HOLLOW NIGHT: FATED TO THE WRONG BROTHER

CHAPTER 1: MARRY ME

“Marry me,” he said, just like that. No hello, no warning.

I flinched and dropped the vase I was arranging, watching roses scatter across the counter like they were fleeing the awkwardness.

I laughed, the nervous kind. “Stop joking.”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t even blink. Just stared, like I was a meal he wanted to devour.

“Marry me. Tomorrow.”

Not will you. Not please. Just..marry me tomorrow. Like he was asking me to water the plants or pass the salt.

I blinked at him. “Why all of a sudden? I mean, yeah, we’ve been talking.. a lot..." I dragged.

"And what about the girl you've been buying all those flowers for?” I murmured, too quickly like I was dodging a slap.

Silence. He just stared at me with this intense look , like I was speaking alien and he forgot how to translate.

“Okay... well, marriage is a lot. We could, I don’t know, date first?” I offered, because sanity.

His brown eyes like melted chocolate locked on mine. Then he turned slightly, about to walk away.

“Suit yourself.”

Like that was it. Like I was the crazy one here.

“I’ll marry you!” I blurted out, louder than I meant to. A few heads turned. Fantastic.

“But maybe... next week?” I added, trying to smile through the internal panic party I was throwing in my brain.

He didn’t flinch. “Tomorrow.”

Firm, final, non-negotiable.

“I’ll send people to you. Be ready.”

Then he walked away. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just drop a grenade at the middle of a flower shop.

I stared after him, letting out a dry confused laugh. Then I pinched my arm. Yep. Fully awake. Not dreaming.

Hi. I’m Lunarr—yeah, with the extra “r.” Don’t ask me why it's there, my mom added it and I don't know why. Maybe to make it sound cosmic.

I just turned eighteen yesterday.

My dad’s name is Elias Rowen, the most patient man alive.

My mom? Celeste Elarwyn Rowen. Yeah, she kept her maiden name.

We just moved to Harlyn Ridge, a hauntingly beautiful town so small the entire population could fit in one group chat—450 people, give or take a few conspiracy theorists. It’s mostly dry, randomly hot, and has the kind of quiet that makes you feel like someone’s always watching, but like in a ghostly, old-town horror film way. Not the cute Hallmark kind.

Grandma used to live here. She died a year ago. We moved here after Grandma died. Mom said we’d “just stay for a little while.” That was a year ago.

She inherited Grandma’s flower shop that has been around since forever. Grandma raised her alone with the income from those flowers, her dad died when she was younger, so yeah, Mom’s got stories.

I now basically run the shop because Mom always has some mysterious “thing” to do around the house. Cooking, organizing, rearranging the same shelf seventeen times.

Dad’s the chilliest man you’ll ever meet. The kind of man who'd rather fold laundry than raise his voice. Sometimes I look at them like a puzzle that fits so perfectly because Mom is anything but chill.

Mom and dad met right here in Harlyn Ridge when she was seventeen and he was on a business trip. Ten years apart. One kiss later, they got married when she turned eighteen and moved to a small town called Minaj in Rosefield, California. That’s where I was born and raised...until we came back here.

I just graduated high school and I’m waiting on college, but until then, I’m stuck in this flower shop which is fine. It’s peaceful. And romantic, sometimes. And it helps me connect with a lot different people.

One has always stood out.

It was nothing cinematic, no slow motion, no butterflies but it was instant.

Tall, handsome, eyes like midnight, walks like his daddy owned the town. He was on this black T-shirts when I first saw him, tucked in like he had a business or a wedding proposal. His hair? Neat, styled like perfection was the bare minimum. His voice? Gentle and soft. Melt-your-bones kind of gentle.

He was always polite when asking for flowers. Our hands brushed once when I gave him his balance and I swear I felt heat. Like actual warmth radiating from him.

Every week since then, he's bought flowers at least once. Never said much, never stayed long but always long enough to make me imagine scenarios of a forever. One time, he asked how I was. Another, he complimented my dress. Then came the day he told me I looked pretty.

Yesterday, he wished me a happy birthday after he heard my mom telling another customer. He even paid for an extra flower—"a gift," he said.

And just like that, my little crush kept growing. My little hopeless heart grew worse. Quietly, steadily, but nothing dramatic.

But today?

Today, the earth stood still.

He showed up and everything in me stilled, except the butterflies in my stomach and the tap dance my heart was doing.

He was different. Too different. This time, he didn’t walk like daddy owned the town, he walked like he owned the whole damn planet. His eyes used to be black. Now, they're this hauntingly, unnaturally cursed kind of brown–warm but wrong and not in a bad way, just the unexpected deep intense way. I almost asked if he was wearing contacts.

He was wearing a darker shirt, untucked, first three button undone, just enough to cause a scandal. His hair was unstyled, like he paid someone to make it look effortlessly messy.

One look from him and time hiccuped. The world exhaled, and then forgot how to breathe. Gravity didn’t hold me anymore. He did. Or maybe it was his presence, thick and surreal, like time paused just to let me take him in.

Most people say they feel this kind of shift on the first day. But me? I felt it today.

And that’s how I knew—this wasn’t just a crush anymore.

Then boom–"Marry me." Just like that.

No hi. No polite request.

Just, "Marry me." Sounds crazy right?

I said yes–Crazier.

When your mysterious flower-shop crush of three months proposes out of nowhere... you don’t say no. You panic internally and say yes like a lunatic.

The only problem? My mom.

But first things first— test the waters.

“Dad, what do you think about marriage?” I asked, casually, while we sat at the table waiting for dinner.

“I think marriage is a very beautiful thing,” he replied, smiling.

“And who’s getting married?” Mom asked, walking in with a bowl of rice.

“Me,” I said.

She laughed. Even Dad chuckled.

“I’m serious. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

They both stared at me like I just announced I’d joined a cult and then, laughter again.

“Can y’all stop laughing? I’m serious,” I said again.

Mom squinted at me. “How can you be serious when you don’t even have a boyfriend?”

“I do have a crush,” I mumbled. “Dad, it’s the guy I told you about. Mom’s seen him too.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Baby... are you being serious?”

“Yeah. He came to the shop today. Asked me to marry him. And I said yes. Tomorrow.”

“That’s not happening,” Mom snapped, dropping the bowl on the table harder than necessary.

“Marriage is more than some damn crush, baby,” Dad said, rubbing his temples.

“I’m eighteen. I know what I want,” I said, even though maybe didn’t.

“You just turned eighteen yesterday. What’s wrong with you?” Mom asked.

“Dad, say something.”

“I trust you, but are you sure?” he asked gently.

“Don’t ask her that, Elias! It’s not happening. I don’t like that boy,” Mom said, already moving to shut this down.

“You’re not the one who has to live with him,” I snapped.

“People don’t just get married like this! Elias, talk some sense into your daughter!”

“Baby—” Dad started, but I was already done.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said, standing up. “Excuse me.”

“You can count me out of this madness, girl,” Mom shouted after me. “I won’t be out there watching your destruction!”

I slammed my door behind me. Sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I’m getting married tomorrow.

And I don’t even know how I feel about it.