Married by fate, Loved by fire

“You’re not that much of a belle, but your body figure is… quite captivating,” the man said with a lecherous grin. “You’re still young; you should be very fertile. Soon, you could bear me a child.” I felt my stomach twist into knots as I looked at the short, greasy, old man sitting so comfortably across from me. My family had been relentless about getting me married, and this man—one of their top suitors—was the worst nightmare they could have conjured. I could still feel his eyes roaming over me like a predator, scanning every curve, every flaw, and flashing a glint of lecherous desire that made me shiver. I needed to scare him off, but my intentionally messy hair, wrinkled clothes, and acne and mole filled appearance didn’t seem to have any effect. He continued without hesitation. “I can pay to have those moles and acne removed from your face,” he rambled, voice dripping with condescension, “and once your face is back to normal, you can be my mistress. You can live in my basement, and we will sleep together. If you have a son, we’ll get married. If not… well, we’ll just keep trying until you get it right.” My hands trembled, and I gripped my matcha tea cup so tightly that the green liquid splashed across the table. My breath hitched. How could someone be so brazen, so shameless? I drew in deep, shaky breaths, fighting the urge to dump the matcha over his bald head. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to do it—but I tried to stay composed, at least for a moment. I was about to rise and leave when the door opened, and a tall, sharply dressed man entered, holding onto a wheelchair. And oh, my god… he was sinfully handsome. Even in a wheelchair, he exuded power and elegance. His charcoal grey suit was obviously custom-made, fitting him perfectly. A few strands of slightly messy hair fell over his forehead, framing his face like a painting. My heart skipped a beat. The old man, noticing my gaze, turned suddenly, his voice sharp. “Are you intending to leave me hanging?” Following my eyes, he noticed the newcomer and stiffened, his anger barely contained. “You’re trying to dismiss me for a cripple? What skills does he have that I don’t, huh? You’re not only ugly, but your preferences are poor too…” I couldn’t take it anymore. With a sudden motion, I dumped the matcha tea over his head. The warm liquid ran down his bald scalp, and I felt a rush of satisfaction at his shriek of surprise. Without another word, I approached the man in the wheelchair. My hands trembled slightly as I cupped his face, whispered a few words of apology, and pressed my lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant, and then deeper, more urgent. Time seemed to slow, and for a few minutes, nothing else existed—just him, me, and the rush of something I couldn’t quite name. Finally, I pulled back, my chest heaving. I turned back to the older man, who was dripping matcha and seething with rage. “I’m sorry,” I said firmly, meeting his furious gaze. “I can’t leave my fiancé to marry you. I love him, and he loves me. In fact, we’re planning to have a child already, so please… don’t interfere.” The old man’s face twisted in offense. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “You! You brat! You’re going to regret this!” He stormed out, leaving a faint smell of cheap cologne and anger in the air. I didn’t care; my father would have to answer for him. Finally, I exhaled, releasing the tension that had been coiling in me all afternoon. But when I turned to apologize or at least compensate the stranger… he was gone. My chest tightened slightly, but I instructed the cashier to call me if he ever returned, then left. I rushed home, hoping to grab a quick meal, as dinner had long passed and I hadn’t eaten all day. But when I entered the dining area, all I found was a messy table, everyone having finished without leaving any for me. I was about to retreat when a thin, familiar voice broke the silence. “Sister? How are you here? Weren’t you supposed to be on a blind date? Didn’t he take you out to eat?” It was my sister. She walked over and pulled me to the table. “You should have called, sister! I would’ve reserved a portion for you. I won second place in the calligraphy contest today, and Mom made a lot of good food to celebrate. It’s a shame you missed it.” I glanced at the table. Indeed, the meals were lavish, prepared with care—but I couldn’t muster the energy to care. As I turned to leave, my father returned to the dining table, phone in hand. His eyes widened in horror at my appearance. “Isabelle! What are you wearing? Why do you look like that? No wonder Collins just called me—he wants to pull out his investments from the company!” My mother, panicking, rushed over. “Isabelle, stop disgracing our family and be more obedient like your sister” I felt my patience snap. “If this is for business, and you have to marry off a daughter, why marry off the youngest first? Why not let Victoria go? She’s the older one, isn’t she?” Victoria burst into tears, instantly drawing my mother’s ire. Before the chaos could escalate further, I shook my head, my resolve firm. “Goodnight,” I said, turning to leave the dining area.