[A/N]

The idea just popped into my head. I just couldn't help getting this out as soon as possible. Hope everyone reading this will enjoy it and reviews will be greatly appreciated. Written in Randy's POV. This may bore you, but I promise, the following chapters won't be.

Song of the Chapter: War of Change-Thousand Foot Krutch

(01)

I always wondered why I didn't have friends when I went to school; a private institute where my parents worked twenty hours a day to pay off the tuition. I always wondered why we moved onto Forks from St. Louis; we could've bought or rented another house in St. Louis instead of moving back to my childhood home. I always wondered why Mom and Dad never talked about my college education; I wanted to be a writer.

I got the answers. Just not the way I expected them to be revealed.

We were all coming back home after a long day at my school. Graduation, plus my birthday; I was officially eighteen. Both free from disturbing school life and being a burden to my parents. My Dad was the happiest; he literally cried when Celeste Ground-our Vice Principal announced that I was the highest graded student of the year. It was raining outside, the sky nearly breaking apart from the booming thunder and flashing lightening. Dad hadn't cared any about that, though. In spite of the merry situation, neither of us had cared. That was our mistake.

Our car slipped on the wet road, sliding to the right. A loud beep reached my ears and the next things that had caught my eyes were bright lights… and blackout. It took me four months to be fully healed and wake up. The doctor told me that I've been in a coma. And another agonizingly slow fortnight to hear a simple fact about my parents.

They were dead.

They had died in the car, on the spot of the accident.

I didn't even get to say good bye to them.

I didn't cry.

Another week later, a day before I was supposed to be discharged a man came to visit me.

"Randal Orton?" he asked when he entered the room. I could only nod. "My name is Paul Heyman, and I'm here to represent Mr. Owen Farrelly, the owner of Farelly Shipping Agencies. Are you familiar with any one of the names I've spoken of?" I had shaken my head.

"Then I may as well tell you the story from the beginning," he gave me the crudest smile.

That's when I heard all of the things that I had never wished to hear. My parents owed one and a half million dollars for Mr. Farrelly. They had brought it to build the house in Forks and for medication for the sickness my Mom had suffered for years when I was young. They have only paid back fifty thousand dollars, which meant they had taken two million in the first place. Heyman had left, stating that I had to pay back to him one way, or another. And I had no fucking idea how to.

I didn't cry.

Two days later the man himself came to visit me. He hadn't bothered knocking on the door. Everything about him screamed rich. His Armani suit, the silver Titan watch on his left wrist, thousand dollars worth Allen Edmonds shoes on his feet, even the way he walked and the confidence that oozed off his body. Mr. Farrelly took a seat on the cheap plastic chair beside my bed. He was silent, and I was silent. He seemed to search something in me with his calculating, judgmental green eyes, and he seemed to find a certain connection that I yet failed to come up with.

"I do not need to introduce myself, and neither do you," he was very straight forward, his thick accent adding emotion to his words. "You already know why I'm here. But I'm going to offer you a proposition, which I rarely do for those who owe me. But considering your situation… and mine, you are to accept it without any argument."

And here I was.

Standing beside Stephen Farrelly, the younger son of Owen Farrelly on the altar, my hand placed on his. My actions were robotic, words slipped out of my lips emotionless, my eyes staying planted on our hands. His pale skin on his hand holding my tan skinned fingers looked strange. A thin golden band slipped on to my ring finger, a single heart shaped ruby decorating it. I was handed a much larger ring, which I didn't even spare a glance at as I slipped to his finger. But it was heavier. Just like our relationship would be the rest of the years of my life. If I got lucky, it would be only for a few months.

