CHAPTER 20
2129 Words
It was maybe 6 in the evening. The sky outside looked like a painting—brushed with deep tangerine, and speckled with early stars beginning to show their light. The sun had dipped just low enough to make everything golden, soft, and dreamy. A stunning contrast to the chaos sitting heavily in my chest.
I stood by the tall mirror in my room, adjusting the cuffs of my most expensive suit. Black, sharp, tailored to perfection. I looked like I had everything under control. As if I was the man the media painted me to be: rich, powerful, unaffected.
But inside? I was a ticking mess.
I reached over to the shelf, picked up a bottle of my signature cologne—something rare and foreign, with a scent that lingered like mystery—and sprayed a modest amount across my neck and chest. Not because I wanted to impress her. God no. I could care less about impressing Violet Elwood. I did it because... well, it was expected.
This whole dinner was a performance. A forced date with the woman I’ve tried to avoid for as long as I can remember. The same woman who’s been eyeing me since we were both teens, always too eager, always too perfect. Everything about her screamed status and control—two things I was already drowning in.
I ran a hand through my neatly combed hair and stared at my reflection.
“You’ve got this, Fabian,” I whispered, sarcasm heavy in my tone. “Just smile, nod, and pretend you’re not being emotionally auctioned off.”
The truth? I didn’t want this. Not even a single nerve in my body wanted to be on a date with Ms. Violet Elwood. But here I was—dressed up, cologned, and mentally preparing for an evening I didn’t ask for.
Why?
Because my father made it clear: We need the Elwoods.
Their influence, their wealth, their connections. Everything I messed up in the past months—especially with the whole Maurice Miranda scandal—could be patched up by just one thing: an alliance with the Elwood family. A marriage, if possible.
That’s what this dinner was about. Not romance. Not love. Business. Power. Deals sealed over steak and expensive wine.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I walked over and picked it up. It was a message from my father.
“Don’t forget to mention our plan for the commercial housing project of Mr. Darious. Violet’s father is curious.”
Of course. Mr. Darious—our biggest commercial housing project yet. The one I’d been working on tirelessly. The one I nearly lost after Maurice left.
This night wasn’t about me and Violet. It was about business wearing a mask of candlelit dinner.
I grabbed my wallet, keys, and headed down the stairs. As I stepped out of my house, the cool air kissed my skin, and I paused for a second to look at the sky again.
It was so calm up there.
So far from the mess I was walking into.
The ride to La Suerte, one of the most luxurious restaurants in Linus City, was smooth and quiet. I didn’t say a word. Just stared outside, watching the city light up slowly like it always did—oblivious to the storm brewing in my chest.
When we arrived, the valet opened the door for me, and I stepped out onto the marbled entrance. The place screamed wealth. From the golden lights to the uniformed staff, everything was too polished. Too fake.
Just like tonight.
“Good evening, sir Isidore,” the host greeted as he led me inside.
And there she was.
Ms. Violet Elwood.
Sitting by the window in a crimson dress that probably cost more than a year's salary for one of my employees. Her blonde hair was pinned up elegantly, with just a few curls falling perfectly beside her cheek. She looked stunning, yes. But it was the kind of beauty that felt manufactured—calculated.
She stood up when she saw me and smiled, that poised, practiced smile she always wore.
“Fabian,” she greeted, air-kissing both my cheeks. “You’re on time. Impressive.”
“You know I hate being late,” I replied, taking the seat across from her.
“I know a lot about you,” she said with a slight smirk, signaling the waiter.
We ordered, exchanged polite small talk, discussed the wine. I let her lead. That’s what she liked anyway—to be in control of the conversation.
“So,” she said after a few sips of wine. “Let’s not waste time, shall we?”
I looked at her, slightly amused. “Straight to the point. That’s new.”
“I’m not here to flirt, Fabian. I’m here to build something,” she said, crossing her legs and leaning forward slightly. “Our families… our future. It’s already been decided. Why fight it?”
I took a long sip from my glass.
“Because maybe I don’t want to be a pawn in someone else’s chessboard.”
She arched a perfectly shaped brow. “You’re not a pawn. You’re a king. But even kings need alliances.”
I chuckled under my breath. “And queens, apparently.”
“Exactly.”
There was a pause. A long, tense one.
“You think I’m doing this for you?” she asked suddenly, her voice lower now, more personal. “No, Fabian. I’m doing this because I want something real. I know what it looks like—business, politics, power—but I also know you. I’ve watched you. I know you’re more than your name.”
I stared at her. This wasn’t the Violet I expected.
“And if I say no?” I asked carefully.
She took a deep breath. “Then we shake hands, wish each other well, and I tell my father that Fabian Isidore is still the same broken-hearted boy who doesn’t know how to trust.”
Her words landed like punches. I wasn’t sure if she meant to hurt or just peel off the layers.
