The Unwanted Marriage

Alice’s POV A polite smile lingered on my lips as Mr. Damian finished speaking, but my thoughts were already miles away. I was tired mentally, emotionally and all I wanted was to go home. He leaned forward, his voice calm yet firm. “I know it’s a lot to take in, Alice, and I’m sorry if this comes off as too forward. But I want you to think about your father’s medical bills, your rent. I could also offer you the position of Managing Director at my architectural firm.” Then came the words that struck me like a slap. “All I’m asking… is for you to marry my son.” My heart skipped a beat. I blinked at him, stunned for a moment, before quickly gathering my composure. “With all due respect, Mr. Damian, I don’t believe there’s anything more for us to discuss.” I stood, smoothing my skirt with trembling hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to take my leave now. It was nice seeing you, sir.” I offered a small bow the kind my mother had taught me, even when my pride was bruised. “And thank you for the dessert cake. It was lovely.” I walked out of the Damian mansion with a fury bubbling inside me, hot enough to burn through New York City. Once outside, I flung the half-eaten burrito I’d brought from home into the trash with a frustrated grunt. “Rich people,” I muttered, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye before it had the chance to fall. “So arrogant, so entitled.” I didn’t even realize when a tear escaped the corner of my eye. I wiped it quickly before anyone on the street could notice. The wind bit against my cheeks as I stormed away from the Damian mansion, every stomp on the pavement echoing the words he’d said. Marry his son? I wasn’t sure if I was more offended or shocked. Did I look like someone who would trade her future for comfort? For convenience? I dug out my phone with trembling fingers and hit the call button on the only person I needed to talk to Clara. “Hey babe,” her voice came through in seconds, warm and comforting like always. “I need coffee. And a therapist. Maybe a bottle of tequila too.” My voice cracked, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “That bad?” Clara asked, alarmed. “Worse,” I muttered. “Meet me at Brewed Magic in fifteen. I’m already on my way.” Fifteen minutes later, I pushed open the old wooden door of Brewed Magic, our favorite hideaway since college. The place hadn’t changed same fairy lights dancing across the ceiling, the same soft jazz humming in the background, and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and espresso wrapping around me like a hug. Clara was already seated in our favorite booth by the window, her honey-blonde curls bouncing as she waved me over. She’d ordered my go-to: hazelnut latte with extra whipped cream and a double chocolate croissant. “You look like you’ve been hit by a train,” she said, sliding the cup toward me. “Correction,” I replied, sinking into the seat. “I was emotionally run over by a billionaire train named Damian Senior.” Her eyes widened. “He made a move on you?” I laughed bitterly. “Worse. He asked me to marry his son.” She choked on her drink. “Wait..what?” I took a long sip before launching into the story about the coffee, the house, the ridiculous offer, and how I nearly lost my mind. Clara listened quietly, occasionally gasping, muttering a curse word, or narrowing her eyes like she was plotting a lawsuit. “That’s… insane,” she whispered once I was done. “What are you going to do?” I looked out the window, watching people stroll by as if the world hadn’t just flipped upside down for me. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “Part of me wants to scream. Part of me wants to laugh. But all of me knows I can’t say yes.” Clara nodded slowly. “You’re not going to. We’ll find another way for your dad’s bills. I’ve got some savings. You’ve got talent. We’ll figure it out.” Just as Clara reached out to squeeze my hand, the café door chimed. My eyes drifted toward the entrance pure reflex but then locked onto the man who stepped in. He was the kind of man who made the air shift when he entered. Tall, effortlessly confident, dark brown hair tousled like he’d just run a hand through it. A leather jacket, designer boots, and a swagger that screamed trouble. His eyes scanned the café lazily until they landed on me. I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the whipped cream sliding off my latte. “He’s coming over,” Clara muttered under her breath, already tense. “What? Why?” I whispered back. “Don’t look. Just… he’s heading this way.” Before I could respond, he was standing at our table. “You looked like you could use company,” he said, his voice smooth, cocky. “We don’t,” Clara snapped. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, his gaze lingered on me with an amused smirk. “You’ve got that look,” he continued, ignoring Clara completely. “Like someone just told you your life’s about to change.” I gave him a tight, forced smile. “That’s… none of your business.” He chuckled softly. “Maybe not. But a woman sitting alone with that look in her eyes? It’s hard to walk past.” “I’m not alone,” I said sharply. “And we’re having a private conversation.” “Then let’s make it less private,” he said, sliding into the booth beside me before either of us could react. Clara stood halfway up. “Seriously? Dude, take a hint.” “I just want to talk,” he said with a shrug, resting an arm along the back of the booth, his fingers inches from my shoulder. “Maybe get to know the woman behind those pretty eyes.” His hand grazed my arm. I stiffened. He smirked. That’s when I realized he wasn’t just flirting. He was testing boundaries. Pushing to see how far he could go. He is already pushing my patience. “Don’t touch me,” I warned, voice low but steady. But he didn’t listen. His fingers slid down my arm to my waist, bold and uninvited. I reacted without thinking. My hand flew up and struck his cheek with a sharp, echoing slap. The café went dead silent. Even the jazz music felt like it paused. He touched his face, the red mark already blooming across his cheek but instead of anger, he smiled. A slow, dangerous smile. “You’re going to regret that,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly cold. “Excuse me?” I narrowed my eyes, oh shut up, I only taught you how to respect boundaries dude. Now get the f**k out of here now. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing my ear. “You don’t even know who I am,” he whispered. “But you will. And when that day comes… you’ll wish you’d been nicer.” He stood slowly, adjusted his jacket, and walked out without a single glance back like he hadn’t just issued a threat but a promise. Clara exhaled shakily. “What the hell was that?” “I don’t know,” I whispered, still staring at the door. But something in my gut told me this wasn’t over. That wasn’t just some cocky stranger. Not by a long shot.