I faintly heard the priest mumbling about the finalizing kiss. I tensed. I had never kissed anyone before. I wasn't afraid to but the knotting feeling in my guts was holding me back. I raised my eyes to look at my 'husband' for the first time in my life. The first thing I met was cold, emerald eyes. They held a look of wild, ruthless emotion that sent a deadly shiver down my spine. Fiery red hair. Such a contrast against his ghostly pale skin. I wouldn't exactly call him handsome. I would call him 'striking'. A few seconds passed as he held my gaze in silence. I could feel the tension flailing through the air as the guests began to murmur.

Then he dropped his gaze and leaned forward. I copied him, pressing my lips onto his in an awkward but just enough to satisfy the others. It wasn't exactly a kiss, just a mere brush of two pairs of lips. I didn't feel anything. The wedding was over. He let go of my hand as soon as we stepped to the ground. My heart was heavy; my chest was tightened with an unknown feeling. Was I going to break down?

Politely flashing fake smiles at the guests who congratulated me, I got into the car that was prepared to take me and Stephen to the guest house we were supposed to spend our honeymoon. Instead, I found Stephen driving straight to his father's mansion. A few minutes passed, and the car slowed down. I furrowed my brows in confusion when Stephen parked the car in the parking lot of a fast food shop. He got out of the car after yanking the rose that was pinned to his suit pocket off the material and tossing it to the floor of the car. Slamming the door shut behind him, he walked a few feet away from the car but he was in my vision.

I watched as he talked to someone on the phone, the sound of his voice was muffled as it reached me through the glass, but from the tone told me that he was ranting out his anger. I sighed. It was obvious that he didn't want to marry me, or anyone else for that matter. I didn't blame him. We were both forced into the marriage, but I could also understand why his father did this. I closed my eyes, resting my head on the headrest of the seat.

"Three months… For three months you will be his husband. Within the limited time, change him. Turn him completely into the man I'm searching for."

Those were his words. I only understood the first sentence. It was either jail, or accepting this proposition. I chose the latter. How was I supposed to change a man that I didn't even know? And how was I supposed to know what kind of a man Mr. Farrelly was searching to be his heir? Wasn't he supposed to hand out his everything to the elder son? I sighed again, this time tired. Tired of everything; tired of life. My eye lids drew up as I turned my eyes to Stephen, who had gotten into the car again and was revving the engine up. He seemed somewhat calmed now, after blowing off his anger at whoever person it was at the other end of the call. I quickly averted my stare just as his face turned to my side.

I trailed my fingers over the wedding ring I wore. It was weighing my arm down, like it was a burden that I was punished to carry. A lump got stuck in my throat. I swallowed down hard and looked out of the window as endless blurring images passed through my eyes. When we finally arrived to the mansion, I got out of the car much later than Stephen. I had been here only once, a few days ago to meet Mrs. Farrelly, sweet lady with red hair just like Stephen's and sapphire eyes, with crinkles in the corners of her eyes whenever she smiled. I walked up the marble stairs.

"Hello," an enthusiastic voice greeted me. I looked at the source, a young man with a much smaller body who looked like he was in my age was beaming down at me from the top of the marble stairs, his raven hair neatly combed back and his tux neatly worn. His brown eyes were bright, which gave my cold heart a little tinge of warmness. I returned his gesture with a small smile. "Mr. Farrelly must be tired. Shall I make you a drink before I show you your room?"

It took me a few seconds to realize that he was addressing me as Farrelly. I was not an Orton anymore. A sigh fell out of my lips. "Please call me Randy."

He pursed his lips, and glanced back in the house as if to see anyone was in sight. Then he turned back to me. "Only when we're alone. We're not allowed to call our Masters by their first names."

I was not a Master, I wanted to say. I was just as a servant as you are. "Only in private then," I agreed, just to see the young man smile again, which he did. "Where is he?" I stepped inside the house, my eyes roaming over as far as they can to see where Stephen was.

"Up in his room," he said, a look of worry taking over his face. "May I ask what you are doing here? You were supposed to-"

"I know," I cut him off, finalizing that I didn't want to talk about it. "He drove straight here. Can you show me to a guest room? He'll need some time alone." And I will need my own space.

