Fake marriage, real love

FIONA Rain poured heavily over the streets of New York on a quiet night. Inside the small convenience store where I worked, the usual crowd had disappeared. The shelves stood neatly arranged beneath the dim fluorescent lights, and the only sound left was the steady tapping of rain against the glass windows. It was late, but I still had to finish my night shift before going home. A cold breeze slipped through the cracks of the old building, making me shiver. Thunder echoed across the sky, and outside, the streets had become slick and empty as the storm swallowed the noise of the city. A few moments later, I finished attending to the last customer of the night. I had always been the kind of person who avoided attention. I rarely made eye contact with customers, spoke only when necessary, and kept my head down to avoid any trouble with my boss. Remaining invisible was easier. As I counted the old woman's change, my eyes drifted toward the street outside. A man was walking under an umbrella with his little daughter. The child laughed happily while he held her hand, and for a brief moment, I found myself smiling as I watched them. I stared for too long. A soft tap on the counter pulled me back to reality. I looked up and realized the customer was waiting. “I'm sorry, ma’am,” I apologized quickly. I handed over her money. “Your change.” “Thank you, dear,” the old woman said with a kind smile. “Good night.” “Good night, ma’am.” After she left, I closed the register, removed my store uniform, switched off the lights, and stepped outside into the world. The rain had washed clean. The streets were silent. Water dripped from rooftops, and the smell of wet pavement filled the cool night air. The city felt strangely peaceful, as if all its usual chaos had been washed away by the storm. I walked slowly through the narrow streets leading to my neighborhood. When I reached an old building along the way, I stopped beneath a leaking roof and stretched out my hand, letting the drops of rain collect in my palm for no particular reason. It was a small habit I had developed over the years. A way to remind myself that some things in life could still be simple. After a while, I continued my walk home. But the peace disappeared the moment I reached our house. Two black cars were parked outside. They were expensive far too expensive for a neighborhood like ours. The cars were spotless, untouched by the rain. Their dark bodies reflected almost nothing, absorbing the surrounding light like shadows waiting in the night. They did not belong there. And somehow, I knew they had come for a reason. A terrible reason. My heartbeat quickened as I opened the small gate leading into the house. Before entering, I froze. Voices. There were people inside. I could hear my father speaking, but something about his voice was wrong. He sounded afraid. Broken. I pushed the door open immediately. The moment I stepped into the living room, silence took over. Several men dressed in black suits sat around the room. They looked too organized, too composed, like they had arrived for a meeting that had already been decided long before I came home. My eyes searched the room until they landed on my father. He was sitting nervously on the couch, his hands trembling. The moment he saw me, his expression changed. “Fiona,” he said quietly. “Father,” I greeted, walking closer to him while ignoring the surrounding strangers. Then my eyes stopped on the man sitting at the center of the room. He carried himself with a calm confidence that demanded attention. His suit looked like it had been made specifically for him. Every detail was perfect. And his presence was cold. The kind of cold that made the entire room feel smaller. His clothes probably cost more than everything my father and I owned. Then he looked at me. Not like he was seeing me for the first time. But like he had known me all along. I frowned and turned back to my father. “Father, who are these people?” My father swallowed. “Fiona… just listen to me first.” “Listen to what?” I snapped. “What is happening? Who are these people, and what do they want?” Before my father could answer, the man in the black suit spoke. “You’re later than I expected.” I turned sharply toward him. “I’m later than expected?” I laughed bitterly. “Listen to yourself. Do you even know me?” The man remained calm. “Sit.” I stared at him. “Excuse me?” “Sit.” I folded my arms. “I do not take orders from strangers. If you want to command someone, do it somewhere else. Not in my house.” The room became tense. The man leaned back in his chair as if he owned everything around him. “You will,” he said quietly. My eyes narrowed. “You will take orders from strangers.” “Here and now.” A chill ran down my spine. I turned to my father again. “Father…” My voice cracked. “What is going on? Tell me.” He refused to look at me. And that was when I knew something was truly wrong. “Father, look at me. What happened?” Before he could answer, one of the men stepped forward and placed a document on the table. The man in black spoke again. “This is why we are here.” “Good for you,” I replied sharply. I looked down at the paper. Then I looked back at him. Then back at the document. At first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Until my eyes landed on the name written in bold letters. FIONA HAYNES. My name. My blood ran cold.