Don't Touch The Bride

Chapter 2

Cheryl

It took me an agonizingly long time, not to mention some nerve-racking critical thinking, to decide between Physics and Applied Mathematics for my major.

Guess which one I chose?

Yes, Applied Mathematics.

I know, I know—I’m starting to regret it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m doing fine in all my courses, but now I can’t shake the feeling that choosing Physics would’ve given me the best of both worlds: an insight into both mathematics and physics. But then again, the decision is made. There’s no point dwelling on it.

I rubbed my sweaty palms together, hesitating before opening the email I’d received from Tonyhan. I had applied for an internship there this summer a week ago and sent a follow-up today. My portfolio had been impressive, but the nerves were still there. I guess that’s normal.

I tapped on my iPad screen, immediately closing my eyes, too scared to look. Slowly, I opened them, heart racing as I read through the message.

"Yes!"

I leapt up, my pulse pounding as I saw the acceptance. Excitement surged through me like an electric current, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline. I had worked so hard for this, and finally, it was paying off. Tonyhan was a prestigious company, and getting an internship there was a dream come true.

Still caught up in my excitement, I didn’t hear my stepsister push the door open. She strolled into my room like it was hers, a smug expression on her face. My smile quickly faltered.

“Your husband and his family are downstairs. Quit with the childish tantrums and get dressed,” she hissed.

I didn’t bother responding, too annoyed to waste my breath. She strutted out of my room without a second glance. Asshole. Why was she back for the summer of all times? She could have gone anywhere else!

Reality quickly slapped me in the face as I remembered the whole reason I had to get dressed in the first place: my upcoming nuptials. Did I just say nuptials? I felt old saying that. The familiar ache in my chest returned, though I’d never even met the man I was supposed to marry. Still, I knew it would be a disaster. I’d probably hate him just like I hated everyone else in my life.

Cheryl? Pfff… my name should’ve been "bad luck" instead. “Doom” would’ve fit better. That’s what my mom should’ve named me before dumping me on my dad, promising she’d return, but never did. My dad and his family had never loved me since I moved in at eight.

I was shocked when my dad relayed the depressing news that I was getting married, but not surprised. Marrying me off to some “old man,” as my dad had described him, was unexpected, though. Still, nothing with this family ever truly surprised me anymore.

I slipped into the only black dress that could be considered impressive. It was tight, but flattering, hugging my body in all the right places. I wanted to fix my messy hair, but who was I kidding? I wasn’t about to impress an old man. Just when I thought I had gotten somewhere, saving up enough to one day escape this place, life slapped me in the face with yet another unfortunate twist.

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for a pair of simple black heels. I didn’t usually care about looking presentable, but there was something humiliating about being paraded around like a prize for a man I didn’t even know. How much worse could things get?

I forced my irritated expression to soften and hurried down the stairs, hoping I wouldn’t get into trouble. When I reached the dining room, my dad, stepmom, and step-siblings were already seated. The atmosphere was tense, formal, and suffocating.

I gave a slight bow of greeting to the elderly Korean man sitting at the table, laughing with my dad. His suit was perfectly tailored, his posture exuding authority and elegance.

The only thing remotely comforting about this whole marriage was that my future husband was Korean. At least there was some cultural familiarity. The man at the table, despite looking younger than his age, still struck me as painfully old to be marrying someone my age.

“Annyeong, salang,” the Korean man greeted me warmly. (Hello dear)

I barely hesitated before replying, “Annyeonghaseyo, seonsaengnim.” I bowed slightly again, trying to sound respectful. (Hello, sir)

“Je ireumeun Anthony Han imnida,” he introduced himself with a smile, graceful despite the age gap between us. (My name is Anthony Han)

I stiffened slightly. Han? Why did that sound so familiar?

“Je ireumeun Cheryl Mills imnida,” I replied awkwardly, trying to pronounce the Korean words as correctly as I could. (My name is Cheryl Mills)

“Hahaha,” his laughter boomed, rich and deep, filling the room. “Coming from a girl raised in the US, that’s impressive. When your dad mentioned you were half Korean, I knew you were the perfect bride for my son,” he said, his smile widening.

His son?

Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, though the thought of marrying anyone was still unsettling.

“I don’t know why he isn’t here yet,” Mr. Han added before digging into his meal.

The conversation died there. He didn’t seem the type to talk much while eating. We all finished dinner, but Mr. Han’s son still hadn’t shown up. The tension in the air became more palpable, like everyone was waiting for something—or someone.

“Is your son ever going to show up?” my dad finally asked, breaking the silence.

Mr. Han sighed and pulled out his phone just as footsteps echoed in the hall. My heart stuttered in my chest, and I straightened instinctively, my fingers curling against my lap.

Whoever he was, he had to be better than the image I’d conjured in my mind—right?

My eyes snapped up just as a broad-shouldered figure, easily over six feet tall, entered the room. His long coat billowed slightly as he moved, his sharp features carved like stone. The crisp black suit fit him perfectly, emphasizing his strong frame. His presence was commanding—like a storm rolling into a quiet town, impossible to ignore.

“Ohh, there he is,” Mr. Han sighed, chuckling awkwardly.

I froze.

Is that him?

I barely registered the conversation around me as my pulse spiked. The air shifted, and suddenly, my previous assumptions shattered.

He wasn’t an old man.

He was drop-dead gorgeous.

I had prepared myself for the worst.

I wasn’t prepared for this.