Married To My Devilish Rival

Daphne Whitmore My mother had always been obsessed with my love life. Ever since I turned twenty-nine, finding me a husband had become her favorite new hobby. I force a laugh at another terrible joke from Bryce, my mother’s latest blind-date candidate. Apparently, she’s found a gentleman in the crowd she deems worthy of introducing to her spinster of a daughter. What made this worse was that my blind date was happening at my rival’s grandfather’s funeral. Yes. She was that desperate. I glance at my watch, my heels rapping against the floor like an impatient clock. “I had the opportunity to work with Mr. Carrington a few years back. He was a difficult man to impress,” Bryce says. I hum a response, eyes wandering around the church. Black suits and dresses cloud my vision. “He was one of the first people to take my company seriously.” My obvious lack of interest doesn’t stop Bryce. Instead,‌ he continues with the boring business talk. “You know he funded my company when I was just starting out?” “Really?” I drawl, my voice dripping with exaggerated interest. He nods, looking around the crowd, then back at me. “You know Tristan, right?” My body goes rigid. “What–who?” I’m a spluttering mess. Irritation simmers beneath my skin at the mere mention of his name. Tristan Carrington. My longtime academic rival and the most insufferable man I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing. We had spent our university years competing for everything, from examination scores to academic recognition. Neither of us knew how to lose, and neither wanted the other to win. He still gets under my skin to this very day. “Yes, Tristan Carrington.” Bryce’s voice snaps me from my daydream murder fantasy of a certain person. “Yeah, I do. Unfortunately.” Bryce chuckles lightly. “You two went to the same university, right?” I press my lips into a thin line. “We did.” “Your mother mentioned you two knew each other.” “Sadly,” I say. “That bad?” I open my mouth to reply, but I catch sight of a familiar head of tousled dark hair from the corner of my eyes. Right across the room. Speak of the devil. Tristan lifts his hand to shake hands with an older man, a hint of dark, sinful ink peeking out from his sleeves. The older man says something that makes him smile. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. As if he senses my glare, he turns in my direction. Our eyes meet. The noise of the church fades as we hold each other’s gaze, neither willing to look away. I feel my fingers tighten around my purse. Then, he tilts his head, his eyes shifting to Bryce. Something dark flickers in them. Something— “Daphne,” Bryce calls, snapping me out of whatever that was. “Yeah?” “I–I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me on Friday night?” My stomach gives an unpleasant twist. Friday night? No. Not Friday night. I quickly think of a lie. “I’m afraid Friday won’t work for me. I have a business dinner with a client,” I say, trying to sound apologetic. A wave of disappointment flashes over his face. “How about some other time?” I ask when I meet my mother’s disapproving glare. The corners of his lips lift. “Yeah–Yeah. That would be—” The shrill ringing of my phone in my hand cuts him off. Startled. I take a brief glance at the caller ID. Imani. I rise from my seat, nearly knocking into a guest. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” I let out a breath as the cold September breeze brushes against my face. Outside, the faint smell of damp earth and freshly cut grass hits me in the face. “You just saved me from a potential marriage.” Imani chuckles from the other end. “Well, well. You finally found the one true love.” I roll my eyes, kicking a rock with my pristine heels, before glancing around for any sign of press with their flashing cameras. “Now, are you going to tell me why you sabotaged my date?” I hear her rapt clicking on the keyboard halt then a sigh. “Mr. Patek is pulling out of the agreement.” What? This can’t be happening. Not with the launch date of Project Singapore looming ahead. “What do you mean by he is pulling out?” A chair scrapes the floor like she’s standing up from her seat. “He’s decided not to proceed with the investment.” We had spent months preparing for Project Singapore. Without Mr. Patek’s investment, funding the project ourselves would put unnecessary pressure on our existing operations. I run my fingers through my hair. “What’s his reason?” “Apparently, another company has presented him with a more promising investment opportunity, and he’s decided our project isn’t worth the risk.” He’s found another company? No company comes close to Whitmore Hotels except—No, it can’t be. “Find out who this company is.” “I already did.” “Tell me.” A pause. “Carrington & CO Enterprises.” I barely register the faint sound of footsteps trailing behind me. I’m too blinded by the rage blurring my vision. A familiar scent reaches me, rich leather, vetiver and a hint of soft musk. Oh, I know that scent. “Daffy.” My jaw tightens. Of course. Tristan Carrington. The only person who still had the audacity to call me that. I hated that nickname. I hated how easily he said it, as though nothing ever happened between us. Especially that night. The night before graduation. “Tristy,” I shoot back. His jaw twitches so subtle, I almost miss it. He hates when I call him that. But he doesn’t show it, instead, he gestures towards the church. “Tired of your date already?” His voice drips with mockery. “Not as tired as I am of seeing your face.” Of course, Tristan looks like he belongs on the front page of a magazine. It’s a fact I’ll keep to myself. He presses a hand to his chest, feigning offence. “And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see me.” A scoff slips past my lips. “Happy? Tristan, I’d rather spend another hour listening to my mother explain why I need a husband.” “Perhaps she’s simply waiting for the right man to come along. I could volunteer.” My gaze sharpens. “Try it and I’ll make sure you never walk again.” He looks amused instead. “Easy, Daffy. You sure know how to make a man feel special.” I fold my arms. “Speaking of men who have nothing better to do, why are you out here? Were you following me?” He slips a hand into his pocket. “I have better things to do than to follow you around.” “But I don’t see you leaving.” “Now, where’s the fun in that?” I stare at him. “God. You are genuinely insufferable.” “And yet, here you are, entertaining me.” I don’t have to look at him to know he has that stupid smirk on his face. He’s having so much fun with this. I take a slow breath, determined not to let him get to me. “I have better things to do than to stand here talking to you.” “Like finding another investor?” My expression stills. The smugness in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. I offer a tight smile. “Enjoy your little victory, Tristan. I hope Mr. Patek’s investment is worth the trouble.” “Daffy, it is worth the trouble.” “Good for you.” I turn before he can see how badly I want to wipe that smile off his face. “Daphne.” I stop, but I don’t look back. “Try not to let it ruin your evening.” I laugh once, without humour. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not important enough to ruin my evening.” It did ruin my evening.