FORCED TO BE WITH MR RIGHT

CHAPTER 6: The Performance

Nancy and I walked into the auditorium, already packed with students. The screen had that arrogant Greek god’s picture on it - and yes, he looked annoyingly good. I honestly didn’t care if he was some famous singer. I didn’t know him, and I wasn’t interested in knowing him.

“You know it’s your fault I’m here,” I muttered to Nancy, who was practically glowing with excitement.

“You’re the luckiest girl alive! Do you know what it means to be engaged to Reign Devan? The Reign Devan everyone would kill to just - see, smell, breathe…” Nancy gushed, hypnotized.

“You have no dignity,” I said, feeling disgusted.

The crowd erupted as he walked on stage, owning it like it was his kingdom. Arms folded, I scowled, not expecting much from his stupid performance.

And then he sang.

His voice - smooth, confident, ridiculously captivating - hit me like a punch. Every note made me grit my teeth. Every move made me want to scream. I refused to be impressed, because my anger and hatred for him didn’t let me enjoy the show. I forced myself to focus on something else—the lights, the stage, anything - but it was impossible.

Then the worst part happened.

Dancers appeared. See-through outfits. Flirty moves. Singing and performing alongside him. One, in particular, made me want to throw something - Krystal. She sang with him, flirted on stage, laughed like it was natural. Disgusting. Not jealousy - pure disgust.

“Who’s she?” I whispered to Nancy.

“Oh, that’s Krystal. Famous singer. I heard they had something going on… though they mostly perform together,” Nancy said.

I frowned, keeping my eyes glued to the stage. And then I felt it, his gaze. He was looking at me, teasing, smirking, that damn raised eyebrow. How did he even know I was here? I gave him my best “I’ll stab you” glare, and he smirked, continuing to perform like he dared me to do more than glare.

I wanted to look away. I really did. My stomach twisted, my pulse spiking. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. He was infuriating. And somehow, impossibly, magnetic. Every time he looked at me, every little smirk, every sharp note he sang - it was like he knew exactly how to push my buttons. I hated it. I hated him. And yet, I couldn’t stop noticing.

Nancy whispered something about how lucky I was, and I almost snapped at her, but I bit my tongue. I clenched my fists in my pockets, telling myself to focus, to remind myself I hated him, that this was all wrong, that he had no right to make me feel… this.

After the show, Nancy begged me to go backstage for an autograph. I didn’t want to, but she insisted.

“This is very annoying,” I muttered as we walked through the corridor.

“Everything is annoying to you. Just be cheerful. Be proud you know him,” she teased, nudging me lightly.

I opened my mouth to argue - and froze. He was right in front of me. Calm, confident, infuriatingly handsome. Like he had stepped out of some perfect fantasy. And I wanted to scream at him.

“What do you want?” I snapped, crossing my arms, glaring up at him.

“I see you enjoyed my show,” he said proudly, chest out, eyes glinting with that infuriating amusement.

“Enjoy? That stupid performance of yours? Do you know how disgusting your flirting was?” I hissed, already pissed.

“Watch your tone. If it was that bad, why are you backstage?”

“I came because my friend insisted! Not for you! And I find it stupid!” I spat, boiling with anger. Every word left my lips like fire.

He tilted his head, smirk widening, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Cute excuse. But newsflash - you’re not the only one upset about our parents’ decision. I don’t enjoy this any more than you do.”

“You know what? f**k you!” I yelled, storming off, not caring if Nancy followed. My heart pounded in my chest. My hands were trembling. My whole body screamed with frustration and rage.

And yet… even as I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel it. That ridiculous, infuriating pull. That little spark of irritation… and something else. Something that made me hate myself a little for noticing.

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. I didn’t look back. I refused to. But deep down, I knew it - this wasn’t just about a stupid stage show. This wasn’t even about the performance or Krystal or any of it.

Somehow, deep down, I knew this was just the beginning.

And somehow, I feared the worst wasn’t on stage - it was yet to come.