Let Me Marry Him
1814 Words
Leyla's Pov
By my fourth visit, no one bothers to ask my name anymore. The secretary looks up, sees me, and looks away again. That’s it, recognition without courtesy. I stay standing too long while I pretend there’s another step in this exchange. But there isn’t.
When she glances at me again, her eyes do most of the talking.
A stripper.
The sister of the man who killed Raymond Vale.
I reek of cheap coffee that's been reheated many times. I look down at my shoes because it’s easier than meeting her eyes. Left sole's peeling so I press it back with my toe. Replace them, gotta replace them.
Patience left me days ago. Today is the last day before the hearing. If I don’t get to him now, my brother faces it alone.
“Mr. Vale is in a meeting,” she says nonchalantly, already reaching for something else.
“I’ll wait.”
“You’ve been told already,” she says. “There’s nothing you can do for your brother.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not here for advice.”
That makes her pause. She looks at me now deciding whether I’m worth the time or calling security. Finally she nods, and points toward the leather sofa.
As I wait, some men move up and down the hallway, most of which I recognise; prominent men in Woodsbury town. None of them are waiting for a miracle or have a brother whose life is balanced on someone else’s whim. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I check and it's an unsaved number:
Court hearing has been confirmed for tomorrow. The Judge refused for any extensions.
I close my eyes and clamp my fingers tightly around the phone until it hurts.
When another man exits Lucien Vale’s office, laughing softly as he buttons his jacket. I stand before I think better of it.
“I need five minutes,” I say.
The secretary’s head snaps up. “Wait your turn.”
“I just need him to know I’m here.”
“I'm sure he does,” she says flatly.
I pause.
“If he knows, then why am I still waiting?”
Her mouth tightens. She doesn’t answer anymore
I sit back and watch hours pass or minutes. I don't know, I'd stopped keeping track.
When the office door finally opens, it’s almost evening.
“Miss Blackwood,” the secretary says. “You may go in.”
My legs feel weak as I stand, stiff from sitting too long. The room tilts for a second before I get a grip of myself and walk in.
Lucien Vale sits behind his desk like a mini god chiseled to perfection, his posture exudes an air of effortless control. He isn’t surprised to see me, if anything, he looks… prepared. As if he knew I'd come back.
“You’re persistent,” he says.
“You know he didn't do it," the words rush out before I can put them well. “He’s my only brother.”
“I know nothing,” Lucien replies calmly. “And I sure didn’t ask.” The calm in his voice hurts more than anger could have.
I move closer to the desk. “You know the judge, the prosecutor. Even the mayor." I stop, my fingers curl at my sides as I swallow. “If you wanted this to stop...”
“If I wanted it to stop,” he interrupts, “it already would have.”
None of us speaks. The lights buzz overhead and somewhere below us a car horn blares, then fades.
He still doesn’t move.
I wait for him to, though deep down I know he wouldn't budge. So I do the one thing I swore I wouldn't, lower my pride.
“What do you want.”
Something in his eyes change; not desire, but something colder. He leans back slowly, the leather groaning softly as he takes his time, letting the moment stretch.
“Everything has a price, Miss Blackwood.”
My fingers curl tight, nails biting into my palm. “Name it.”
His eyes drop to my mouth for a second. Long enough to be deliberate.
“Marry me.”
The words make my stomach grumble. I didn’t even know when my ugly laugh slips out of me. Alora has always told me how bad it sounds, but I can’t help it right now.
“You’re kidding.”
I wait for the punchline, maybe he'll smile and say 'gotcha'. Anything, but he doesn’t move or smile. “You have women lining up for you," I say. "Models. Heiresses. Women who...”
“I don’t want them,” he says calmly. “It’s you I want.”
My heart beats faster. “Why?”
“Because you’re desperate,” he replies. “And I like that.”
My breath hitches as a memory suddenly plays in my head, uninvited.
In this very office, same polished wood, and scent of leather.
His low, sensual voice. My waist remembers his grip before my mind even processes it. No kisses or tenderness. Just the sharp, efficient weight of him. His hands moved under my dress like they knew exactly what to do.
