The Marriage Clause

〘⚫Chapter Three⚪〙

Daria's POV

I drove without a destination.

That was probably the worst part.

I had left the house so quickly that I hadn't even thought about where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay there another minute.

My phone kept vibrating in the passenger seat.

Dad.

Then my mother.

Then my fiancé.

I didn't answer any of them.

I wasn't ready.

Not for another lecture from my father. Not for my mother's worried voice. And definitely not for him asking where I was.

I drove until the streets became unfamiliar, then pulled into a small café that was still open.

It wasn't fancy.

That was exactly what I wanted.

I walked inside, ordered coffee and chose a table near the window.

For the first few minutes, I just sat there.

No meetings.

No family.

No wedding.

Just me.

I picked up my phone.

Thirty-seven missed calls.

I sighed and locked it again.

“Great.”

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

I was tired.

Really tired.

Not physically.

Just tired of having to explain why I didn't want something that everyone else had already decided for me.

A chair scraped somewhere nearby.

I opened my eyes.

A man had taken the table a few seats away from mine.

Dark hair. Black coat. Phone in one hand, coffee in the other.

He didn't look at me.

Good.

I looked away again.

A few minutes passed.

Then I heard myself speak.

“Have you ever wanted to just disappear?”

The man looked up.

I immediately regretted it.

He glanced around the almost empty café before looking back at me.

“Sometimes.”

That was it.

I frowned.

“That's all?”

“You asked.”

I stared at him for a second.

Then I laughed.

It wasn't even that funny.

I was just tired.

“Fair enough.”

He went back to his phone.

I should have done the same.

Instead, I looked outside.

“My wedding is in six weeks.”

He didn't respond.

I looked at him.

Nothing.

“You're not going to say anything?”

He put his phone down.

“Do you want me to?”

“I don't know.”

“Then I won't.”

I stared at him.

“You're strange.”

“So I've been told.”

I smiled slightly.

Then I started talking.

I told him I didn't want the wedding.

That my father had arranged it.

That my mother was sick.

That everyone expected me to be grateful.

That the man I was supposed to marry wasn't someone I trusted anymore.

I didn't tell him every detail.

I didn't need to.

He didn't ask for them.

He just listened.

Sometimes he nodded.

Sometimes he took a sip of his coffee.

Once, his phone rang and he silenced it without even looking at the screen.

When I finally stopped talking, I felt embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize.”

“I don't usually tell strangers my problems.”

“Neither do I.”

I looked at him.

“Then why are you still sitting here?”

He shrugged.

“Coffee's good.”

I laughed again.

“You're terrible.”

“So I've heard.”

I looked down at my hands.

“I don't know what I'm going to do.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he asked, “You're going through with it?”

“I don't know.”

“You said you didn't want to.”

“I don't.”

“Then don't.”

I gave him a tired look.

“It's not that simple.”

“No?”

“My mother is sick.”

He nodded.

“And?”

“She wants to see me married.”

He understood.

At least, I think he did.

I looked at the clock.

11:32 p.m.

“I should go.”

I reached for my bag.

Then his voice stopped me.

“I need a wife.”

I turned around.

“What?”

He looked completely serious.

“I need a wife.”

I stared at him.

He continued calmly.

“You need an escape.”

I slowly sat back down.

“You're joking.”

“No.”

“You're asking a complete stranger to marry you?”

“I'm making a proposal.”

“That's worse.”

For the first time, I noticed the smallest hint of amusement on his face.

“You don't have to agree.”

I crossed my arms.

“And what exactly would this proposal involve?”

“A contract.”

I laughed.

“Of course.”

“You get out of your wedding. I get what I need. We stay out of each other's way.”

I studied him.

“You don't even know my name.”

He looked at me.

“Daria.”

I froze.

“How do you know that?”

He pointed toward my phone.

The screen was still lit from the last call.

Dad - Richard Vale.

I looked at him.

Then at my phone.

Right.

He continued, completely unfazed.

“And I'm Roman.”

Just Roman.

No surname.

No explanation.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Roman what?”

“Blackwell.”

My expression changed.

I knew that name.

Everyone knew that name.

Roman Blackwell.

Chairman of Blackwell Group.

One of the most powerful businessmen in the world.

And somehow, I had spent the last hour complaining about my life to him without even realizing who he was.

He picked up his coffee.

“So?”

I stared at him.

“I need time to think.”

“Take it.”

He stood.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“You're just leaving?”

“Yes.”

“After saying all that?”

He looked at me.

“You said you needed an escape. I gave you one.”

Then he walked away.

Just like that.

No pressure.

No convincing.

No asking for my number.

I sat there watching him leave.

And for the first time all night, I wondered if I'd just been handed the one thing I'd been looking for.

A way out.