"I’m not marrying him,” I said, my voice ringing louder than I intended. The man sitting beside me, whom I’d only met today but whose name I’d heard my whole life, finally looked up. It was the first time he acknowledged my presence since stepping into this lavish, sterile restaurant. Typical of the wealthy to book out an entire place just to have a conversation no one else can hear.
"Allina!" My father’s voice cut through the air, seething with rage. His anger was palpable, laced with the weight of his prestige and reputation.
"I said, I’m not marrying him," I repeated, enunciating every word as though it would somehow make the absurdity of this situation clearer to everyone involved.
I felt my mother’s hand squeeze mine beneath the table, her eyes pleading with me, silently begging me to comply. But I wasn’t about to back down. Not this time. How could they think this was acceptable? I was their only daughter, and they hadn’t even bothered to give me a heads-up about this...arrangement. How could they throw me into this without a thought for my feelings?
The man beside me shifted, finally breaking his silence. His voice was smooth but grated on my nerves, as it had from the moment he arrived, a full fifteen minutes late. So much for being “punctual and disciplined,” like his best friend—the crown prince, no less. His lateness was just the first offense. The second was his clear lack of respect for my parents. His subtle exchanges, coated in false politeness, were nothing more than veiled insults. What annoyed me the most was that my father allowed it. He let this man walk all over him. And third, it was painfully obvious he wasn’t interested in me, either. The way he carried himself, like he was some kind of divine gift to us mere mortals... everything about him screamed arrogance. Marry him? If this ever became my only option, I’d rather take vows of chastity and become a nun.
This whole situation was nothing but an elaborate setup, and I was their scapegoat.
The longest argument of my life with my parents was unfolding, louder and uglier than any we’d had before. We were always at odds about something, but this? This was different. This was a battle I had to win.
"I’ll need a word with my fiancée," he said suddenly, turning to look at me with eyes so cold they could have frozen the air between us. Then, without waiting for my response, he pushed his chair back and stood. My father gave him a glance—one that crackled with tension, like they were holding back something darker than I could understand. The way they looked at each other made it clear there was more to this arrangement than I knew.
"Fine," I muttered under my breath, standing up. If he wanted to talk, we could talk. But not here. I needed to say what I really thought without my parents in the way. He led me through the restaurant, past tables set for guests who would never arrive, until we reached a private room at the back. He opened the door and pulled me inside by my wrist.
“Hands off, Mr. Arrogant,” I snapped, yanking my arm from his grip.
He smirked and immediately wiped his hand with sanitizer. “Feisty. Don’t worry, my standards aren’t that low.”
I crossed my arms, disgust written all over my face. “I should probably use acid where you touched me, just to be safe.”
He chuckled, but it was humorless. “You’re a feisty little thing, but still a child. Grow up.”
He was pushing me to the edge. I could feel it, the urge to just strangle him rising with every passing second. But I forced myself to take a breath. He wasn’t worth it.
"Pretty grown up to kick your balls, if you’re interested in testing that theory," I shot back. When he opened his mouth to respond, I waved him off. “Get to the point. I don’t have all day to play your stupid games.”
His smirk faded. His expression grew serious, and his eyes darkened. “Fine. Let’s not waste time. I’m not interested in marrying you either.”
For a moment, relief flooded me. Then I clenched my fists, angry at myself for even caring what he thought. “Great. So why the hell are we even here?”
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair before leaning back against the counter, glancing at his watch like he was bored with the whole ordeal. “Here’s the deal. Three months. We get married, keep up appearances for our families, and then we’re done.”
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And what trap are you laying for me?”
