NEVER MEANT TO LOVE YOU

CHAPTER 2

The week disappeared faster than I could keep track of, each day bleeding into the next like water through my fingers. While time moved on without a shred of mercy, Martel and his siblings were doing the opposite, moving slow and deliberately, stitching together whatever plan they thought would corner me and force my hand. I didn't know the details. I just knew, in my bones, that they were convinced I had nothing left to fight back with.

I was stuck somewhere in the middle of it all, frozen at a crossroads with no idea which direction to take. Every morning brought the same questions. Every night left me more hollowed out than the last. The pressure sat on my chest like something physical, until just breathing felt like effort.

By the time I couldn't hold it in anymore, I called Melody. My hands were shaking when I dialed. There was too much locked up inside me, too much fear I didn't know how to carry alone.

She showed up that evening with worry already written across her face. I told her everything, the threats, the ultimatum, the deadline hanging over my head like something waiting to drop. She sat there listening, her expression sliding from confused to stunned to something close to disbelief, especially once she remembered I hadn't dated anyone seriously in years.

"Wait, hold on." Melody's voice climbed. "You're telling me you have to get married in six months?"

Her eyes went wide, like she thought she'd misheard me. "Six months, Lily? How does that even work?"

I laughed, and it came out bitter, half-broken. "I don't know, Mel. Should I just walk down the street and propose to the first man I see?" My voice cracked before I even finished the sentence.

Before I could spiral any further, she reached over and pulled the phone right out of my hand.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Saving you," she said, already scrolling. Within minutes, she'd built me a Tinder profile, picking through my photos with the focus on someone assembling a resume. "You're giving this a month. Actual effort. No excuses. You owe yourself that much."

"Melody, I don't even know how any of this works."

"You'll figure it out." Her tone softened, but what came next hit harder than anything before it. "Lily, you're an orphan. If six months pass, and you haven't met their condition, the Roman kids will bury you. And there won't be anyone left to stand between you and them."

The room went quiet around her words.

"Mr. and Mrs. Roman handed you the game," she said, pressing the phone back into my hands. "The ball's in your court now. So play it. And play it like you mean it."

So I did, reluctantly, one date at a time. I went in with careful optimism at first, telling myself maybe fate owed me one decent turn. But date after date fell flat. I met men with no direction, men who talked about commitment like it was a punchline, men whose carelessness showed itself in the first ten minutes. Some were charming with nothing underneath it. Others were ambitious in a way that curdled into arrogance fast. None of them felt right.

Every failed date wore me down a little more. I'd come home exhausted, disillusioned, more convinced each time that I was chasing something that didn't actually exist. Love started to feel like a joke someone else got to be in on.

Five months went by like that. Five months of forced smiles and empty conversations and a deadline creeping closer every single day. I was standing right at the edge of giving up, ready to delete the app and just accept whatever came next. Maybe some fights just aren't winnable.

Right as I made peace with quitting, Mrs. Roman called.

Her voice was calm, the way it always was, far too calm for the storm happening in my chest. She gave me an address and told me she'd arranged a date for me herself.

"Mama, I've tried," I said, my voice worn thin. "I've done everything I know how to do, and none of it's worked. What makes you think this will be any different?"

There was a pause before she answered, but her tone made it clear this wasn't a discussion. Out of respect, or maybe just desperation, I agreed. One last shot, I told myself. Just one more.

That evening I arrived at the address and found a restaurant so polished it barely looked real, chandeliers throwing soft light over every surface, the kind of quiet that costs money. A waiter met me at the door and told me, politely, that the place had been booked for the night.

"Yes," I said after a beat. "I think I'm the woman he's expecting."

Something in the waiter's posture shifted instantly. He led me further in, past the other tables, to one set apart from everyone else. And when I finally saw the man sitting there, I froze.

He stood to greet me, and there was nothing forced about the way he carried himself, just quiet, effortless presence. Everything about him felt deliberate. For the first time in months, my breath caught for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.

We sat, and the conversation moved easily, no strain, no performance. I laughed without thinking about it. I listened without checking the time. Unlike every date before him, I didn't feel the itch to leave early, to get back to my desk, to escape. Time just stopped mattering.

When it ended, I went home in a daze, lighter than I'd felt in months. I called Melody before I'd even taken my shoes off.

"Hey, babe." I was breathless. "I think he's the one."

She laughed. "You sound different. Are you actually serious right now?"

"I can't even explain it," I said, grinning at my ceiling. "He's everything I didn't even know I wanted. You know how people talk about love at first sight? I think I finally get it."

Still on the phone with her, something slid under my door. I frowned, curiosity replacing the giddiness in an instant. I walked over, picked it up, and opened it carefully.

The second I saw what was inside, my smile disappeared completely.

I couldn't believe what I was looking at.