Fortuitous: When Fate Brings Us Together

Chapter 3

11 Years Later

An air of sophistication hung over the grand living room of the mansion, where crystal chandeliers cast a warm, inviting glow on the polished marble floors.

Riona Garcia and her friends were sprawled on plush velvet couches, surrounded by the trappings of wealth. Magazines, half-eaten bags of chips, and designer handbags were scattered around them in a tableau of casual luxury.

"Oh wow, he is so handsome!" one girl exclaimed, flipping through a glossy magazine. She leaned forward, her eyes wide with admiration. The page was a testament to elite society, showcasing a man who seemed to have it all.

"Damn, how can someone be that rich and good-looking at the same time?" the other girl chimed in, her voice a mix of awe and envy. Her fingers traced the sharp lines of the man’s jaw on the page, as if trying to feel the perfection of his features.

Suddenly, a flash of motion—a blonde-haired girl with a bag of chips in hand snatched the magazine from them. Her hair, pulled back in a sleek ponytail, shimmered under the soft lights of the room.

"What are you two drooling over?" Riona Garcia asked, glancing at the page with mild disinterest. She was used to seeing such figures in magazines and on television, a regular part of her world. It wasn't until her eyes caught the headline that her nonchalance faded. She read it aloud, "'The Heir of Majestic Holdings Will Be Announced Soon.'"

"Wow, I can't wait to see who will take over the company! I mean, the chairman himself is so good-looking; just imagine what his son must look like!" one of Riona's friends said dreamily.

Riona, with her striking hazel eyes and sharp features, stared at the magazine for a moment, a thoughtful glint in her eyes. Her mind, always a few steps ahead, was already calculating the possibilities. She tossed the magazine back onto the desk with a dramatic flick of her wrist, the sound a soft thud on the wood. Then, with a smirk that was part confidence and part a playful challenge, she said, "I'd love to marry his son! But he's way out of my league."

"What if he turns out to be ugly?" her friend teased, raising an eyebrow. She knew Riona well enough to know that for her, looks were secondary to something far more substantial.

Riona waved her hand dismissively. "Who cares? As long as he's rich, that's all that matters." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were stating a universal truth.

"Riona, you're such a gold digger," the girl who had originally held the magazine teased, shaking her head with a laugh. She wasn't judging, just acknowledging a part of Riona's personality that was as well-defined as her features.

With a sly grin, Riona responded, "Of course money matters. Money is the most important thing in any relationship. If a guy has money, no girl will leave him. If he's poor, he won't be able to fulfill his partner or family's needs, and that's where the problems start." She spoke with a conviction that came from a lifetime of observation, a worldview shaped by the world she lived in.

"Really?" A smooth, confident voice came from behind them, cutting through the light-hearted banter. "I think love plays the most important role in a relationship. If two people love each other, they'll stick together, rich or poor."

Riona recognized the voice immediately. Her smile vanished, replaced by a familiar irritation. She turned to find a tall, handsome boy with chestnut-brown hair and sharp hazel eyes standing behind her with a calm but serious expression. His casual but polished look made him stand out in the room, the designer clothes he wore reflecting the wealth of their surroundings. Annoyed, she crossed her arms. "What are you doing here, mother's pet? Don't you know this is my friend's party?" The insult was a well-worn one, a jab she knew would hit its mark.

Ethan, looking unimpressed by her insult, replied evenly, "Riona Wells," Ethan said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Dad's been calling you, and you haven't answered his single call, so he sent me here to bring you home. He says he needs to talk to you about something important."

"First of all, it's Riona Garcia, not Wells," she corrected sharply, her glare hardening. The name was a point of contention between them, a symbol of the line she desperately wanted to draw. "And second, why should I go with you? You're just a stranger to me."

"I'm your brother, Ri—" Ethan started to say, his voice strained with frustration. He was tired of this argument, but he held on to a sliver of hope that one day she would see him differently. Riona cut him off mid-sentence.

"Don't you dare say that again! You're no one to me, Ethan Wells. We're not even real siblings, and plus, I hate you so much, so don't even try," Riona snapped, her voice venomous, a stark contrast to the lighthearted tone she had just used with her friends. "And about Dad, I'll talk to him when I feel like it. Now get lost, you nerdy b*tch!"

Ethan let out a resigned sigh and said nothing more. The words hurt, but they were not new. He had been hearing them for years, each time a new cut, but he had learned to internalize the pain. He just turned and walked away quietly, the tension in the air thickening with unspoken emotions, the silence louder than any argument could have been.

____________

In Boston, Massachusetts

Across the country, in a different mansion that was just as grand but exuded a different kind of warmth, a similar kind of emotional struggle was playing out.

"He really hates me so much," a girl with dark, silky hair and large brown eyes pouted as she sat on the edge of the couch, her surroundings filled with rich colors and warm textures, from the velvet cushions to the intricate patterns on the Persian rug. The room felt like a hug, but the girl, Emma Martin, felt anything but comforted.

Miss Nora, a warm-looking woman in her 50s with a gentle smile, looked over at her with concern. Her hands, worn from a lifetime of caring for the household and its inhabitants, reached out to pat Emma's. "Emmy, what happened this time? Did young master say something again?"