“Look at me and show me how much you love being f****d by me.” he said.
I did. And that was when I lost whatever resistance I thought I had. He watched my face the entire time, not my body. Like he was tracking the exact moment my resistance turned into something else.
After, the shame came later. It was very heavy and unavoidable. I hated myself for how easily I’d let it happen and how much of myself I’d left behind in this room.
I let out a sharp breath as I return to the present. “That doesn’t explain why," my voice is barely a whisper, goosebumps breaking over my skin.
He rises and paces the room. “With everything that’s happened,” he says, gesturing vaguely as his father’s murder hangs unspoken between us. “I’ve been forced to make decisions for the company’s stability. I need a wife. An heir.”
He stops and looks at me. “It hasn’t been easy finding someone who fits… my tastes.” A pause. “But you already know what it’s like to be with me.”
His voice drops. “And you came back.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Maybe,” he agrees calmly. “But you did.”
The truth of it actually burns.
“Why would you think I’d ever agree to this?”
“Because your brother is counting days. And I'm sure you understand that survival isn’t clean.”
My chest tightens. “For how long?”
He rises, slowly, closing the distance just enough for me to feel his presence, the scent of this cologne. “Twenty-four months.”
“That’s not a marriage," I whisper. "That’s a sentence.”
“Think of it as a contract,” he slides a folder across the desk. “You live where I tell you. Appear when required. You do not embarrass me. You do not fall in love.”
“And my brother?” I ask, as I open the folder.
Lucien meets my eyes with all seriousness. “He walks free.”
The room spins.
As I stand there shaking, I realize something horrible.
He isn’t threatening me. He’s offering mercy.
“I need time,” I whisper.
“You have until tomorrow.”
*****
Alora doesn’t let me finish. She sits on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted into the sheets, and tense shoulders like she's bracing for impact. When I say Lucien Vale’s name, something moves through her eyes.
“You can’t do it,” I say hoarsely. “I won’t let you.”
She exhales slowly. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
She looks at me properly now. And for the first time in a long time, she doesn't feel like my twin. She feels older and closed off. Like someone who learned things alone.
“I knew him,” she says.
“Knew him how?”
She hesitates long enough that I already don’t like the answer. “A long time ago. Before he became... this.”
I shake my head. “No. When? How would I not know?”
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Nine years ago,” she says quietly. “When you were away at school.”
The room feels too small all of a sudden.
"Wait...," I think I remember something, but I need to be sure. "Was he the Mr. Anonymous you'd always talk to me about, all giggly on the phone?"
She nods.
"Ouuuu, Alora." I say, reaching for her hand. "You loved him. You talked so much about him then, I began to envy you."
She chuckles.
"But he broke me. In a slow and subtle way. The way men like him do. And he told me that if I ever spoke about what happened, there'd be consequences.”
I stare at her and swallow hard. “Then why would you want to go back...”
“He’s not marrying you because he wants a wife,” she cuts in. “He’s marrying you because he wants control, and if it's the Lucien I know, he needs something from you.”
I don’t answer.
“And right now,” she continues, “you’re exactly what he expects. You're desperate, cornered and willing for anything.”
“So what?” I snap. “We let our brother rot?”
She turns to me with steady eyes. “No. We use this,” she says. “But not you.”
My chest tightens. “What are you saying?”
“Let me marry him.”
The words knock the air out of me. “No. Absolutely not.”
“He already knows how to control you,” she says gently. “He thinks he owns you.”
“And you think he won’t do the same to you?”
She shakes her head. “Because I know where he’s careless. I know what he hides. And I know what he never forgave.”
Her jaw tightens.
“I’ll get what he’s protecting. And when the contract ends...”
She doesn’t smile. “He won’t be the only one hurt.”
My throat burns. “You know what that means,” I say quietly.
“I do.”
There’s no bravado in it. No denial.
“I’m not doing this for him,” she says. “I’m doing it so you survive. So our brother does.”
I close my eyes, but the room doesn’t soften.
When I speak, it’s barely a whisper.
“Fine.”
I open my eyes and look at her. “Then we do it together.”
- Writer
