4
841 Words
Sophia ’s POV
The plan worked.
But not without its hiccups.
When I walked into the restaurant, I couldn’t help but notice his expression: confusion, irritation, and—dare I say it—disbelief. His brows furrowed, his lips tightened, and those icy blue eyes bored into me like I was a puzzle he wasn’t keen on solving. The man looked like he had been personally offended by my very existence.
I wanted to laugh, and maybe I would have if this situation weren’t so absurd. I came late on purpose. I wore this ridiculous outfit—a mix between clown chic and chaotic rebellion—on purpose. The wild, mismatched makeup, the garish colors that screamed Look at me, I’m a disaster.
He wasn’t supposed to be good-looking, though. That part wasn’t part of the plan. But here he was, sitting at a perfectly polished table in a private restaurant that he probably owned, exuding power and arrogance like they were his natural colognes. Damn it.
“You’re late,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine—annoyance or something else, I couldn’t quite decide.
“And you’re observant,” I retorted, sliding into the seat across from him with all the grace of someone who didn’t give a damn.
The tension was instant. His lips parted, probably to deliver some smug billionaire quip, but I cut him off.
“Let’s not waste each other’s time, shall we?” I leaned back, crossing my arms like this entire ordeal wasn’t making my insides churn.
His sharp gaze scanned me, taking in every ridiculous detail of my outfit. His expression darkened.
“Is this some sort of joke?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe.”
“I don’t have time for games,” he snapped, his chair scraping against the floor as he abruptly stood. “This meeting is over.”
“Oh, sit down, Mr. Big Shot,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”
To my surprise, he did. Not because he wanted to, but because he was intrigued—or maybe just trying to figure out if I was clinically insane.
“Explain yourself,” he demanded, his voice clipped.
“Fine.” I met his gaze head-on, my tone turning serious. “Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t want this marriage. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t need it. My parents may think it’s a great idea to auction me off to the highest bidder, but I’m not interested.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued.
“Because I’m willing to strike a deal.”
His brows shot up, skepticism plastered across his stupidly handsome face.
“A contract,” I continued. “We get married, pretend to play nice for our families, and then, after a predetermined time—say, two years—we get divorced. Clean break. No strings attached. Everyone gets what they want.”
He stared at me like I’d just sprouted a second head. Then, much to my dismay, he laughed.
Not a chuckle. Oh no. This was a full-blown, rich, deep laugh that echoed through the empty restaurant and made me feel equal parts irritated and embarrassed.
“What’s so funny?” I snapped, leaning forward as my cheeks burned.
“You,” he said, wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. “You march in here, looking like you escaped from a bad sitcom, and then you propose this?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice firm.
His laughter faded, replaced by a smirk that made me want to slap it off his face. “And why, pray tell, would I agree to this contract of yours?”
“Because,” I said, matching his smirk with one of my own, “you don’t want this any more than I do. This way, you get to keep your precious reputation intact, and I get my freedom back. Win-win.”
He leaned back in his chair, his piercing gaze fixed on me as if he were weighing his options. “And what makes you think I can’t just walk away from this entirely?”
“Because your parents won’t let you,” I shot back. “And because, deep down, you’re probably just as trapped as I am.”
For a moment, silence settled between us. The only sound was the faint hum of the restaurant’s air conditioning.
Then he smiled—a slow, dangerous smile that made my stomach flip in ways I didn’t want to analyze.
“All right, Miss Clown,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You’ve piqued my interest. Tell me more about this contract.”
And just like that, the game was on.
As I watched his calculating expression, a single thought crossed my mind, what have I just gotten myself into?
- Writer
