Ryan Kritsana , the youngest son of a powerful business family, Ryan has always been the charming one—good with people, terrible with pressure. He’s intelligent but avoids responsibility like it’s a bad perfume. He would rather flirt through a meeting than sit still in one. Parties, rooftop brunches, and sarcastic comebacks are his comfort zone. His tousled dark hair, bright eyes that flash with mischief, and his smirk that makes people both irritated and intrigued.

Despite his outward rebellion, Ryan carries the quiet weight of family expectations. Deep down, he’s scared of being caged by a life he didn’t choose.

At twenty-five, he had everything most people dreamed of - Looks, wealth, charm but all he wanted was to be left alone. His life was a rhythm of brunches, rooftop parties, and half-hearted attempts at business school. His parents wanted him to handle their company, but he was more interested in enjoying his youth.

He was lounging in his apartment, halfway through a movie, when he got the message: Dinner at home. No excuses.

At home

Ryan kicked off his shoes with practiced flair, letting them land somewhere near the entryway of the family’s sprawling penthouse. He was still humming the tune of a pop song from the party he left early, lazily undoing the buttons of his silk shirt.

Then he walked into the living room—and stopped dead.

His parents were seated on the couch, formal and far too still. His older brother stood beside them, arms crossed like he was preparing for war.

Ryan’s heart sank.

He tried to backtrack. “Oh no. No no no. This is not a good pose. You all look like I crashed my own intervention.”

His mother smiled thinly. “Sit down, Ryan.”

Ryan sat at the long Kritsana dining table, poking at roasted duck while his mother watched him like a hawk.

“So,” she said with that smile that meant danger, “we’ve made a decision.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “We?”

His father cleared his throat. “It’s time you take your place seriously. And part of that means aligning with the right family.”

Ryan blinked. “Wait. Are you saying—”

“You’re getting engaged.”

Ryan shot a look at his father. "No I'm not"

" Yes you are" His father said simply"You're twenty-five. You’ve had your fun. It's time you learned the ropes of the company, and it’s time you settled down. The Rachanons are reliable partners."

“The Rachanon family.”

Ryan stared. Then laughed. “You’re marrying me off to them? What are we, medieval nobles?”

“They’ve agreed,” his mother continued, ignoring his sarcasm.

His brother clasped his hands together. “It’s time you learned how to take responsibility. The company will be yours someday—”

"I've never agreed to that!”

“Which is exactly the problem,” his father snapped. “You’ve coasted long enough. This is the first step.”

“I don’t want to ,” he shot back, pacing now. “I want to live my life! I want to choose who I marry, if I even want to marry.”

“Too late,” his brother said. “It’s already in motion.”

Ryan turned, fury and disbelief bubbling under his skin. “Who is it?”

A pause.

“You’ll meet them soon,” his father said, final as a slammed door.

Ryan stared at them, lips parted. “You won’t even tell me?”

“It’s someone suitable,” his mother said gently. “Someone who won’t tolerate your games.”

Great, he thought. That sounded awful.

He stormed toward his room, muttering, “This is ridiculous. I’m not getting married.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Ryan had the sinking feeling that the decision had never really been his to make.

Ryan arrived at the Rachanon building with the attitude of a man walking into a dentist's office—unwilling, late, and fully prepared to bolt. His mother had insisted on a formal dinner with the “other family” to discuss wedding arrangements.

He hadn’t been told who he was marrying, but the name Rachanon sounded familiar.

He didn’t care enough to ask questions. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be there.

Dressed in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled up like defiance, Ryan stepped into the private dining room and froze.

There, already seated with the quiet grace of someone born to handle pressure, was Theo Rachanon.

Sharp suit. Calm posture. Eyes as unreadable as ever.

Ryan’s brain did a double take. “Wait. You?”

Theo glanced up at him, polite but clearly unsurprised. “Hello, Ryan.”

Ryan blinked. “Is this a joke? It must be right?.”

His mother, already seated beside Theo’s father, gestured toward an empty chair. “Sit down, Ryan.”

“I—wait. He’s the one? You want me to marry him?”

Theo’s brow twitched in faint amusement. “You sound offended.”

