A cruel prankster with terrible timing. Because I was still paying the price. I couldn't manage to keep a boyfriend because the moment things grew intimate, my body locked up like a steel door. I flinched at the brush of fingers against my arm, pulled away from a hand on my waist. Every time, every single time, I remembered. I remembered what he did to me in that dark, empty classroom, with only the sounds of rain and thunder outside to bear witness. My chest tightened at the memory, my palms growing clammy against the couch fabric. I had tried to bury it for years, but here he was, breathing the same air as me, while I was still suffocating under the weight of it. And he? He was just living his life. As though nothing had happened.
"So," he said casually, breaking into my spiraling thoughts a few minutes later. "How do you like my cologne now? I changed into Dad's clothes." One hand disappeared into his pocket, the other cradled a glass of wine he swirled lazily.
I couldn't stand him. But one thing he hadn't realized, one thing he could never have prepared for, was that I wasn't that scared little girl from boarding school anymore. I had scars, yes, but I also had a spine.
I straightened my shoulders, forcing my voice to steady, even as my insides churned. "Still too strong," I said coolly, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. I let the silence stretch just long enough to sting before adding, "But I suppose it matches your personality—overpowering."
"Ouch," he said in mock pain, clutching his chest as if I'd just shot an arrow straight through his heart. The gesture was so dramatic I almost rolled my eyes, though part of me had to admit it was smooth, annoyingly charming. "She has claws," he added, the smirk sliding back onto his face. His gaze flicked toward his mother, throwing her a quick nod, a silent exchange I didn't quite understand.
"You won't like it for long," I muttered under my breath, so low I barely heard it myself.
His head tilted, sharp as a hawk's. "I didn't catch that…"
"Nothing….I need some air, excuse me!" I announced too brightly, too quickly. I pivoted on my heel.
I didn't know where I was headed; I just knew I needed to get away from him—away from the smug tilt of his mouth, away from the way my mother's eyes gleamed whenever she looked between us, as if she could already see wedding bells and grandchildren. My legs carried me almost of their own accord, pulling me down a stone path until I spotted it: a garden sprawling at the far side of the estate, glowing softly under lantern light.
The flowers were exquisite. And yet, even as the fragrances caressed my senses, I couldn't enjoy them. My chest was too tight. My mind too loud. The world too heavy.
Why didn't I find out who my parents were pairing me with before I agreed to it? The thought was sharp. I had said yes so quickly, so blindly, the very moment they told me that this marriage was the only solution to saving Wita—my father's beloved furniture company.
I saw my father's tired hands in every polished surface, his sweat in the carved edges of each chair, his blood in the long nights he spent away from home. He had poured his entire being into Wita. How could I possibly stand by and let it fail? How could I watch him crumble under the weight of failure after a lifetime of sacrifice?
But now the sacrifice was mine. Mine to carry. Mine to choke on.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I wandered deeper into the garden, gravel crunching beneath my shoes. Lantern light spilled gold across the flowers, turning their petals into fire.
I found a soft spot at the far edge of the garden, beneath an old maple whose branches bent low. The ground was carpeted with dry leaves and brittle grass, a mix of crunch and softness, nature's own cushion. I sprawled on the ground. The night air cooled my skin, teasing against my collarbones as I shut my eyes. My brain spun and spun, searching for a thread—any thread—that might lead me out of this mess.
I must have been lost in my thoughts longer than I realized, because when I finally opened my eyes, there he was. Junior. Standing over me. His silhouette was outlined by the lanterns, tall and annoyingly well-proportioned, as if the night itself was conspiring to make him look more appealing than he had any right to be. He crossed his arms, head tilted, that same damned smirk on his lips.
"So," he drawled. "What's on your mind? Let me guess—me?"
I sat up so quickly the leaves crunched in protest beneath me. Instinctively, I shifted away from him, dragging my dress with me as though it were some flimsy shield. "I can't marry you."
For the first time all evening, his smirk cracked. The grin slipped, leaving his face naked. "What?" His brows shot up, and he leaned forward slightly, as though he hadn't heard me correctly.
"You heard me." My toes curled inside my shoes, grounding me in the truth I was trying to speak aloud. "This—this is a terrible idea. I don't like you, and you clearly don't take anything seriously."
He stepped closer, his polished shoes crunching on the leaves. Each step made my pulse jump. I shifted further back, but my awkward position on the ground made me clumsy. I couldn't scramble far enough away to escape the space he seemed determined to close.
"I must say," he murmured, crouching slightly now, his eyes glinting, "this reaction is unusual." His gaze lingered on me. "Most women would do anything to be in your shoes."
I scoffed, throwing him a glare sharp enough to cut through his ego—though he seemed immune. "Then maybe you should marry them."