Marry me or not

When the coffee turns cold

Collins knew Edwin wouldn’t let things slide. He felt it in the way the city seemed to watch him, shadows stretching longer, footsteps echoing too close behind.

That night, as he walked Cassandra home, a black sedan pulled up at the curb. Two men stepped out, their coats heavy, their eyes colder than the January wind.

“Collins,” one said, voice flat. “Boss wants a word.”

Collins’s grin was gone. He shifted slightly, placing himself between Cassandra and the men. “Funny, I don’t feel like talking tonight.”

The taller man’s hand brushed his jacket — Cassandra didn’t need to see what was inside to know. Her breath caught.

Collins leaned closer to her, whispering, “Go inside. Lock the door.”

But Cassandra shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”

The men stepped forward, tension thick in the air. Cassandra’s heart pounded. She could run, pretend none of this was hers, let Collins face Edwin’s wrath alone. Or she could stand beside him, knowing it might cost her everything.

Her voice trembled, but it was steady enough. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me.”

The men hesitated, exchanging a glance. Collins’s eyes widened, half in shock, half in admiration. “Cassandra…”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not afraid.”

But she was. Terrified. Still, she knew Edwin’s fury wasn’t just about Collins. It was about her. And if she didn’t stand her ground now, she’d never escape the shadow of his control.

The sedan door opened, and Edwin himself stepped out, his presence heavier than the night air. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Cassandra,” he said, calm but dangerous. “You disappoint me.”

Her chest tightened. “I’m not yours to disappoint.”

Edwin’s gaze flicked to Collins, sharp as a blade. “You think you can protect her? You think you can stand against me?”

Collins straightened, his jaw set. “I don’t think. I know.”

For a moment, the street held its breath. Edwin’s men waited, the city lights flickered, and Cassandra felt the world tilt on the edge of violence.

Edwin stepped closer, his voice low, deliberate. “You’ve made your choice, Cassandra. And choices have consequences.”

He turned to his men. “Not tonight. But soon.”

The sedan door slammed, the engine roared, and the car disappeared into the dark.

Collins exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders. “He won’t stop,” he said quietly. “He’ll come again. Harder.”

Cassandra’s hand trembled as she reached for his. “Then we’ll face him together.”

Her words were brave, but inside, fear coiled tight. She knew Edwin wasn’t a man who gave up. And the war between coffee and tea — between command and choice — had only just begun.