Chapter Three - The First Meeting
1112 Words
Sally stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, adjusting the silver cuff bracelet on her wrist.
She didn’t want to look too eager. But she also didn’t want to look like the girl he once called a “dummy.”
Her dress was a deep ocean blue - same color with her eyes - off-shoulder with a slight flare just below her knees—three-quarter length, elegant, understated. She paired it with minimalist silver accessories and strappy heels. Her dark hair was slicked into a neat bun, not a strand out of place. Sophisticated. Controlled. Untouchable.
Exactly how she wanted to be.
She stepped away from the mirror and grabbed her phone. Her heart was pounding. Not because she dreaded this meeting—but because she couldn’t shake the lingering question that kept clawing at her since last night and throughout the whole day:
“What happened to his wife?”
She hadn’t asked her mother. Madeline would just tell her to shake it off.
She slipped her phone into her clutch and made her way down the stairs just as she heard the low purr of an engine outside.
A luxurious black SUV was parked in front of the house. A uniformed chauffeur stood by the rear door.
Sally froze near the bottom step. “Uh… Mom? Whose car is that?”
Madeline appeared from the living room, sipping from a delicate china teacup. “It’s for you.”
“For me?” Sally blinked. “That’s not the ride I ordered.”
Madeline arched her brow, unimpressed. “You wanted to arrive at your first public appearance with Dominic Harvey in a rideshare? Don’t be ridiculous. Go, save our family.”
Sally pressed her lips together and headed out the front door.
The driver opened the door for her. She gave him a quick nod, bent slightly, and slid in—
—and froze.
Dominic Harvey was already inside, legs crossed, fingers drumming casually on his knee, wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her entire outfit.
Her breath caught.
Her mind raced.
‘Do I yell? Do I kick him in his balls for humiliating me three years ago? Do I ask him why he agreed to marry me? Do I ask him about his late wife? Does he even remember me?’
Her heart thudded violently in her chest as she closed the door behind her, taking the seat opposite him. She didn’t say a word. It was just on the tip of her tongue - ‘How did your wife die?’
He stared at her, not blinking. His eyes scanned her like she was some sort of artifact on display.
Then, slowly, he tilted his head. “You enter someone’s car and don’t greet them?”
Sally kept her eyes on him, her face expressionless.
He smirked faintly. “Great. A woman with no manners.”
Still, she said nothing. Her head was still spinning, filled with imaginations of how his wife died.
His smirk grew. “I wish all the women in the world were always this quiet.”
Sally dug her fingernails into her palm.
“Okay, so we’re going to one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city,” he said coolly. “No cameras. No paparazzi. So don’t expect a show. We’re here to talk. That’s all.”
Sally stared out the window.
The car rolled forward, taking them deeper into the heart of the city. Neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, pulsing with unspoken accusations and unshed memories. Dominic didn’t look her way again, and she was grateful. Her thoughts were too loud. His presence, too suffocating.
They arrived at a towering marble building nestled on a private drive.
The chauffeur opened the door. Dominic stepped out first. Sally followed.
As they began walking toward the entrance, a voice rang out from the sidewalk.
“Sally!”
She froze.
She recognized that voice, that ancient source of comfort.
She turned, heart skipping.
It was Craig, - her boyfriend , or ex… she wasn't sure what they were now- corporately dressed with a coat on, behind the barrier rope, his eyes wide.
What is he doing here?
She immediately turned away like he hadn’t just called her name and followed Dominic through the doors.
Inside, the restaurant oozed wealth. Every surface gleamed. The scent of aged wine floated in the air.
A hostess led them to a private corner booth tucked beside an indoor water feature. They sat. Dominic didn’t wait for menus or wine.
Instead, he leaned back in his seat, one brow slightly raised. “Who was that?”
Sally didn’t look at him. “Not your business.”
His mouth twitched. “If we’re going to be married, I’d prefer we not keep secrets.”
She met his gaze now, her mind still fixed on his dead wife. “Mind spilling some of yours?”
Dominic’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he exhaled. “I really don't have time for this.”
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and placed it on the table.
“My lawyer was supposed to meet us today. He’s unavailable—some emergency. But we still need to set expectations. I figured we can draft our own rules for now.”
Sally watched as he clicked a pen open and began to write.
“No public arguments. No scandals. No third-party involvement. No discussing our arrangement with outsiders. Mandatory joint appearances when scheduled. And absolutely no uninvited guests at home. Understood?”
Sally stared at him, her expression unreadable.
He looked up. “Well? Do you have any you'd like to add?”
“Stay away from me.” She said, as she reached for her water glass.
He scoffed. “Charming.”
She dropped the glass, picked up her phone and unlocked it, refusing to acknowledge him further.
Dominic leaned closer. “Save the hostility for when we’re alone. In public, you’ll be the perfect wife. I’ll be the perfect husband. The world doesn’t get to know what we are behind closed doors.”
Then he stood. “I’ve sighted an acquaintance. I’ll be back in a moment.”
She didn’t respond.
He left, walking off toward a table near the windows where a group of older men greeted him like royalty.
Sally kept her expression neutral. Cold. Unbothered.
Then her phone buzzed.
A notification.
She clicked the banner and opened her message box.
A message from a strange number.
It read:
“Sally Thompson, leave that man if you don't want to be the next dead wife.”
- Writer
