CHAPTER SEVEN
967 Words
KIERAN
“We’re here.” Ethan coos with a laugh, and I join in, watching Rochelle eye us warily.
“Where’s here?” she asks carefully, each word deliberate.
“Ethan’s house. He’s throwing a small party—close friends only. We can talk here.” I guide her out of the car and into the buzzing house.
The party’s already in full swing; the music pounds. Rochelle covers her ears, overwhelmed.
She grips me tighter; I feel the sweat on her tiny palms, the anxiety radiating from her.
I hold her hand, lacing our fingers together, and lead her upstairs—to somewhere quieter.
“Better?” I smile gently, closing the door behind us. The loud music fades into muffled thumps below.
She stands firm, arms folded, a scowl darkening her usually soft face.
“Something wrong?” I ask, strangely uncomfortable, the urge to laugh bubbling under my skin.
“You take me—a total stranger, mind you—to some strange place, lock me in a room! And you barely told me why I’m here or who you are!” She snaps.
“You’re mouthy,” I chuckle, popping open a beer from Ethan’s fridge and taking a long gulp.
“It was a mistake coming with you,” she mutters loud enough for me to hear, brushing past in anger.
“What I want from you is simple.” I start, and she freezes.
Bingo.
I stalk closer, savouring the moment, waiting for that flicker of dread, anxiety, and fear.
I inhale her unusual scent—most girls smell like flowers, candy, or lavender. She smells like... carrots, coconuts, maybe cinnamon?
I breathe it in, oddly calm—calm?—as I place a hand on her shoulder and turn her to face me.
Her expression is unreadable, blank.
“You haven’t said what you want.”
She looks at me, flat.
“I... uh... ahem.” I cough, looking away.
“It’s simple, really.” I regain my composure, matching her blank expression.
“We get married.”
She blinks, surprise flickering across her previously stoic face.
“You’re joking.” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious. My family expects a wife before the end of the month. I’m lucky enough to have the choice. Your sister gets the best treatment medicine can offer—all you have to do is marry me.” I explain plainly.
“Is there a time frame for this marriage?” She asks cautiously, weighing the offer.
“This isn’t some romance underdog meets billionaire bestseller, Rochelle,” I drag her name across my tongue, savouring it.
“This is real life. Till death do us part, Rochelle.” I clarify.
She stands still for what feels like an eternity, eyes heavy with thought.
“I’m not doing this!” she blurts, rushing past me and down the stairs.
I scramble after her.
“Wait!” I call, catching her and pulling her close, her body flushed against my chest.
Her cheeks burn bright pink, hazel eyes glistening under the dim party lights.
My mouth falls open, stunned by the sight, but she pushes me away, flicking her curly ginger hair back, her expression hard and resolute.
“I’m not doing it!” she spits, anger thick in her voice.
“I’m leaving.” She spins, searching for the exit.
“Okay, I understand. But let me take you home.” I say calmly, extending a reassuring hand.
●●●
“You’re painfully quiet,” I mutter, driving through the night, watching her stare out the window, the streetlights painting her freckled face with soft light.
“I’m thinking.” She hums softly.
“Why me?” she blurts suddenly, turning toward me, confusion plain on her face.
“My father chose someone for me to marry. I refuse to be controlled by him anymore. Besides, this is a win-win.” I shrug.
“I think you have so little control in your life. You want someone beneath your status—someone you can control.” She huffs, scrunching her nose.
“Aren’t you a smartmouth?” I scoff dryly, rubbing my palms on the steering wheel and focusing on the road.
“Here.” She calls out, and I park in front of a quaint café.
She fumbles with her seatbelt, struggling to unbuckle it.
“Let me.” I calmly take the belt from her small hands and undo it gently.
“You rich people and your complicated vehicles.” She huffs, earning a small smile from me.
“Don’t ever disrespect my Tesla,” I laugh, surprised at the humour in my voice.
She rolls her eyes, opens the door, and steps out.
“You will think about my offer, won’t you?” I ask, locking eyes with her.
She nods, a soft hum escaping as she walks inside. The door closes behind her.
ROCHELLE
“Is he gone?” I whisper to Fred, one of Becky’s longest-serving employees and a good friend.
“Why are you hiding?” He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Fair enough. I’m stuffed in a giant trash box, hiding.
In my defence, from the little time I spent with... I don’t even know his name! The point is, he could have followed me in here. And—boy—that guy looks c-c-crazy! Handsome... but crazy.
“Is the rich, handsome guy gone?” I whisper again.
“The one with the Tesla you got out of? He drove off immediately. Didn’t even walk in.” Fred replies.
Well! That’s good news!!
I jump out of the trash box, dust myself off, and grab my bag.
“Alright, Freddie, gotta bounce.” I whistle, walking out and heading home.
---
- Writer
