2: marry me
1090 Words
I pushed the door open—and stopped cold.
I hadn’t expected chaos.
An elderly man stood in the middle of the office, gripping a walking cane, his breathing heavy as he chased a tall figure around a massive glass desk. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and tension—thick, suffocating tension.
“Stop running from me!” the old man barked, striking the floor with his cane. “Do you think I’ll live forever?”
“Grandpa, please,” the man replied tightly, circling back toward him. “Sit down. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this.”
I froze just inside the doorway, the file pressed tightly to my chest.
I shouldn’t be here.
Instinct screamed at me to retreat, to quietly close the door and disappear—but my feet refused to move.
Then the man turned.
My breath caught painfully.
Nataliel Brooklyn.
Time folded in on itself. The confident senior from university—the man I had admired from a distance—stood before me now, broader, sharper, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that radiated power. He looked like a man who had never been told no.
But his face—
It was the same.
My fingers tightened around the file.
“Young lady?” the old man snapped.
I bowed my head slightly. “S-sorry. I was asked to deliver this.”
I took a tentative step forward, holding out the file.
“Work?” the old man scoffed. “Is that all you think about?”
Nataliel sighed. “Grandpa—”
“No,” the old man interrupted. “I’ve had enough of excuses.”
He jabbed the cane toward Nataliel. “Doctors. Pills. Treatments. What’s the point if I don’t see a future? If I don’t see a grandchild?”
My heart thudded uncomfortably.
“I won’t take any treatment,” the old man declared, “until you settle down and give this family an heir!”
“This again?” Nataliel muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Do you think time is on your side?” the old man snapped. “I buried my son. I won’t leave this world without knowing the Brooklyn name continues.”
I shifted awkwardly and cleared my throat. “I can leave this here and—”
“No.”
The word was sharp.
Nataliel’s gaze snapped to me. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—not recognition.
Desperation.
Before I could react, he crossed the room and caught my wrist.
My breath hitched.
“I’ll do it,” he said quickly. “I’ll get married. I promise. Just take your treatment.”
The room fell dead silent.
I tried to pull away. “Sir—”
His grip tightened, warning me without words.
The old man’s eyes narrowed, then slid toward me. “You will?”
“Yes,” Nataliel said without hesitation.
My heart pounded violently.
“Is this her?” the old man asked.
Nataliel nodded. “Yes.”
Yes?
The old man studied me, then smiled faintly. “She looks sensible.”
My face burned.
“I expect an engagement announcement within the week,” he continued. “The board needs stability.”
Nataliel inclined his head. “It will be done.”
Only then did the old man relax. “Good. Then I’ll take the treatment.”
He turned toward the door, pausing only to glance back at me. “Take care of him. He works too hard.”
And then he left.
The door closed.
I yanked my wrist free immediately.
“What is wrong with you?!” I burst out. “You can’t just say something like that!”
Nataliel turned slowly. The desperation vanished. What remained was calm, controlled authority.
“I can,” he said. “And I did.”
“I’m an intern!” I snapped. “I don’t even know you!”
“That’s not entirely true.”
“You don’t remember me,” I said.
His gaze searched my face. “No,” he admitted.
The honesty stung.
“Then why me?” I demanded. “Why not one of the women throwing themselves at you?”
“Because they want something,” he replied. “The name. The lifestyle. The power.”
“And I don’t?”
“No. You looked terrified when you walked in. You didn’t try to impress me.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to marry you!”
“I know,” he said calmly. “That’s why you’re suitable.”
“Suitable,” I echoed bitterly.
“This is temporary,” he continued. “A contract arrangement.”
“A… contract?”
“You pretend to be my fiancée. Once my grandfather stabilizes, it ends.”
“And my life?” I asked quietly.
“I’ll protect your career.”
“I don’t sell myself.”
“I didn’t say money,” he replied. “I said protection.”
I frowned. “Protection from what?”
Nataliel reached for the file still clutched in my hands and flipped it open, tapping the page that mattered.
“This report.”
My stomach dropped.
“It was sent to the board with errors,” he said evenly. “Someone altered the final version. Someone needed a name to attach to it.”
My throat tightened.
“You were the easiest choice,” he continued. “New. Invisible. An intern with no backing.”
Images flashed—HR’s smiles, averted eyes, the woman who sent me up here.
This wasn’t trust.
It was sacrifice.
“One accusation,” Nataliel said quietly, “and your internship ends today.”
My fingers trembled.
“And after that,” he added, “good luck finding another placement. Companies talk.”
Silence fell.
For the first time, I understood.
This wasn’t about marriage.
It was about survival.
“So this is what you mean by protection,” I said.
“Stand beside me,” Nataliel replied, “and no one touches your career.”
I took a step back. “I need time.”
“You have until the end of today.”
I turned toward the door—and stopped.
Nataliel’s phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.
I saw the name before he could turn it away.
HR DIRECTOR
Nataliel looked up at me slowly.
“They’ve already started.”
My breath caught. “Started what?”
His voice was calm.
“Deciding who to blame.”
- Writer
