003
1639 Words
Astrid's POV
"What?" I demanded, my brows knitted together.
"I think you heard me the first time. Marry me, and I'll help you get your revenge. Don't worry, it won't be forever. Just a couple of months."
What the hell? What does he think marriage is about? It isn’t just a playdate in the park. It’s sacred! Whether forever or not!
"I'm sorry. I won't marry you. If that's the only way to get revenge, then... I'm not interested."
"Your choice. But..." He handed me his card, a smirk playing on his lips. "Call me when you change your mind, which I know will be soon." After saying this, he stared at me for a few seconds, then turned on his heel and walked toward his car, his guards following closely behind.
My mind was racing. Where would I go after this? All my income was under Dad's control. I couldn't go back to the family mansion, so I was homeless. But if I marry him... I could have a place to stay while planning my revenge.
I shook my head, trying to drive the thought away. But the thoughts just kept coming: could I really just let my company go like that? That company was my legacy—it was handed to me by my grandpa. Even if no official will was given, it was meant to be mine.
I inhaled deeply before shouting, “Wait!”
He stopped in his tracks but didn't turn to look behind.
I walked slowly toward him, my mind racing with the thought of what I was about to say. “I’ll… I’ll marry you."
He didn’t respond, just trudged forward and opened the car door, sliding in calmly. One of his guards stepped forward and held open the door for me. I gave him a quick nod of thanks and slipped into the seat beside the man who hadn’t smiled since the moment we’d met.
I averted my gaze from his attractive face, my heart pounding as I awaited his response.
We were driven to a glamorous, elegant hotel in the heart of the city. Its towering structure extended to the clouds, and I had to crane my neck to glimpse the top—unsuccessfully. Despite being Arthur Marshall's daughter, I had never been to a place like this.
"You'll stay here for the night. I'll come to get you by eight, so wake up early."
Before I could respond or ask any questions, he disappeared into the elevator.
I decided to tour the penthouse suite I was in, in a bid to distract my mind from going back to the events of today. Eventually, exhaustion won, and I collapsed onto the large bed, falling into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, a sharp knock jolted me awake. Groggily, I strolled to the door to see the grumpy billionaire in a crisp white suit, hair gelled back, and white shiny pointed shoes.
"Hurry up, and let’s go," he said flatly.
"Good morning to you too," I retorted as we got into his car.
His jaw tightened, and instead of answering, he tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Take us to my office,” he ordered in a monotonous voice.
Without sparing me another glance, he pulled out his phone. “Derek, come to my office. Bring the contract papers.”
The words made me snap my head to him. “Wait, contract papers? What are you talking about?”
He finally turned to face me, his face blank. “Do you always talk this much? Just keep quiet for a few hours. And just so you know, we’re getting married now.”
I blinked, scanning his face for any sign of a joke. But all I saw was a calm look. “Now? What do you mean now? No preparations, nothing?” The words tumbled out of my mouth, my voice rising.
“You really think we’re going to act like some lovestruck couple, picking out wedding flowers and sending out invitations? No. Right now, all that matters is getting married. Officially.”
A lump formed in my throat, but I needed to have my questions answered. “Why do you even want to get married so badly that you'll ask a total stranger to marry you? I mean, you’re a billionaire. Shouldn’t you have, like, a hundred women ready to marry you?”
His expression hardened. “Okay, crybaby, I’ll answer once, since I know you might start crying if I don't. I’m doing this for my parents’ sake. Now, shut up.”
I clamped my mouth shut, crossing my arms and glancing away, though I could still feel his eyes on me.
But even as I tried to ignore him, my eyes still shifted to his face—the sharp jawline, his lips, full and inviting despite his ever-present scowl.
Suddenly, he shot me an annoyed look. “Crybaby, will you stop staring at me? It's creepy.”
“Wait, are you calling me a crybaby? Me?” I snapped, pointing my fingers at him.
He didn't reply, just turned to stare outside.
I scoffed, narrowing my eyes. “Well, if I’m a crybaby, you’re Mr. Grumpy.”
He shrugged, as if the nickname meant nothing. "Okay. Now shut up.”
Less than an hour later, the contract was signed. I barely heard half the clauses that spilled out of the lawyer’s mouth. But the key terms danced in my mind: no affectionate actions at home, only during appearances in public or around his family, and an allowance—$5,000,000 a month.
I swallowed hard at that last part. I'd never seen that kind of money, even as Arthur Marshall’s daughter. And then there was the last clause: I couldn’t see other men, or 80% of my allowance would be slashed. He, however, could do whatever he wanted with any woman.
I tried to argue, but one sharp look from Mr. Grumpy—who I now knew as Damien Starkov—shut me up fast. By evening, we were back in his car, wrapped in silence as we headed toward his house.
“So, Mr. Grumpy,” I said, glancing his way with a smirk.
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze cold. “Don’t call me that.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll call you whatever I want. Anyway, what would you like to eat? I can make something for us—our first night as... a married couple.” I said the last words with a hint of sarcasm.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, jaw muscles flexing as if he were trying to control himself. “I won’t eat anything you cook. Don’t waste your time. When we get to the house, you’ll rest. I have a meeting to get to.”
Okay then. I leaned back in my seat, gazing at the houses that lined up the streets as we passed by.
We pulled up to his mansion, a huge white-colored mansion at the edge of the city. My mouth dropped open as I took in the sight. Wow, I am going to live—
"Are you getting out of the car or not? I have places to be." His annoyed voice interrupted my thoughts.
I stepped out, waiting for him to follow. However, the car roared to life, and he dropped my purse through the window before the car drove off.
What the... okay then.
Hours passed in silence, the house feeling emptier by the minute as even the maids who had received me had all retired to their homes.
By 11 p.m., I was pacing the elegant living room, my eyes drifting to the clock. Why wasn’t he back? Could something have happened? As my eyelids dropped, I sat on the soft couch, deciding to rest my feet.
The sound of a door closing woke me sometime around 1 a.m., as the clock read. I sat up groggily, rubbing my eyes as he walked in, his face set in its famous glare.
“Mr. Grumpy, where were you? Do you know how worried I was?”
He halted, raising a brow. “Worried? About what?”
“It’s one in the morning. Why would you be out so late without saying anything? It’s not safe—and I’m your wife. Don’t I deserve to know where you are?”
He smirked, a cold glint in his eye. “You do remember the clauses, don’t you? No affection at home. Or are you already breaking the rules?”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I’m not breaking any rules.”
“Yes, you are,” he replied, his gaze hardening. “Now, mind your business, and stay out of my way in this house. Know your limits—and respect them.”
“And one more thing, I’ve added a clause. A rule. You can never fall in love with me.”
I blinked, taken aback. Why would I even fall for someone who's always angry? “If I fall in love with you, the deal is off?”
“That’s right. If you fall for me, it’s over.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms against my chest. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m not here to fall in love with you. But haven’t you considered... What if you fall in love with me?”
He faced me fully, his eyes raking over my features. “Woman that will never happen. I will never love someone like you.”
Ouch! His words felt like a knife slicing through my heart. Someone like me? What did he mean by that?
“Oh, really? Then, Mr. Grumpy, what if I make it my mission to prove you wrong?”
Silence filled the room as he locked eyes with mine. "Good luck with that, crybaby."
- Writer
