First Meeting
The morning felt colder than usual, and even though the sun was out, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
My aunt had insisted that I wear the white dress—the one I didn’t pick, the one I didn't feel comfortable in.
She had told me I had to look "presentable" and had forced a bit of makeup on my face, something I barely recognized when I looked in the mirror.
I didn’t understand why this was happening. Why my aunt had arranged this meeting. Why I was supposed to meet someone I didn’t even know.
The idea of marriage still didn’t make sense to me, but it had been made clear that this was what I was expected to do.
The doorbell rang around noon, and I knew it was time. My heart pounded in my chest, the beat loud in my ears as I walked downstairs.
My aunt, as usual, was already waiting, smiling like she was watching me walk to my doom.
Mayra Maverick (FL Aunt)
Go on. He’s waiting for you *smirks*
She said, her voice dripping with satisfaction, as if this was something I should be grateful for.
I stepped out of the mansion and saw the sleek black car parked in front of the driveway, its tinted windows reflecting the sunlight.
The driver, a man in a sharp suit, opened the door for me. He didn’t say anything, just nodded for me to get in.
I hesitated, my mind a swirl of questions I couldn’t answer.
Astria Rodrigues (FL)
(Who was I going to meet?)
Astria Rodrigues (FL)
(What was going to happen?)
I slid into the backseat of the car, the leather seat cool against my skin. The car smelled expensive, like a mixture of cologne and polished wood.
My fingers tightened around the edges of my white dress, unsure of what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to act.
The drive to the restaurant felt long. The city passed by in a blur of tall buildings and rushing cars, but none of it felt real.
It was all a dream I couldn’t wake up from. The world outside the window seemed far away, distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
Eventually, the car pulled up to a fancy restaurant—one I had seen only in pictures, a place where the rich and powerful ate, laughed, and made deals.
The driver opened the door for me, and I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sound of my heels echoing against the stone.
The restaurant was intimidating. Its grand entrance was flanked by tall marble columns, and the door was opened for me by a well-dressed man who didn’t even look at me as I walked inside.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly elegant. Soft golden light bathed everything, and the hum of conversations was drowned out by the sound of music playing softly in the background.
Waiters in black suits moved like shadows, carrying trays of food and drinks to the well-dressed guests at their tables.
A man sitting at a corner table, dressed in a dark suit. His posture was confident, almost too confident, as if he owned the place.
There was something about him that made me feel small, like I didn’t belong here.
He looked up as I approached, and his eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, it was like the world around us disappeared, and all I could see was the intensity in his gaze.
His expression was unreadable—no warmth, no kindness. Just cold calculation.
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