Protecting Elena

You’ll be meeting your husband this evening.” My jaw dropped as my dad made that statement, casual as ever, like he was talking about a business meeting. I blinked at him across the breakfast table. “My what?” He didn’t even look up from his paper. “Your husband, Sienna.” “I had barely agreed to meet this stranger, and now he’s my husband?” My voice cracked somewhere between shock and sarcasm. “You don’t have to see him to like him,” he said simply. “He comes from a respectable family, and he’s a good man” “A good man possibly but not good for me” He lowered his newspaper just enough for me to see the sharp glare in his eyes. “Don’t start with that tone. This is for your own good.” “My own good? You made me quit modeling because it wasn’t ‘ideal for a responsible woman.’ Now you want me to marry a man I’ve never met because it’s ‘respectable’? You don’t even know what I want.” I said to myself I stared at him, speechless. He leaned over, kissed the top of my head as if I were five, and said softly, “Be a good girl.” That was it. That was my father, always deciding, always commanding. I clenched my jaw as he left. He had destroyed my career dreams because they didn’t fit his image of a perfect daughter. Now, he wanted to hand me off like some trophy wife. Fine. If that was his plan, I’d make sure the man in question regretted ever agreeing to it. --- By 6 p.m., I was ready, black bodycon dress, red lipstick, hair pinned just enough to show I didn’t care too much. I wanted to make an impression, the wrong kind. My dad wasn’t home, thank God, so no lecture about “decency” or “family image.” The chauffeur arrived promptly. The car ride was silent, the kind of silence that gave me too much time to think. What if this man was worse than my dad? Controlling, entitled, and probably convinced that the world revolved around his family name. The restaurant was one of those exclusive ones my father loved, dim lighting, expensive cutlery, and waiters who whispered instead of spoke. I hated everything about it. He was already there. Seated at a corner table, sharp black suit, eyes fixed on his watch like time was his most loyal companion. When he looked up, his expression softened slightly as he stood to greet me. Charming, I thought. Too put together for his own good. “Good evening, Miss Moretti” he said smoothly, voice deep and precise. “I’m Damian Voss.” “Good evening,” I replied, my tone ice-cold. We sat. He signaled the waiter, and without even asking, ordered two cocktails. Confident. Maybe too confident. “So,” he began, leaning back, “you’re my soon-to-be wife.” I almost choked on air. That line was supposed to be mine. “I suppose,” I said, forcing a smile. “And you’re my never-to-be husband.” He chuckled, the sound low and irritatingly attractive. “You’re not the polite type, I see.” “I’m not the submissive type either,” I shot back. His lips curved faintly, amused. “Noted.” He took a sip of his drink and continued, “I’m the only son of the Voss family. My father owns Voss International Holdings. It was suggested I get married to project stability before the board hands me full control of the company.” “How romantic,” I said dryly. “Nothing says love like a corporate strategy.” He ignored the sarcasm. “Our parents agreed that an alliance between our families would strengthen both empires.” “And what makes you think I care about your empire?” “I don’t,” he said flatly. “But I assume you care about your father’s.” That hit harder than I wanted to admit. I clenched my jaw. “You think I’m doing this to save his business?” He met my eyes directly. “Aren’t you?” I leaned forward. “Listen, Mr. Voss. I don’t want any part of this arrangement.” “Neither do I,” he said calmly, “but we both have something to lose. You rebel, your father loses shares in our company. I refuse, I lose my inheritance. So here we are, unwilling participants in a performance we didn’t write.” “Sounds like you’ve rehearsed that speech,” I muttered. “Do you practice in front of a mirror too?” He smirked. “Only when I expect to face women who mistake defiance for confidence.” My eyes narrowed. “You have a sharp tongue for someone who needs a fake marriage to look responsible.” “You have a sharp mouth for someone whose reputation is on the line,” he replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “Excuse me?” “Your father’s words, not mine,” he said with a shrug. “Apparently, your modeling days and… impulsive lifestyle don’t sit well with investors. You’re a risk, Sienna Moretti.” I leaned back, laughter bubbling out despite my anger. “So that’s what they told you? That I’m a risk? Tell me, Damian, what are you then, the cure?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Maybe I am.” “You’re delusional.” “And you’re intriguing.” I froze. “What?” He smiled faintly, setting down his glass. “You walked in here determined to make me uncomfortable. And yet, here we are, you're still sitting.” “Because I’m polite enough not to walk out mid-drink.” “Polite?” he teased. “Is that what this is?” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “You’re really full of yourself.” “Maybe,” he said softly, leaning closer. “But at least I’m honest about it.” The air between us thickened, the kind of tension that made my heartbeat skip. I hated that. “You’re not my kind of girl,” he said finally, sitting back again. “But I can bend the rules for family.” I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh please. You don’t have rules, Damian. Men like you make them up as you go.” His smile faded slightly, replaced with quiet curiosity. “And what kind of man do you think I am?” “The kind who’s never been told no.” He tilted his head, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You’d be surprised how many people say no to me.” “Oh? And what happens to them?” “They usually regret it.” I grinned. “Guess I’ll be the exception.” We stared at each other for a few seconds, neither of us blinking first. It was a battle of wills, pride against pride. Then he said, “Our wedding is in two weeks. My secretary will reach out for your fittings.” I frowned. “Excuse me?” He checked his watch casually. “I only asked to meet today so our first encounter wouldn’t be at the altar. Consider this a courtesy.” “A courtesy?” I scoffed. “You’re telling me when to show up for my wedding like it’s a board meeting.” “Would you prefer an email reminder?” “You’re insufferable.” “You’re dramatic.” I stood up, grabbing my purse. “Next meeting on Sunday,” I said coolly. “Do well to have some ice before going to bed.” He smiled, eyes glinting. “I like my drinks neat.” I rolled my eyes and walked out before he could say another word. --- Back home, I went straight to the shower, hot water pouring over my skin as my thoughts tangled around Damian Voss, the arrogant, confident heir who had the audacity to make me question myself. I hated how his name sounded too good. How his smirk lingered even after I closed my eyes. “Oh” I gasped after I caught myself fantasizing how our baby would look with a mix of the two of us Damn him. After drying off, I slipped into my pink robe and stood before the mirror. The silk fabric slid off my shoulder, pooling at my waist. I studied my reflection, the curve of my lips, the spark in my eyes. “Why the hell did he say I wasn’t his type?” I muttered. “He’s obviously blind. Or dumb. Maybe both.” I tied the robe again and sat on the bed, smiling despite myself. “A wedding in two weeks,” I whispered. “Works for me.” I didn’t know if I meant that as a challenge or a promise but for the first time that day, I didn’t feel powerless. If Damian Voss thought I was going to be an obedient wife, he was about to find out how wrong he was.