I leaned back. “You’re good.”
She smiled. “I’ve always been.”
Dinner continued, and while the food was delicious and the wine aged to perfection, I couldn’t taste anything. My mind was too far—thinking about Maurice, about the church she now lived in, about her little brother who couldn’t speak.
And here I was… in a crystal-lit restaurant, with gold utensils, being sold like a stock option.
The contrast was deafening.
And suddenly, I knew one thing for sure.
No matter how this dinner ended…
…I couldn’t let Violet, or anyone else, decide my future.
She was sipping her wine delicately when I leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Violet,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “You want me to think this is all business. Just alliances. Just strategy. But we both know that’s not the whole story.”
She didn't flinch, didn’t blink—just gave that soft, practiced smile she always wore when someone tried to read her too deeply.
“You think too much, Fabian,” she replied, setting the wine glass down with elegance only she could pull off. “That’s always been your thing.”
I scoffed lightly, glancing around the restaurant. Candlelight danced across the white tablecloth, and the sound of soft jazz hummed in the background. Couples around us were laughing, smiling, falling in love—while here we were, bartering lives in between wine sips and steak slices.
“Don’t change the subject,” I said, returning my gaze to her. “You’re really sure about this arranged marriage, aren’t you?”
Violet didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs, and studied me for a few seconds like I was a book she’d already read a hundred times.
“Well,” she began, brushing a golden strand of hair from her face, “I still have this basic human decency within me, Fabian. I’m not going to trap you like some helpless prince from a tragic novel.”
She paused, then smiled.
“I’ll give you a week to decide. You know the drill.”
Then she winked—a slow, confident wink that didn’t feel flirtatious at all. It was cold, calculated. A wink that screamed power and control. A wink that said, You can say no, but we both know how this ends.
I leaned back in my chair, took a sip of my now lukewarm wine, and tried not to let the pressure settle too heavy in my chest.
A week.
As if a week could somehow make me fall in love with the idea of selling my freedom for family legacy. As if seven days could convince my heart to surrender to a lifetime of cold dinners and silk sheets with a woman I barely even liked.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what this was.
Violet didn’t want me because of love. Maybe not even because of the power alliance. No, this was personal to her. She wanted to win. To finally have the man she’s chased since we were teenagers, the same man who never gave her the time of day.
“You think I’m going to fall in love with you in a week?” I asked with a bitter smile.
She chuckled, not even offended.
“I don’t need you to fall in love with me, Fabian. I need you to understand your role. Your company is hanging by a thread. Your reputation? Still bruised. That little scandal of yours with Maurice Miranda? People are still whispering about it in every corner of Linus City.”
I tensed slightly at the mention of Maurice.
“Don’t,” I warned. “Don’t bring her into this.”
She arched a brow. “Why not? She’s part of the story. You’re acting like this is all happening in a vacuum, but it’s not. Your choices, your mistakes—they brought you here. To me.”
I clenched my jaw but didn’t respond. Not because she was wrong—but because she was too right.
I remembered the headlines. The chaos. The mess. And I remembered Maurice’s eyes the day I fired her—full of shock, pain, and betrayal.
Violet watched me closely. “Look, I’m not the villain here,” she said more softly this time. “I’m giving you time, Fabian. Space. A chance to choose what’s best not just for you—but for everything you’ve built.”
“Built?” I scoffed. “It’s already collapsing.”
“Exactly. And I can help you hold it up.”
There it was again—that certainty. That unwavering confidence that somehow, she was the answer to all my problems.
“I don’t want to marry someone just because it’s convenient,” I muttered, pushing my fork around the untouched food on my plate.
“You think I do?” she asked, leaning in slightly. “You think I dreamed of marrying a man who looks at me like I’m a chess piece?”
I looked up at her, stared at her as if I wanted to sucked out the innermost part of her soul.
“Well. You're right…” She grasped. “You really got those eyes of yours that melt me.” she added, her voice lower now, more real. “I respect you. I’ve always admired you.” She paused for a moment then looked at me sincerely. I could feel it. “This is personal for me, Fabian Isidore.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
That was… shocking to hear it personally from her.
The waiter came to clear our plates, but we barely noticed. The conversation had already turned into something heavier, something more honest than either of us expected.
After a long silence, Violet stood up, reaching for her clutch.
“Well,” she said, placing a hundred-dollar bill on the table, “I think that’s enough business talk for tonight.”
I stood as well, more out of habit than courtesy.
“Text me if you make up your mind early,” she said with a small smile, already turning toward the exit. “But don’t wait too long. Some deals have expiration dates.”
And with that, she walked away—heels clicking confidently on the polished floor, head high like a queen walking away from a throne she already claimed.
I stood there for a moment, frozen.
Then finally exhaled.
A week, I thought.
What the hell am I supposed to do in a week?
- Writer
