Alina scurried out of the cab in haste. Her chest heaved, each breath a sharp stab as her feet pounded the pavement. Her mind raced, a chaotic blur of missed appointments and looming deadlines. She was impossibly late.
"Hey, Miss! Where's my money?!" the cab driver exclaimed from his car. He quickly stepped out, his potbelly preceding him. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line of irritation and suspicion.
She paused on her feet in alarm and rushed back to the man. "I'm sorry, sir," she replied and kept fumbling with her old leather purse that her aunt had gifted her on her twentieth birthday. "Here," she pulled out some cash and handed it to the man, who frowned.
"Is everything okay, Miss? You look flustered." His eyes scanned the opulent facade of the 5-star Los Angeles hotel.
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he heard her murmur before she zapped away from him. He blinked in confusion and slowly headed back to his car, but not before giving the retreating figure a concerned look. He shook his head vehemently and stepped inside his car. He gets to see different types of passengers each day, but not one who's as absentminded as this young lady he picked up today.
"Good luck, Miss," he muttered and pulled away from there.
Alina stopped when she came face to face with the huge rotating glass door. She was in a hurry. Now, this door was good at making her extremely late. Her gaze flicked to her pink wristwatch, her heart plummeting. It was already 11:57 AM. Her appointment with the man was supposed to be at 10 o'clock, but she didn't know the hotel was so far from her residence.
Silently, she prayed for the man to still be in the hotel. What would happen if she found out that he left because she didn't arrive on time? No! That couldn't happen. He was her last resort, which had been perfectly arranged by her old father. She wouldn't allow his plan to go to waste. If the man happened to have left, she would chase him to the ends of the earth.
She took a huge gulp and carefully approached the door. She was scared of it. She had never had the chance to visit any building with a rotating door, so it was unfamiliar to her. Just as she was about to fetch her phone from her bag, a voice came from behind her.
"Are you alright?"
Alina turned to look at the man and quickly nodded. "Yes. It's just the door. I have—"
"—Ohh! The door. Please allow me," the middle-aged man dressed in a crisp navy blue suit said upon realization. Though he appeared to be in his sixties, his movements were sharp and gallant. His buzz cut, a salt-and-pepper mix of grey and faint brown, framed a sharp, intelligent face. The clouding scent of his expensive perfume almost knocked Alina off her feet. It must be very expensive, she thought.
The man then outstretched his hand. "Please hold onto me." Without further hesitation, she grabbed his hand tightly and gently joined him. Then the door was coming. It would probably smack her in the face. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes almost fell out from their sockets. How was it possible for some people not to get scared by this door? she thought in fear. Instead of the door slamming against her face as she had thought, the floor below rotated and poured them into the building.
Only once they were clear of the intimidating door did Alina realize she'd been holding her breath. Her frantic pulse began to steady, and she spun to face the man who had, quite literally, opened the way for her.
Before he realized what was coming, Alina gave him a ninety-degree bow.
"You're a lifesaver, Sir. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it," she thanked him, oblivious to the curious glances of onlookers.
"There's no need to be grateful. I'm glad I helped. Can I have your name, please?" he asked.
"Yes. It's Alina Gray," she replied instantly, and the man patted her back. For some reason, his hand was so soothing. Her frayed nerves relaxed, and the tightness in her throat eased.
"Nice to meet you, Alina. Now, rush on. You might be late," he replied.
Alina raised her head and smiled at the man. She gave him a curt nod and quickly rushed towards the reception area. Inside, the building was a symphony of white, from the painted walls to the polished marble floor. Huge silver chandeliers hung from the decked roof, illuminating every corner. The air conditioning, however, was so frigid it almost froze her to death.
"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with someone in this hotel," she said to the smiling woman dressed in a black suit and braided hair. Alina reached for her phone and quickly opened the email that was sent the previous night by an unknown sender.
"Uhmmm, top floor, penthouse." She looked at the woman again. This time, the woman behind the computer wasn't smiling.
"I think you've called the wrong room. There's no room number?" she questioned in doubt as she scanned Alina from head to waist which was blocked by the huge desk. She had seen the CEO of a famous petroleum company assist the girl into the hotel and exchange a brief word. Now, this.
Alina was taken aback by the sudden change in her tone. "I'm sorry? Are you suggesting I'm lying or perhaps I read it wrong?" she asked in annoyance. She was damn late, and all these time-delaying procedures were killing her.
"Give me the phone." The receptionist replied with a frown, and Alina quickly handed it to her. The woman looked at the phone with a slight frown on her face but didn't say a word. Alina appreciated that. Life had been so hard that she could barely afford clothes, let alone a mobile phone. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, and she realized that this wasn't a place for a mere girl like her. Everyone was either dressed in suits or expensive dresses.
But her—she glanced awkwardly at her clothes. She wore a faded top paired with blue jeans – her best outfit for important occasions. Her old sneakers had changed color from white to cream, and the strap of her leather bag, slung across her shoulder, was peeling. Her face burned bright red in shame, and she fidgeted with the counter edge, which was cool on her skin.
The receptionist typed something on her computer and quickly handed the phone back to her. "I'm sorry for the delay, please come with me," she apologized in surprise and curiosity but led the way nevertheless.
A message popped up on Alina's phone screen, and she quickly opened it. They stepped into the elevator while Alina's eyes remained glued to her phone. Her mother's health was worsening.
"If enough money is not sent to the hospital this week, I'm afraid your mother won't pass another week here," the doctor had told her.
