Shotgun Wedding

Diana's POV

Matthew Smith's Office, Friday, 11:30 a.m.

I sat stiffly in the oversized leather chair, my head bowed in shame as Mr Smith’s piercing eyes bored into me. His fingers drummed against the desk, each tap sending a chill down my spine.

I was only nineteen. A month away from finishing college. And yet here I was, pregnant.

The Smiths were the most powerful family in Los Angeles, capable of making people vanish with a single command. And now I had been summoned into Matthew Smith’s office, with no idea how much he already knew…

What terrified me most wasn’t that he knew I was pregnant. It was that I couldn’t understand how he’d found out.

How did I end up in this situation?

It all started when I found out my mother, my only family, was dying. She needed a kidney transplant. After months of waiting, the hospital had finally found a donor, but the surgery cost $400,000. To most people, that was an investment, comparable to the price of a car, a home, or a business deal. For me, it was an impossible mountain.

I was already working two jobs to keep us afloat: waitressing during the day, scrubbing floors at dawn before lectures, sneaking in hours at the library just to keep up with my classes. My grades mattered. I was determined to graduate. But saving my mother mattered more.

Every paycheck vanished into medical bills. Every tip, every dollar scraped together, was gone before I could even breathe. I’d already sold everything that could be sold, our furniture, my mother’s jewellery, even my laptop. All that remained was her life, slowly slipping away before my eyes.

The hospital called, their words slicing me open.

"We need to act now. If we don’t do the surgery soon, she may not make it. But if you can’t pay, the kidney will go to another patient."

The desperation in me turned into a quiet, gnawing panic. I begged. Professors, classmates, neighbours, anyone I thought might have enough money. I promised I would work more jobs, repay every cent, but no one wanted to risk it on me. Their polite refusals felt like knives.

That afternoon, when reality finally crushed me, I sat on a bench behind the sports field, sobbing until my throat burned. The world blurred, my tears falling like acid onto my sleeves.

That was when I heard the voice I least wanted to hear.

"Hey, ugly nerd."

Gordon Smith.

My bully. My tormentor. The boy whose family owned half the city, whose arrogance was as big as his bank account. He always seemed to find me when I was weakest.

I kept my head down, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing my swollen, tear-stained face.

"I heard you’ve been running around, begging for money," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "For your mom’s surgery, right?"

My hands clenched in my lap. Slowly, I lifted my head. His smirk was in place, cruel