That morning, sunlight filtered gently through the grand dining room curtains. Rayden sat calmly in his chair, his posture straight, his gaze cool. Across the table, his mother stood with elegance—her silver hair styled impeccably as always. Her eyes pierced through him, loaded with unspoken pressure.
"Rayden," she began softly, though her voice already told him this wasn't a suggestion—this was a command disguised in silk. "You're thirty-two. It's time. Your father and I have everything arranged. All that's left is for you to accept the marriage and show up to the wedding. The Vlarka Secure family has agreed. Their daughter, Kayla—she's beautiful, sweet, well-mannered. I think she's the perfect match for someone as stiff as you."
Here we go again. Rayden resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Same pitch, same agenda. Marry the girl, merge the companies, wear the suit, smile for the camera. As if I'm some kind of product.
She paused to sip her favorite rosella tea, the sound deceptively peaceful.
"You do realize our family and theirs have been business partners for over fifteen years. This marriage would solidify that bond. What exactly are you waiting for, darling?"
He held his breath for a second. Her words stabbed into his morning like ice. "Mother," he said evenly, "I've told you before—I'm not ready. I need time to find someone I truly love."
Love? The word tasted foreign on his tongue. What a ridiculous concept. Love is a myth. A well-packaged fantasy sold to people too blind to see the truth—it's a transaction. Always has been.
His mother exhaled slowly. "Rayden, this isn't just about you. This is about our family. Kayla's family is the perfect match. Socially. Strategically."
Rayden's jaw tensed. Perfect match? She's perfect for the family image you built, not for me, plus you don't even know her.
If he heard Kayla's name one more time, he'd set the world on fire. At least she was honest about the real reason behind this wedding: business and public image. The Swiss & Wellington Group couldn't afford a scandal or a delay in succession.
He turned his gaze away, suppressing the storm rising in his chest. "I don't want to marry for status or corporate advantage, Mother. That's not the life I want."
His mother smiled thinly. Coldly. "One day, you'll understand. Life isn't about what we want. It's about what we need."
Then maybe I don't need this life at all. He didn't say it out loud, but the thought burned like acid in his throat.
He knew exactly what she meant. And frankly, he was tired of being told what to do. He had been following orders since he was a boy.
---
From the top floor of his office overlooking the city, Rayden stared blankly at the stacks of documents on his desk. He wasn't reading. Just staring.
They think I have everything—a name, a legacy, a future already written in gold. But what they don't see is the cage. The bars aren't iron, they're made of expectations. And I'm suffocating.
The echo of his mother's voice from the morning still rang in his ears.
"Rayden, you must get married. It's a requirement. Not just for the company, but for our future."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the sky as it slowly shifted colors. From a young age, he had known his life was never truly his.
Born with a purpose, shaped like a chess piece, and now being moved to the marriage square.
There was one ancient rule he couldn't escape—heir to the company could only take full CEO power after marriage. A condition from his old-fashioned grandfather that still held weight.
To make things worse, his cousin—who had just returned from Japan—was also eyeing the CEO seat of Swiss & Wellington Group. And with his wedding just two months away, Rayden was suddenly on a ticking clock.
He's not smarter. Not stronger. But he's engaged. That's all it takes now? A fiancée and a tux?
Still, even if this wasn't about love but about power, pressure, and legacy—he refused to marry someone who would become a burden later. So the selection had to be careful. Precise.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts.
His secretary, Brian—young, efficient, with looks nearly as sharp as his own—stepped in holding a thick folder. "Here is the list of candidates, Mr. Rayden."
Rayden took the file without a word and flipped through it. Page after page of perfection. Prestigious backgrounds. Ivy League degrees. Flawless reputations.
Not a single one stirred anything in him.
They don't want a husband. They want an empire. Or worse… they want love. He scoffed internally. And I have none to give.
"For today, you're scheduled to meet Miss Stephanie. Page nineteen. She'll be waiting at Café Jeju, 7 PM," Brian informed him.
"Okay," Rayden replied simply. No protest. No emotion.
---
That evening, Rayden stepped into the European-style café. Jazz music floated through the air, calming but not enough to ease the unease in his chest. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on a woman seated by the tall glass window.
Hair perfectly curled. Soft pink dress hugging her figure. To most people, she was stunning.
"Stephanie?" he greeted her flatly.
She stood with a gleam in her eyes, too eager. "I'm so glad we finally get to meet, Rayden!"
Let's get this over with.
For the next hour, Stephanie talked. And talked. About herself. About how admired she was. Her wealth. Her achievements. How she was, in her own words, "the ideal choice."
Rayden didn't respond. He only turned the ring on his index finger over and over—his only sign of discomfort and barely concealed irritation.
Then he saw her.
Through the café window, a woman passed by.
She didn't belong in this world of curated perfection. Her hair was messy. Her face pale. A small tote bag in her hand, and a plastic full of loaf bread on the other hand, her steps slow, lost. But her eyes… they were empty. As if she had nothing left.
And for some reason, he couldn't look away.
Before he knew it, Rayden stood up. "Let's end this meeting here. I have something to do."
His tone was cold. Stephanie didn't dare object.
He walked out of the café, following the girl with no direction. He didn't know why. He just couldn't look away.
She walked down the sidewalk aimlessly, for blocks, until she stopped at an old bridge barely lit by the fading afternoon light. The wind played with her hair, wild and unkempt.
And then, she climbed the railing.
Time froze.
Was she about to end her life?
Without thinking, Rayden moved fast, grabbing her wrist before she could fall.
"Hey," he said softly, "Are you trying to die?"
His voice was gentle. For the first time that day, he spoke not out of duty or expectation—but from a place of something deeper.