Hate At First Sight

I shrugged as I sank into the luxurious sofa facing the endless blue of the ocean. The sun was blazing, the view perfect—too perfect. Everything looked beautiful, yet my chest felt unbearably heavy. Today, I was going to meet my husband.A man I had never seen.A man whose name had been guarded like a state secret by my mother and my late father for years. All I knew were fragments—whispers about gratitude, honor, and my father’s heroism. Nothing concrete. Nothing human. Whenever I asked, my mother would only say, “This is the only way.” As if understanding didn’t matter. As if my life was already decided. I watched her nervously smooth the wrinkles from her red suit while we waited for Mrs. Darlington to come out. She looked hopeful. Excited, even. I, on the other hand, sat there in faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt—not out of rebellion, but because that was all I owned. I glanced at my mother again. The light in her eyes said everything. To her, this marriage meant freedom. An end to my father’s debts. A clean slate. To me, it felt like a death sentence. My dreams of becoming a professional dancer. My dreams of marrying someone I actually loved. All of it—gone. Sold to a man I didn’t know. The thought made my blood boil. “Lisa,” my mother said softly, but firmly, “don’t ruin things with that attitude. Today is a good day for you. Trust me.” She sounded hopeful. But all I heard was: Obey… or starve. —————————————————————— There she was. Mrs. Raya Darlington. Wife of David Darlington—the oil mogul, the man whose empire sprawled across Cape Town, founder of a dozen companies. She moved like a queen, every step measured, every glance commanding. When she entered the room, people either straightened their backs or instinctively lowered their eyes. My mother had never liked her. And yet… somehow, today, they looked like allies. “Oh, Mrs. Yasim…” she said, striding in, scenting the air with something sharp and rich—ylang-ylang mixed with guts, expensive and unapologetic. She hugged my mother, then cast a quick, appraising glance at me. A flicker of disappointment danced across her features. She tried to hide it, but it was there. Not that I wasn’t pretty—far from it. “So… this is the wife-to-be,” she said, scanning me with a wry grin. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Darlington,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “Oh, no, call me Mother,” she corrected, tilting her head with that effortless confidence that made you want to both obey and rebel at the same time. “Soon we’ll be family. All formalities… they’ll drop.” Her perfectly pearlescent nails glinted as she gestured, wrists heavy with gold and diamonds. She looked like a Scandinavian sun goddess lost in Africa—white, sun-kissed, untouchable. And it made her even more intimidating. “We have so much to fix… this,” she added, pointing at my messy bun, her grin sharp as a knife. “But before then, you’ll meet your husband. He’ll be down soon.” I nodded, keeping my calm on the outside. Inside, my chest was a drum, my stomach a storm. Panic clawed at me, but I couldn’t let it show. Not for me. But for my mother. There he was. Dressed in an all-black suit tailored to perfection, light green eyes locked on me like he was assessing damage. Broad shoulders, chiseled frame, towering over all three of us in the room. For a split second, my hatred wavered. I forced it back. The air shifted the moment he stepped in—oud and pure audacity flooding the space. His gaze swept over me, brows furrowing slightly, irritation flickering in his eyes. Like my plain white tee and jeans personally offended him. Like I was something inconvenient standing in his way. I, on the other hand, was frozen. “Isn’t that… Eli?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “How do you know?” his mother asked, surprised. “We go to the same university,” I said, the words tasting bitter. Of all people. THE Eli? The Eli of Crown University? The richest, most untouchable, most talked-about guy on campus? How had I never connected the dots? My friends and I literally had a group chat dedicated to hating him and his friends. Arrogant, entitled assholes—every last one of them. He shrugged casually. “I’ve never seen you before.” Of course he hadn’t. “Are you sure it’s the same school?” Mrs. Darlington asked my mother, disbelief laced in her tone. “That university is quite… selective.” “She’s on scholarship,” my mother replied calmly. “Your late husband arranged it.” Eli rolled his eyes. “Well, that explains it.” His mother shot him a warning look. He straightened, fake politeness snapping into place. “Nice to meet you, ma,” he said smoothly. Then his eyes landed back on me, sharp and cold. “And…” “Lisa,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. He shook my hand—brief, detached, like he couldn’t wait to let go. “Lisa,” he repeated, uninterested. Mrs. Darlington clapped her hands lightly, smiling. “Well then. Lisa, Eli. Eli, Lisa.” Her grin widened. “We have a wedding to plan. I’ll leave you two to… get to know each other.” She whispered the last part before both mothers exited the room. ————————————————————- The door shut. The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at him. I couldn’t believe it. He was the one. No one spoke. Maybe because we had too much to say. Maybe because one wrong word would set the entire house on fire. We sat on opposite ends of the massive white sofa, luxury pressing in from every angle. I let out a slow breath. He watched me for a moment too long. “Just so we’re clear,” I said finally, breaking the silence, “I don’t want to do this.” He scoffed. “Yeah, poor you. Forced to marry the richest heir in Cape Town. Someone call the authorities.” He lifted a metal bottle and took a long drink, wincing slightly. The smell told me everything. Everyone knew Eli Darlington drank. “Calm down, Mr. Arrogant,” I snapped. “Not everyone is desperate for your money.” “And yet here you are,” he replied smoothly. “Smiling at my mother. Trying to get to know me.” That did it. I stood up. “First of all, spoiled boy, I’m only here because of my mother. Not because of some proud, entitled daddy’s son who doesn’t even have the decency to treat a woman with respect.” He blinked. Clearly not used to being spoken to like that. “A woman?” He looked around exaggeratedly. “Where? Because she’s definitely not standing in front of me.” “Good,” I shot back. “Because you’re no gentleman either.” “I never claimed to be,” he said coolly. “And I certainly don’t find you attractive.” “Same!” I yelled, dropping back onto the sofa and folding my arms, refusing to look at him. “I can’t do this. I’m leaving.” I jumped to my feet. His hand closed around my wrist. “Wait,” he said. “You can’t.” “Yes, I can.” “No,” he replied quietly, almost tired. “It’s too late to pull out.” I stared at him. “You don’t know that.” “Believe me,” he said, taking another sip. “I’ve tried.” Something in his eyes—dark, frustrated—made my chest tighten. I yanked my hand free and walked toward the glass doors, staring out at the beach. The ocean looked endless. Free. He came to stand beside me. “Look,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know what you want. And I want the same thing.” I turned slowly. “What are you talking about?” “We give them what they want,” he continued. “We play along. Then we walk away.” My stomach twisted. “Explain.” “We get married. Stay married for three years. Then we divorce. Cleanly. I get my share. You get yours.” Rage burned through me. “You’re all the same,” I said sharply. “You use people. You hate me, but you need my help—and that just makes you hate me more.” “I could say the same about you,” he replied evenly. “Think about it.” He looked straight into my eyes. Before I could respond, the mothers burst back in, giddy and loud, already arguing about pastries and guest lists. My mind went blank. This boy had insulted me. Dismissed me. Looked at me like I was nothing. And I was supposed to marry him? No. There was no way. …Right?