"Sure," he nodded, and then muttered to himself "but Master Farrelly and Mistress won't like it when they see you here." I couldn't agree more with that. But I didn't have to worry about that, it wasn't my fault. Stephen could handle that part.

"What's your name?" I asked, trying to sound curious as he led me up another staircase.

"Evan Bourne," he chirped. "You can call me Evan, if you like."

I gave a nod, noticing that we have stopped in front of a door. "That is Master Stephen's room," Evan pointed to the door right across the guest room that was supposed to be mine. "I wouldn't suggest you go in there unless after receiving permission." Evan opened the door for me, and I stepped in. the room was beautiful, themed with gold and white. Grandeur was an understatement. I felt a bit afraid to even touch a thing in it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I could only nod. "Well, I'll be leaving now. Anything else you need, ring that bell that's attached to the wall beside your bed."

"Wait, Evan," I called, just before he shut the door. "Is there anything that I can wear? I'm going to have a shower; I need clothes to change into."

"You do have clothes here, closets filled with," Evan said, but uncertainty was all over his face. "But it's in Master Stephen's room. Don't worry," he assured at the look on my face. "I'll get something for you."

I felt grateful. "Just a pair of denim jeans and a plain colored t-shirt, please."

"Any brand you prefer?" I wasn't surprised. These were rich people after all.

"Anything that I can wear," I smiled as Evan laughed heartily. After giving me a parting nod he left, closing the door behind me. As soon as he was out of the sight, my smile disappeared. I quickly stripped off the suit. I wasn't made for this lifestyle; it was basically a pain in my ass- no pun intended. I didn't even admire how the bathroom was designed. There were lots of tubs and taps and everything, but I chose the simple glass caged shower stall.

I took as much as time I needed. Every other day, every other time, a shower would have taken the stress, the emotion away from my body. But not this time. My body came out of the shower just as it went in, stiffened and tensed. For some reason all of the muscles in my body was sore, a whine dragged out of my lips as I rolled my neck and stretched out my hands, the sore flesh aching as I did so. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I exited the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I turned around only to freeze. Stephen was standing right about an inch away from me, his emerald eyes blazing down at me. I pursed my lips to force back the gasp that was going to escape from my lips and took a step back, increasing the space between us.

But it didn't matter.

He stepped forward, and the proximity between us was an inch again. His eyes once dropped down, landing on my lips before traveling further. My heart jumped into my throat, and my breathing quickened, as his cold gaze roamed up and down my barely covered body, like a predator eying its prey. Then those eyes fixed upon mine again.

"We may be married, but we aren't a couple. Let me make this clear to you before you make castles in the sky. You are nothing to me. So don't get attached, you won't be receiving anything from me. Be a good bitch like you're supposed to be for the next few months, 'cause as soon as my beloved father legally gives me all of his property, I won't be needing you," he turned around, but then stopped short as he remembered something. "Don't whore yourself around till then. I have a reputation to keep."

Something that has never been lightened ignited within me. Anger coursed through my veins, and I gritted my teeth hard. "I'm not a whore."

He spun around, slamming my back against the wall behind me. A pained whimper escaped my lips, but the fire in my eyes didn't.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" he spat, his hand gripping my jaws painfully. "You are nothing but my personal slave. So act like it." His hand slipped down to my throat and squeezed down hard once. I gasped out, but he quickly retreated his hand as if touching me had burnt him. "Just fucking stay out of my way."

Not even sparing me a final glance he stepped back, leaving the room after slamming the door behind him. The room almost shattered by the force. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, drawing my knees to my chest.

I cried.

Tears ran down my cheeks, flowing out of my eyes like waterfalls. Sob after sob tore out of my chest and my body trembled hard like I was having a fit. I cursed for being born, I cursed at the Container driver who killed my parents, and I cursed at my parents for leaving me alone in this world. And god have mercy on me, my life here was just getting started.