“I am,” Ryan said, flopping into the chair anyway. “We hated each other in high school.”

Theo replied smoothly, “Correction. You hated me. I simply tolerated you.”

Ryan turned to his mother in disbelief. “This is a trap.”

Theo’s father cleared his throat. “You’re both adults now. The past is irrelevant. What matters is the future of both our families—and how this marriage secures it.”

Ryan looked like he was going to explode. “You didn’t even tell me who it was. You just threw me in here and expected me to smile through it?”

“You’d have found a way to run,” his mother said simply.

Ryan looked at Theo and asked "So you're just fine with this?"

Theo watched him calmly, fingers folded on the table. “It's not my first choice, but I don't mind it."

Ryan scoffed. "Wow. Enthusiastic as ever."

Theo tilted his head slightly. “Better than throwing a tantrum like a child.”

The bite in his tone was subtle, but Ryan caught it—and suddenly, it felt like high school all over again. The whispered arguments in the back of the classroom. The sarcastic remarks during group projects. And now they were getting married?

Ryan folded his arms. “You’re not doing this just to spite me, are you?”

Theo didn't answer

Dinner continued under a blanket of tension, Ryan shifting in his chair while Theo remained still, professional, and—Ryan hated to admit it—obnoxiously composed.

As they stood to leave, Ryan leaned in, voice low. “This isn’t over.”

Theo glanced at him, a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Of course not. We haven’t even started yet.”

______

Ryan slouched in the conference room chair like it personally offended him. His shirt was untucked, tie hanging loose around his neck like a defeated accessory. He tapped a pen against the table, already bored out of his mind.

Theo walked in exactly on time—no surprise there—wearing a crisp white shirt and dark grey slacks. Polished. Immaculate. Every line of him sharp as precision.

He set a thick folder down in front of Ryan.

Ryan didn’t even look at it. “Is that homework? Because I thought I graduated from being tortured by paperwork.”

“It’s your crash course in professionalism,” Theo said smoothly, taking the seat across from him. “Consider it survival training. You’ll need it if you’re going to represent the Kritsana name in public.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re my tutor now? What happened to mutual suffering?”

Theo ignored the jab and flipped the folder open. “These are the basics—how to talk in meetings, how to read contracts, how to not make a fool of yourself in front of a room full of investors.”

Ryan groaned and leaned back. “Why does this sound like hell?”

“Because you avoid responsibility like it’s contagious.”

“That’s because it is,” Ryan shot back. “Besides, if I’m marrying you, isn’t that your job? You handle the smart stuff, I show up and look hot.”

Theo gave him a blank look. “We both know you’re too loud to be just a trophy husband.”

Ryan smirked. “So you have noticed I’m hot.”

Theo flipped the next page without responding. “Focus.”

For the next hour, Theo walked Ryan through formal greetings, deal negotiation etiquette, and how not to slouch during meetings. Ryan did all of them—with the worst attitude imaginable.

When Theo asked him to practice a firm handshake, Ryan added dramatic flair and winked.

When Theo told him to introduce himself like a professional, Ryan stood up and bowed like he was on a game show.

Theo finally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you take anything seriously?”

Ryan, for once, quieted. He leaned forward slightly, smile fading just a little. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Theo blinked, caught off guard.

“…Fine,” Theo said quietly. “We’ll try again tomorrow. And wear something that buttons all the way up.”

Ryan stood, stretching. “Wow. Two dates in a row? People are gonna talk.”

Theo didn’t answer. But as Ryan walked away—still teasing, still dramatic—Theo allowed himself a small, private smile.

Just a little one.

The office was too bright, too quiet, and far too formal for Ryan's taste. He slouched into the glass-walled meeting room like a cat dragged in against its will, iced coffee in hand and sunglasses still on indoors.

Across the room, Theo was already seated—laptop open, back straight, shirt tucked in, every button in place like he was on a magazine cover for “Men Who Actually Have Their Life Together.”

Ryan made a face.

“You're early,” he muttered, pulling out a chair like it had wronged him.

“You're late,” Theo replied without looking up. “By nine minutes.”

“I brought coffee. That buys me ten extra.”