"Can't you treat her while I work for the money? At least her health should be the most important, right?" Alina had asked in exhaustion and fear.
"I'm sorry, Miss Gray. There's nothing we can do."
"Miss?" the receptionist called her. Alina quickly snapped out of her grief.
"Please, this is where I leave you," the woman replied and gestured for Alina to step out of the elevator. "The first door on your left, he will see you there," she said with a small bow and stepped back into the elevator, which closed immediately.
Alina's grip on her phone tightened as she stared at the fancy, well-lit corridor with red carpet on the floor. This must be the penthouse. Ten more steps and she came to stand at the front of a door on her left. Her heart began racing again as she cautiously knocked on the door. No response came from the inside. Alina hesitated and looked from left to right. Was she in the right place? Just when she was about to knock again, it pulled open from the inside.
She blinked and carefully looked inside the room through the small space by the door. No one. Quite suspicious, she thought. "Hellooo?" she said loudly.
"It seems you're blind, and quite loud," a deep masculine voice filled the room as she stepped inside. It wasn't just a room. It was as if she were in an apartment. While checking out the penthouse, she was also looking for the owner of the voice.
Three white settees were elegantly placed to face the huge flat screen TV on the wall. Standing by the door, Alina could see the rack of books behind the couch, the huge TV, exotic furniture, and the open balcony. She could slightly see the couches which were opposite each other on the left and right, while the one in the middle had its back to her.
"Take off your filthy shoes," the voice commanded.
Alina quickly fumbled out of her sneakers while searching for the person talking. From his voice alone, she could tell he wasn't friendly. She turned and placed the shoes in a good position only for her to hear him speak again.
"It seems you can't wait to flaunt yourself at me. Please, turn your backside away from my sight!" he seethed.
Alina stood up in anger and was about to take a step when she paused. All the words she wanted to spurt out melted away like ice, and her legs turned to jelly. Her chest tightened in disbelief, and words refused to form on her lips. She just stood there like a statue as she gazed at the man before her. He just stood there with his lips pressed into a thin line while his face gave nothing away.
It seemed he had been sitting on the couch earlier. He wore a crisp white shirt, its sleeves neatly tucked into well-tailored black pants that accentuated his imposing height. His black hair was slightly ruffled as he stared at her from beneath his glasses. Alina swallowed and turned to look somewhere else, but her gaze only fell back on him.
"What happened to the pretty girl in the picture your father sent?" he asked without care and tilted his head, trying to weigh the difference between the one in front of him and the other in the picture. There was a slight difference.
Alina couldn't move her limbs. So this was the man her father had arranged for her? Seems he was filthy rich. No wonder her father told her to look presentable, but Alina always liked to wear what came to her mind. "Good afternoon. I'm sorry for being late and—"
"I'm still talking," he spat out in disgust. Alina felt like peeing her pants as his cold eyes bored invisible holes into her body.
He didn't need to say much, but he was unnerving her with the silence. He looked charismatic as he approached her. An air of confidence swirled around him, and an unsettling feeling washed over her.
He came to stand in front of her. His presence overshadowed hers. Alina felt small and suffocated, but she dared not look him in the eyes.
"Please, I need the money," she whispered in a low voice.
He took hold of her chin and pulled her face up to meet his grey eyes behind the glasses. "Did your father not tell you what I planned in exchange for the money?" he asked and smirked as he touched her face with a tilt of his head.
Alina's face turned green as if she had swallowed bile. Her father's company had gone bankrupt, and now they were feeding from hand to mouth. He was a useless father figure for all she cared about. She pushed his hand away from her face and glared at him. "Don't touch me, you idiot!" she voiced in anger.
He stepped back. All traces of amusement were now gone as he reached for his trouser pocket and brought out a kerchief. Alina watched in disbelief as he wiped his fingers that had touched her face. His movements were so fluid and graceful. Yet, Alina knew he was silently mocking her.
"It's Damian Thorn, and you're too filthy-looking for me," he replied coldly and turned away. "Leave."
"Wait! What??" Alina yelled in fear. Shock. Anxiety. Horror. Her mother's health was in a dire situation. He said she should leave? "No! I can't. I—I can't leave without the money," she swallowed her pride. She walked towards him, but he stopped her.
"Don't move."
"Please," she replied in a low voice as her eyes glistened. "My mother... she won't see another week if I don't find money for her surgery." She pleaded. Her tears were now falling like a broken dam. What had she not done for the money?
"I believe that if she dies, you won't have to worry about money. Isn't that right?" he questioned coldly and walked away from there.
Alina felt a ringing in her ears when he said that. Did he just say she should let her mother die? He returned with a brown envelope and threw it at her feet. She quivered beneath his glare, and the overwhelming urge to flee filled her head.
"You're a monster," she whispered and raised her head to glare at him, but it was nothing compared to his piercing cold one that nearly made her choke.
"That, I am. Why don't you become my wife? You'll get to see the monsters in me since they appall you so much. Oh, if you decide to become my wife, of course, you don't have a choice, do you?" he probed and smiled. He was deriving happiness from her miserable life.
Alina just stared speechlessly at him. Her eyes were hot and her tears kept flowing without stop. She quickly wiped her nose with the hem of her shirt while Damian watched, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"Really filthy," he replied. "Call the number on the envelope when you decide to be my wife. Now that you're leaving with the envelope, you can't say no. You can't return it back either. Literally, you're my wife from here henceforth."
He then stepped out of the room.