A Crooked Billionaire Married A Crooked Lady

This afternoon, there is nothing I enjoy. It is as if the world has gone far while I'm left behind. I just pace the room flipping through channels I don't care for on the TV. I swear the anger in me is hot that it can boil potatoes if tried. It boils in me upto my pharynx. The vibration on my phone thwarts my thoughts. "Hello, babe. Why are you panting as if you have just landed from a marathon race?" She asks. When I pick the call, I keep quiet because I don't know who the caller is. I barely understand who it is through her voice. It's Laila, my friend. "It's nothing much. How is your mum's health?" "Let's talk about you first. Anything the matter? Your voice doesn't sound firm." "Please can you come over and pick me up? I don't breathe comfortably in this house now." "Okay. I'll be right away." I quickly dash into the bathroom to shower up. After that, my body is still hot. I told you my anger at this moment can boil potatoes. Outside, my friend is already waiting for me in the black Bentley. "So what's up with you?" "Can you imagine that my aunt have arranged marriage for me without my knowledge?" "Ugh! Is that why you're angry like that as if she had demanded for your soul and spirit?" That is the question my friend asks. I hiss. "That's my problem with you sometimes. If you were my child why won't I knock out the living daylights out of you now?" "Anyway, marriage with who?" "Mr. Carter." "What?" She snap. "This is heart breaking." "See Laila, please drive this car let's get out of here before my aunt comes out and sees me here." A few minutes later, we are in the hospital to see Laila's mum where she had been admitted. "As if she's not responding." I whisper to Laila. "She has even improved unlike yesterday. I nearly cried my eyes out when I saw her situation." "Good afternoon, Ma." I greet, sympathetically. "Good afternoon. Who's that, Laila?" Her voice trembled a little. "It's my friend, Mira." "Oh! Thank you, my daughter. How is your aunt?" She asks with a faint smile. Laila turns and looks at my tight face. She knows the question of my aunt's wellbeing is a question I would likely fail in an exam, because I would either answer it wrongly or leave it blank. "She... She's doing well." l reply with a fake smile. "You look bigger than usual." The woman remarks. Maybe she says that because she is sick and may be hallucinating, or because of the over sized clothes I put on. As we leave the hospital, we come to a bar. "If your aunt had arranged a marriage for you with a good man, it would be better. But Mr. Carter is something else." My friend mutters. "That rude billionaire who always turns everything into his own advantage. Nobody has ever said something good about him. I have never met him before but I hate his name and story." "Maybe your aunt have achieved something from him and decided to thrust you to him as a collateral." "After she have sold my mum's shop and my father's property. She buried them as if they were nobody. Now she wants to throw me off for a marriage with a man I don't want. She did that in order to establish her own company. But does that sound logical?" "Mira, I understand how annoying it is, especially when you don't have anybody to stand for you. I must confess she's putting you in a disadvantageous situation for a selfish gain. But it'll surely come to pass." "Come to pass, how?" I ask sharply, giving her a contemptuous look. She rolls her eyes. "The marriage of course...." I change my countenance immediately, and it is not entertaining. She then completes the statement positively. "......with anyone else, except Mr. Carter." At least that sounds fare. When I hear the eccentric news from my aunt, if not because of that title, 'aunt,' if she is just anyone else, after depriving me of my rights and still wants to force me into a marriage with such a brute, I would have forgot my five fingers on her damn cheek without a regretful thought. Just because I grew under her as an orphan doesn't mean I don't have mouth. While we are still there, I receive a text on my phone with a hidden number. It reads: 'little brat, be fast. Someone's waiting for you outside.' "And who knows we're here? Or was it sent to a wrong number?" Laila asks. I think for a while. "I don't care. But it must have landed to a wrong destination." We shun it, because I never can tell if anyone knows we are there, as the bar is far from my area. Of course when we come out of the bar, there is a black SUV parked just near our car, with a huge guy in a black suit, black specks and black hat standing between the SUV and ours. His tight face gives him a fiery appearance. When we come closer, he gives me a piece of paper without saying a word. I hesitate. I never want to collect it because I'm sure I owe nobody a penny both in heaven and on earth. But the guy insists. "Kindly look at the content." My friend suggests. I collect the paper. Guess the stupid writing. I wonder how he knows I'm there, like a monitor lizard. It reads: 'follow him to my penthouse. Carter.' My anger boils the more. But as if the guy thinks I'm there for a dramatic twist, he refuses to collect it. Maybe I should eat it. "Return it to the owner," I say in desperate. But he dosn't move. I squeeze the paper and throw it at him. As I'm about to enter the car, he stops me. "What's wrong with you, dude? Do I look like a puppet in your eyes?" I bark. "I'm not here to chat with a chatted monkey like you. Get into this car let's get out of here." He says gruffly. On my God, this is interesting. His deep voice is scary but that is not my problem, it dosn't change the price of Pizza in the restaurant. "If you dare stop me again, you'll know who a chatted monkey is.'' As if he is dumb or thinks I'm joking, this guy still has the impetus to stop me again. I think he wants to have the test of my anger. "Hey, little b***h, I say get into this car and....." His speech is interrupted. Do you know what happens? The sound is like a smash of bottle on a wall. Hard on his cheek. I slap him.