đ Chapter Two
People Close to You Hurt You the Most / The Definition of Pain
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đ€ Scene 1: Rosa â The Blaire Mansion
I slipped into a sleek black outfitâthe fabric a silent tribute to everything I'd lost.
My mother. My belief in happy endings.
The version of me that thought love could fix broken things.
As I adjusted my collar, my thoughts drifted to Trisha.
Lately, she'd been my anchor in a rising tide of chaos.
I dialed her number. The familiar ring was a comfort.
We talked throughout the rideâlight sarcasm, soft laughs.
Nothing heavy. Just enough to keep me from falling apart.
But when the car pulled up to the Blaire mansion, I ended the call.
---
The house loomed like a memory I didn't want to revisit.
Beautiful on the outside. Brutal on the inside.
I stepped toward the doorâand paused.
Muffled voices leaked through the walls.
Patricia's voice, sharp and urgent:
> "We have to get it before she finds out."
Then my father's cold, careless tone:
> "Yes, but I hope that weakling didn't mention anything about it in the letter."
Patricia again, snapping:
> "Then we take the risk regardless."
I didn't need to know what it was.
The sound of their plotting was enough to light a fire in my chest.
I pushed the door open and stepped into the living room, calm and deliberate.
> "Wow⊠You guys are grieving too?" I said, voice laced with sarcasm.
Their matching white outfits and tacky mourning decorations made me sick.
Mr. Blaire didn't even look at me.
> "We need to finalize the marriage arrangements with the King family."
No emotion. No hesitation. Just business.
Erica chimed in, eyes narrowed:
> "Your mom sold you off. That's not loveâit's greed."
Her words landed like a slap.
But I didn't flinch.
I inhaled deeply, keeping my expression neutral.
> "Is that all?" I asked coolly.
> "Send me the details when you're done playing matchmaker. I need fresh airâmy dad's rotting from the inside."
I turned to leave.
But of course, he had one more barb.
> "You should hand over the company to your sister. She's more qualified."
That one stung.
Not because I cared about his opinion.
But because of how easily he erased me.
> "In your dreams," I muttered, pulling out my phone to book a ride.
Then Patricia's voice followed me like poison:
> "You don't have a choice."
I smirked as the app loaded.
> We'll see about that.
---
đ„ Scene 2: Bryant â The Hotel Suite
I wasn't the marrying type.
Never was. Never will be.
The call came mid-deal.
My phone buzzed on the mahogany desk, flashing the old man's name.
I let it ring.
When it hit voicemail, the message was cold:
> "Come back to Great Wall City. It's time for the marriage."
I didn't react.
Just poured a drinkâthe amber liquid swirling like a storm in a glass.
Outside, the city pulsed beneath me like a chessboard full of weak pieces.
Same noise. Same pretension.
Everyone pretending to matter.
They wanted me to marry some girl I'd never met.
A pawn to tame me.
Or fix the family image.
I didn't care which.
I don't play house.
I don't believe in love.
Never did.
Give a woman your heart, and you hand her the knife.
I've seen it.
Lived it.
---
I was seven. Maybe eight.
Crying.
Clinging to her leg.
> "Please don't leave me," I begged.
> "I'll be a good boy, I promise."
She peeled my fingers off like gum on her shoe.
I walked away.
Kissed the man in the car.
Drove off.
She never came back.
And I never begged again.
---
My phone buzzed again.
> "Come home. She's waiting."
I crushed the cigarette in the ashtray.
The fire hissed out.
I stood.
Whiskey untouched.
> Let's get this over with.
---
đ€ Scene 3: Rosa â The Kings' Mansion
I was in my room, struggling with my hair.
It had been ages since I cared about styling it.
Everything felt too heavy.
Then my phone rang.
Loud. Persistent. Unknown number.
I hesitated.
Curiosity won.
> "Hello?"
> "This is Mr. King on the line."
> "You there?"
> "Y-Yes⊠I'm here."
> "I'll send you a location. Be there by 4 PM. Don't be late."
The call ended.
Just like that.
---
Panic set in.
Clothes. Hair. Makeup.
What was I supposed to look like?
A grieving daughter or a bride-to-be?
After several failed outfits and an almost-breakdown, I called Trisha.
She picked up instantly.
Her suggestion: a sleek black slit gown.
Simple. Classy. Elegant.
And blackâbecause yes, I was still mourning.
I rushed into the shower.
The address wasn't close.
I couldn't risk showing up disheveled.
I wasn't going because I was excited.
I was going for my mother.
For her dying wish.
---
By 3:30 PM, I arrived at the Kings' mansion.
One word: breathtaking.
Glass panels. Carved pillars.
Old money in every corner.
At the gate, the guard asked for an invitation.
I didn't have one.
He looked at me like I was a scammer.
I showed him the text.
It didn't help.
Then came a sharply dressed butler.
> "She's the Old Master's guest," he said.
> "Let her in. Now."
The energy shifted.
I was ushered in like royalty.
Inside, Mr. King greeted me with warmth.
Unexpected.
He smiled like I was his long-lost granddaughter.
> "I didn't expect you to be this early."
> "I⊠didn't want to keep you waiting."
> "You're beautiful. Just like your mother."
His words hit like sunlight through clouds.
We talked.
Casually. Comfortably.
I forgot why I was nervous.
---
Then the atmosphere shifted.
> "The young master Bryant is here."
I froze.
And then I saw him.
Tall. Imposing.
Black suit. Sharp jaw.
Eyes like winter.
Bryant King.
No way.
My high school crush?
His hair was shorter.
His face, more chiseled.
He looked expensive. Dangerous. Devastating.
But it was his eyes.
Cold. Distant. Hollow.
He didn't look at me.
Just walked in and addressed his grandfather.
> "Here I am, old man."
> "Where are your manners?" Mr. King barked.
> "This is your fiancée. Behave yourself."
Bryant smirked.
> "You made that decision, not me."
The warmth died instantly.
> "Rosa, meet Bryant King."
> "I-It's nice to meet you," I said, forcing the words.
He sat opposite me.
Casual, like this was a board meeting.
But his gazeâquick, assessingâsnagged on mine.
My stomach dipped.
The cut of his jaw. The tilt of his head.
I'd seen it before.
His mouth curvedâslow, deliberate.
> "You."
Just one word.
And suddenly, the memory surged.
A dim hotel hallway.
A mask.
Cedarwood and rain.
A voice like velvet and venom.
My breath caught.
This wasn't just a marriage.
It was a warning.