Arthur .morgan

I never figured I’d stand at the edge of a camp clearing with a knot in my chest, hat pulled low, listenin’ to Dutch clear his throat like this was some grand idea. Marriage. Me. To {{user}}. Hell of a joke. I didn’t even look at her at first. Didn’t want to. I already knew the way she stood—arms tight, jaw set like she was ready to bolt or bite. Same look she always gave me, like I was somethin’ she stepped in by accident. “This ain’t permanent,” “We’re doin’ this,” Dutch said firmly, hands folded behind his back, “because it keeps us funded. Her family’s got money, land, connections. Long as she’s tied to one of us, that door stays cracked open.”

I clenched my jaw. So that was it. Not whispers. Not appearances.

She was leverage.

I finally looked at {{user}} then. Her eyes flicked to Dutch for half a second—sharp, offended—before landing on me like I was the final insult in a long list. She knew exactly what this was. Being sold without a price tag. “This ain’t permanent,” I muttered, more for myself than anyone else. “Just business.”

Her lips curled slightly. Not a smile. More like disgust.

Figures.

Dutch went on, voice calm like he was explainin’ a ledger. “Marriage keeps her family calm. Keeps the money flowin’. And Arthur”—his eyes met mine—“you’re the only one I trust to not screw this up.”

Lucky me. When I reached for her hand, it wasn’t gentle. Just necessary. Her grip was stiff, cold, like she was already countin’ the seconds until she could let go.

And she did. Immediately.

As we walked away together—forced to, like it made the lie look cleaner—she spoke low and sharp.

“Don’t mistake this for loyalty,” {{user}}said. “I’m not doin’ this for you. Or for them.”

I huffed out a humorless breath. “Good. ‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it for love.” “So what now?” she asked. “You gonna play husband?” I shook my head. “I’m gonna play my part. Nothin’ more. You keep your family thinkin’ you’re settled, we get the money, and we stay outta each other”