised on the check book, signalling his readiness to write.

The gold digger could take it no more. She swallowed again and seemed to decide that her dignity wasn't worth fifty thousand. "I'll take it. I'll take the money."

Matthew didn't bother hiding his smile. He wanted her to feel humiliated and embarrassed. That alone was worth the fifty thousand. Add that to the fact that his mom wouldn't set them up again, and Matthew felt he was underpaying her.

With neat, practiced moves, he wrote the amount out and signed his name on the check. It was obvious that he had written a lot of checks in his life. He knew she would tell a different story to her friends, trying to make him the villain and her the heroine. He didn't care and had never cared about his reputation.

What he cared about was making sure women avoided him. And this would serve his purpose very well.

Matthew tore the check from the booklet and dropped it on the table. God forbid he handed it to her, and she touched him while taking it. That would really ruin his night. "It was nice doing business with you."

She glared at him; malice written over her stiff face. It seemed like she had a few words—more than a few words—to say to him, but the fact that he might change his mind about the money stopped her. She stretched and grabbed the check with a quickness that only a robber would possess and stuffed it into her bag.

That finally threw him off the edge, and his laughter rang out in the silent room. They always proved what they were and what they wanted in the end...women.

Embarrassed and annoyed, she turned around and, with a flip of the long, irritating wig, sashayed out of the room. Matthew shook his head at the display. Looking down at his watch, Matthew weighed his options. He could either eat here or go somewhere else.

The food here was spectacular. It was a Michelin star restaurant, after all. And the entire ordeal had taken less than ten minutes, so he had time to spare. On the other hand, however, the perfume of the parasite still lingered. If he ate here, he would feel nauseous. Why did she have to douse herself in so much perfume?

Matthew sighed. His decision was made. He couldn't stay here where the vestiges of the gold digger remained. He had to leave. Pushing back his chair and standing up, he heard the server assigned to their room knock and saw the doorknob twist open—another woman.

He and the leech hadn't ordered anything. The server, who had no idea the meeting would be over so quickly, was probably coming to take their orders. He saw the woman hurry over to the table, so he took a step back. He didn't want to interact with another woman.

Matthew reached into his pocket again and found his wallet. He took out a few bills from it, all hundreds, and placed them on the table before the server.

The server looked at the bills and realized it was a tip, although he hadn't ordered anything. "Is there anything you need, sir?"

Without answering, Matthew picked up his check book and pen and walked out of the door. As he hit the hallway and passed the other private dining rooms, he once again thought about dinner. Before he could decide on where to have his meal, his phone vibrated in his pocket. A call. His mother.

Matthew smiled, stopped walking, and picked the phone. The leech should have done her job.

"Mom, good evening. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Matt, I heard what happened between you and the girl. It's such a pity, really. I really hoped you two could hit it off. Such a pity. I hope you don't feel too bad, my dear."

This was why he attempted to endure the marriage meeting his mother set up for him. He wanted to make her happy any way he could.

His birth mother had assaulted him severely, leaving so many scars, both physical and emotional. He had always found himself wishing and praying for her to die. She did die when he was twelve, but his problems only escalated from there. He had been sexually abused several times at the orphanages he was sent to. At sixteen, he was moved between numerous foster homes, meeting abuse—physical, mental, and sexual—with every family that took him in.

He began attempting to take his life. But at his final adoption, he met them—his mother and his father. They had taken him in, despite all the negative comments on his behaviour and attitude.

It wasn't easy. After being mistreated all his life, Matthew turned around and started mistreating those around him. He had stolen, fought, and been arrested numerous times, but his adoptive parents stuck with him. They loved him. They nurtured him. Even now, at twenty-nine-years old, they still cherished him.

He was determined to do anything that would make his parents happy. That included hiding his deep aversion to women. It was simply unfortunate that they wanted him to get married. He could give them everything else in this world.

"Mom, I don't know if I can keep doing this. You know how busy I am. I can't take out any more time from my schedule."

"I know, I know," she acquiesced, but her tone sounded strange. "I know. Really, I know. But can't you spare time for one more. Just one more. She's a really nice girl."

Matthew sighed. He had a feeling she wouldn't let it go so quickly. "Mom, really…"

"You'd like her. She's beautiful and sweet. Just go and see her. I won't bother you after this. Promise."

Matthew frowned at the promise. That promise would hold until she saw another "perfect match." There was nothing he could do. "Fine. One more. When is the meeting?"

He heard his mom squeal over the phone like an over-excited child.

"Will tomorrow be good for you?"

Matthew sighed again. No, tomorrow would not be good. No day would be suitable for him to meet with a woman. But he couldn't say no to his mom. "I can make time. Tell the girl 7 pm and that she should be punctual."

"Okay, I'll do that."

"Mom, this is the last time."

"Yes, this is the last time."

"Okay, I'll call you later. Bye."

"Bye."

The call ended. Matthew removed the phone from his ear and stared at it. It would not be the last time, he thought to himself, as he resumed walking down the hallway and out of the restaurant.

Tomorrow, however, was the last time Matthew would attend a marriage meeting.