Chapter 1- Indecent Proposal under Coffee
806 Words
The café buzzed with low conversations, the clinking of cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine, but to Cruella, all of it faded into a muffled hum. The only sound that mattered was the heavy, suffocating silence stretching between them. She shouldn’t be here—shouldn’t have agreed to this coffee, this moment.
And yet, here she was.
Marcus Aurelius Saavedra sat across from her, exuding that maddening, effortless confidence. The kind that made her want to slap it off his face—or maybe kiss it. His black sleeveless tank clung to his sculpted frame, every sharp angle on full display, while his leather jacket hung lazily off one shoulder like it had been designed for him and him alone.
Of course, it had to be the iced Americano—the coldest drink possible—that he nursed, like her being here wasn’t slowly driving her insane.
His silver necklace caught the light as he toyed with it absentmindedly, his dark brown eyes fixed on her, half-lidded, calm... dangerous.
Cruella hated that he looked this good. Hated that her pulse betrayed her.
“I’m not trying to be an asshole here, Ella,” Marcus started, voice low, smooth. “But I’m hoping we’re on the same page.”
Her jaw clenched.
Ella.
No one called her that.
She wrapped her hands around her matcha latte, its warmth grounding her as she fought the urge to throw it in his face. “Not trying to be an asshole?” she echoed, a bitter laugh slipping out. “Aurelius, I’m not trying to be a b***h here, but seriously—what exactly do you want from me?”
She met his gaze, steel against steel.
“And don’t reprimand me for calling you Aurelius,” she added, tone sharp.
A beat of silence.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against his cup, an almost bored expression on his face—but the slight twitch of his jaw betrayed him.
“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he said flatly. “Well, act like one.”
Cruella blinked.
Then, she choked on her latte.
“What?” she hissed, coughing into her sleeve.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to save face.
“But there’s a rule,” he continued, sipping his drink like this was the most casual conversation in the world.
Of course, there was a rule.
“And what’s that? No hand-holding in public?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
His lips twitched. That damn smirk. “Never fall in love with me.”
The words hit her like ice water.
Cruella stared at him.
Blink.
Another blink.
And then she laughed—sharp, humorless, disbelieving. “You’re insane.”
Marcus didn’t react. Didn’t so much as twitch a brow.
“I’m serious,” he said, voice maddeningly calm.
“Of course you are,” she snapped, grabbing a napkin and crumpling it in her fist before chucking it at his face.
It bounced off his cheek.
He didn’t even blink.
“You just turned a casual hookup into a business deal,” she snarled, leaning in. “Are you always this arrogant, or is this a special occasion?”
He chuckled—deep, rough like it was dragged out of him.
“Don’t act like you’re innocent, Ella.”
Her entire body stiffened.
His gaze locked onto hers, dark, unreadable.
“We both know you aren’t.”
Her breath hitched.
Low blow.
“Excuse me?” she whispered, the word trembling with rage.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. “You heard me.”
She could feel the heat climbing up her neck—anger, humiliation, desire—all tangled in a mess she didn’t know how to untangle.
“You’re unbelievable,” she seethed.
He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the faint hint of his cologne—something dark and intoxicating.
“But you’re still here,” he murmured.
God, she hated him.
And maybe that was the problem.
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as she grabbed her bag.
“This proposal?” she said coldly. “Shove it up your ass.”
But Marcus just smirked.
“Liar,” he called after her.
She froze.
“Because if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t push me away,” he added, voice low, lethal.
Her fists clenched at her sides.
But she didn’t turn around.
She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
With one last breath, she stormed out, the bell above the door jingling violently behind her.
Marcus sat back, letting out a slow breath, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
His gaze flickered to her abandoned cup.
Her lipstick—deep red, like trouble—stained the rim.
His smirk faded into something darker.
“s**t,” he muttered.
He was in trouble.
Deep, deep trouble.
- Writer