The girl, Emma Martin, fiddled with her fingers, her gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. "You know how much he ignores me, Miss Nora, and it hurts. Yesterday, I asked him, 'Ryan, are you free tomorrow? Let's go shopping together.' But he just said, 'No, I'm busy,' without even looking my way. And now look—he's free and at home, just lying in his room doing nothing!" Her voice was a mixture of frustration and genuine sadness. She craved the connection he withheld.

Miss Nora smiled softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with understanding. She had seen this play out many times before. "Don't lose hope, Emma dear. One day, I believe he'll accept you as his sister. Just be patient... Oh, can you take this to him?" She handed Emma a tray with a cup of coffee, the aroma of freshly brewed beans filling the air, a small peace offering in their ongoing war of attrition.

"To Ryan?" Emma asked, brown eyes widening with excitement. A chance, no matter how small, was a chance she would take. "Okay, I'll bring it to him right away!" She bounced off the couch, her spirits lifting slightly, and headed toward the stairs that led to the opulent second floor of their grand family estate.

Emma stood outside Ryan's door, on the first floor of their grand family estate, She hesitated for a moment, her heart thumping a nervous rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep breath before knocking gently. She heard his deep voice from inside. "Come in." The command was terse, and she opened the door with a sense of trepidation.

Opening the door, Emma found Ryan sprawled on his bed, his right arm resting on his forehead, eyes closed. His tousled dark hair and chiseled jawline made him look effortlessly handsome, but his usual stern expression gave him an air of distance. The room was neat, minimalist, a reflection of his personality—no frills, no warmth.

Emma couldn't help but think,

‘He's so handsome... just like me. Wait, no, I mean beautiful!’

The thought was so quick and innocent, a fleeting moment of self-love and admiration for him.

Before she could say anything, Ryan spoke, his eyes still closed. "Miss Nora, just leave the cup on the table and go." He hadn't even opened his eyes, yet he knew who it was. The automatic assumption felt like a slap.

Emma cleared her throat nervously and spoke, "It's me."

Ryan's eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice, his sharp blue gaze locking onto her. The warmth of his room seemed to drop by ten degrees. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled, sitting up quickly, the sheets rustling with the sudden movement. His body language was defensive, a wall she had no hope of scaling.

"I... I brought coffee for you," Emma stammered, holding up the tray, the porcelain rattling slightly in her trembling hands.

"GET OUT!" Ryan barked, the sound echoing in the silent room, making Emma flinch, startled by his sudden outburst.

"But I—"

Without another word, Ryan grabbed Emma by the arm, his grip firm and unyielding, and pushed her out of his room. "Don't you ever come into my room again!" he snapped, his voice a low, dangerous growl, before slamming the door in her face. The sound was final, a punctuation mark on their conversation.

Tears welled up in Emma's eyes as she stood there, heartbroken. Why do you hate me so much? she thought, wiping away the tears, her heart heavy in the silence of the grand hallway.

_______________

On the other hand (On Call)

At the same time, miles away, a different kind of drama was unfolding, a plot being hatched that would soon entangle both Rayan and Riona's lives.

Mr. Martin and Mr. Wells were planning something, their conversation as deliberate and calculating as a chess match.

"Have you talked to your daughter yet?" Mr. Martin asked over the phone, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

"Not yet. She's at her friend's house. I sent Ethan to bring her back, but you know they don't get along well," Mr. Wells replied, his tone cautious. He was walking a tightrope, trying to keep everyone happy while moving forward with a plan he was not entirely comfortable with.

"When are you going to tell her about the wedding with my son?" Mr. Martin asked, his tone firm. He wasn't one for beating around the bush.

"I'll tell her soon, but isn't it a bit early? She's still in her teens," Mr. Wells hesitated, his mind racing with the implications. "But don't worry, I'll tell her tonight, as promised. Have you talked to Ryan about it?"

"No, Not yet. As you know My son is strong-willed," Mr. Martin explained. He knew his son's personality better than anyone. "If I tell him directly, he'll reject it. So, here's the plan—Riona will come to Boston for her university studies, and she'll live in our house. She has to earn Ryan's trust herself. That way, he'll think it was his idea to marry her." The plan was complex, a masterpiece of manipulation.

"Ah, so I should tell Riona about Ryan. It'll make things easier. I'm sure she'll like him. I mean, your son is very handsome. But there's one problem," Mr. Wells said cautiously. The problem was his own son, a boy who saw through every lie. "My son, Ethan, is smart. And he won't agree to this plan. I don't want him to know about this plan either."

"Then just don't tell him," Mr. Martin replied, his confidence unwavering. He saw no reason to complicate matters.

"Easier said than done," Mr. Wells sighed, the weight of their agreement settling in. "He's sharp. If I say Riona's going to Boston for university, he'll ask too many questions."

"Just tell him the university is better there," Mr. Martin suggested, his tone still firm.

"Then he'll say, 'Oh, so you want her to have better education but not me?' Typical Ethan. He's too perceptive. He'll see right through it." Mr. Wells replied, anxiety creeping into his voice. Ethan's love for his family was both a blessing and a curse.

"Then send him, too," Mr. Martin suggested. "I can get them both into the same university, but remember that they need to be here in 16 days before classes start."

"Alright, I'll talk to them tonight and make sure it happens," Mr. Wells agreed, the gravity of the situation hanging heavily in the air. The decision was made, the pieces were in motion, and all he had to do was set the stage.

"Good, that's what I like to hear," Mr. Martin said before hanging up. The call ended, but the true story was just beginning.

To Be Continued...