“For yourself?” Theo asked dryly.

Ryan sipped. Loudly. “Obviously.”

The assistant who’d been prepping the presentation looked like she wanted to vanish. She quietly slipped out the door before the Ryan-Theo war could escalate into an HR issue.

“Why are you even here?” Ryan asked, spinning in his chair. “You’re not officially in the company yet.”

Theo didn’t look up. “Neither are you. But I thought we were supposed to start taking things seriously.”

Ryan scoffed. “So now you're my babysitter too?”

“No. Just the person trying to keep you from crashing your own family business into the ground.”

Ryan turned, mouth open, but Theo beat him to it.

“You’re welcome.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Ryan stood up suddenly, walked over to Theo’s side of the table, and leaned down just enough to be in his space.

“You know what your problem is?” he asked, tone almost too sweet.

“Other than you? No.”

“You act like none of this matters to you. The company. The meetings. Me. Like you’re just here for the free wi-fi.”

Theo met his gaze, finally. Calm, unreadable.

“That’s because I don’t waste my energy on theatrics,” he said coolly. “Unlike you.”

Ryan’s fake smile faltered just a little.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, stepping back.

“And you’re loud,” Theo said, returning to his laptop. “Still.”

Ryan glared at him, then dropped dramatically into his seat again, legs stretched, tie loose, muttering under his breath.

“You're lucky you’re hot.”

“What?”

“Nothing!”

For the rest of the meeting, Ryan kept interrupting, correcting things Theo didn’t say, and sighing way too loudly every time Theo spoke.

Theo didn’t react once.

And that only made Ryan more annoyed.

By the end of it, the room was silent again—tension thick but unsaid. Ryan was halfway out the door when Theo finally spoke.

“We have outfit fitting tommorow for our wedding, be on time"

Ryan paused.

“…Yeah,” he grumbled, and walked out.

Theo didn’t smile.

But he did close his laptop a little softer than usual.

_________

The tailor’s studio was pristine, lined with rows of elegant fabrics and full-length mirrors that made Ryan feel like he’d wandered into a boutique designed to punish people like him.

He was already halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when Theo walked in.

“You’re early,” Ryan said, glancing at him through the mirror.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “You’re half-naked.”

“Wow. Already distracted? This is supposed to be a professional fitting, Mr. Rachanon.”

Theo walked past him with a sigh, ignoring the teasing as he began sorting through fabric swatches the tailor had laid out. “Try not to wrinkle everything this time.”

Ryan scoffed. “Try not to act like you’re interviewing for CEO of a funeral home.”

“Try not to wear sneakers to a luxury tailor,” Theo countered, not even looking at him.

The tailor chuckled nervously as he approached Ryan with a jacket. “You two seem... familiar.”

“Oh, we go way back,” Ryan said, slipping his arms into the sleeves. “High school classmates. Mortal enemies. You know, the usual.”

Theo corrected, “You were loud. I was patient.”

“You were cold. I was charming.”

“You were irritating.”

“You were obsessed with me.”

That made Theo pause.

Just for a second.

Ryan caught it.

The moment passed quickly, but the air shifted. Theo looked away, straightening a cuff. “The suit fits fine.”

The tailor stepped back to assess. “Very good cut on both of you. We’ll take some measurements for minor adjustments.”

While the tailor bustled around them, Ryan muttered under his breath, “Remember that time you reported me to the teacher for falling asleep in class?”

“You were snoring. Loudly,” Theo replied. “During an exam.”

Ryan grinned. “You were always so serious.”

Theo remained silent

The tailor announced the fitting was complete. Ryan tugged off the jacket and tossed it (gently, but still rebelliously) onto a chair. “So. One more step closer to the doom ceremony.”

Theo smoothed out a crease on his cuff. “You mean our wedding?”

“Same thing.”

“You’re terrible with labels,” Theo said.

Ryan shrugged. “Except the ones in my clothes. And, you know… maybe you.”

Theo rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile.

As they stepped outside, the late afternoon sun hit them, and Ryan glanced sideways.

“It really is like high school again, huh?”

Theo didn’t look at him, but his voice was quieter than usual. “Some things never change.”

_____