Chapter 4
1996 คำ
Freya Sinclair
I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror.
Red lips. Curled lashes. Skin dusted in shimmer and confidence I didn’t actually have.
The dress barely touched my thighs , black, sleeveless, and tighter than anything I’d worn in years. Maybe ever. I had just bought it today.
It was the kind of dress women wore when they wanted to be seen.
And that was the point, wasn’t it?
Rowan Carter wasn’t going to notice someone like me if I stayed invisible. If I kept being quiet. Sweet. Predictable.
The kind of girl men cheated on and threw away without blinking.
So tonight, I wasn’t her.
I was someone else.
Someone who would walk into the bar, look him straight in the eye, and say: You’ll never forget me.
At least… that was the plan.
In reality, I was fidgeting in a velvet booth, knees pressed together, hands gripping a martini glass I hadn’t touched. My heels were too high. My heart was too loud. Every time someone walked in, I held my breath.
He wasn’t late.
I was early. Way too early.
I kept checking the time on my phone like it would give me courage.
All I saw was my own reflection in the screen , and the quiet panic swimming in my eyes.
What the hell am I doing?
I didn’t do this. I didn’t dress like this. I didn’t wait in bars for mysterious men like Rowan Carter.
I was the girl who brought takeout to her boyfriend’s apartment and hoped he’d say thank you.
I was the girl who laughed nervously in elevators and couldn’t look strangers in the eye too long.
And now here I was — plotting revenge in fake lashes and borrowed courage.
I tried to sit taller. More confident. I tilted my head the way I’d seen women do in movies when they wanted to look seductive and unbothered. It just made my neck ache.
“Calm down, Freya,” I whispered to myself. “He’s just a man. Not a god.”
Then again, if the devil wore tailored suits and smelled like thunderstorms and power — Rowan might be pretty close.
He was sharp in ways Logan never was. Colder, too. Which made him harder to predict.
Which made this harder.
What if he doesn’t come?
What if he does?
I stared at the untouched drink in front of me. The olives looked like eyes. Judging me.
I was two seconds from getting up and running out when I felt it , that shift in the air.
Like gravity tilted just a little.
I looked up.
And there he was.
Rowan Carter.
He walked in like he owned the entire hotel, like the room adjusted to him. A black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Dark slacks. No tie. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his hand through it before coming down.
His eyes found me instantly.
I couldn’t read his expression. He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Just walked toward me with the kind of calm that made my skin buzz.
“You are here too.” He stated as he looked in my eyes while I tried not to squirm as I say straight making sure that my chest sticks out for him to notice. I don't even know what I was doing at this point.
“It's hotel bar, Rowan.” I said as I took a short sip of my drink. “Do I need to have your permission?”
He didn’t sit right away. His eyes roamed over me , not with desire, exactly. With curiosity. Like he was cataloging me. Deciding what kind of weapon I was trying to be.
“i don't believe in coincidences.” He said as he sat on the stool beside me. His hair were slightly tousled and for some reason that made him look effortlessly handsome. “Are you sure that you are not following me?”
“Mayybe this is not a coincidence and I did wait- sorry hope for you to show up here tonight.” I said as I turned to look at him with a smirk.
His brow twitched — amusement, maybe. He smirked at me
“So I was right afterall. You were following me.” He commented his eyes again looking at my outfit while I desperately try not not fidget.
“I was not following you Rowan but I was hoping that you would show here tonight.”
“Is this why you are dressed like this? If you think seduction is the way to whatever it is you want,” he said calmly, “you’re going to have to try harder than showing up in lipstick and wearing a sorry excuse of dress.”
My face burned. I looked down, twisting the napkin in my lap.
And then—
“But looking at you somehow makes me curious.” He added as the bartender gave him the drink.
I looked up slowly.
His gaze was on me. Not cruel. Not kind. Just watching. Observing as if he could see right through my soul.
“So tell me, Freya,” Rowan said, voice low. “What exactly do you want from me?”
I looked right at him.
And even though the truth was ugly , revenge, humiliation, victory ,
I smiled and lied like a girl who still believed in happy endings.
“I want you.”
His words hit harder than I expected.
“I’m not interested in a one-night stand.”
They weren’t cruel or dismissive. Just final. Like he’d read right through the red lipstick, the little black dress, the desperate glint in my eyes , and wasn’t impressed.
I blinked. My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.
God, this man was impossible to shake. His calm was unnerving. Logan would’ve already been dragging me to bed, bragging about how irresistible I looked. Rowan just… sat there, waiting for me to say something honest.
Which I couldn’t.
Because honesty didn’t win wars.
“Good,” I said after a moment, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Because I wasn’t offering one.”
His brow lifted , just a fraction. The silence stretched again, tight as piano wire. I could feel the thump of my pulse in my ears.
“You weren’t?” he asked slowly.
I met his gaze.
And I said the craziest, boldest, most dangerous thing I’d ever said in my entire life.
“No. I was planning to marry you.”
Rowan stared at me.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t scoff.
He just… froze. Like his brain stalled for half a second trying to process the madness I’d just dropped on the table.
“Come again?”
My throat was dry. My knees were weak under the table, but I leaned forward and gave him my best wide-eyed, soft-voiced sincerity.
“I meant it. I want to marry you.”
“Are you drunk?” he asked, slightly shocked from my words and to be honest I don't blame him.
“No,” I whispered. “I’ve never been more serious.”
His jaw tensed. He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his shirt strained slightly against his forearms.
He looked dangerous when he was silent.
Like still water before a storm.
“You don’t know me,” he said flatly. His voice was stern and it sent shivers down my spine. “And you are already proposing to me?” He sounded amused.
“You don’t know me either,” I replied. “But we could get to know eachother.” I suggested.
“That’s exactly the point.” he said. “If I had to ever marry you, I would want to date you first but before that I had to know you.” He said. “You know right that you sound so absurd?”
I let out a breath. This was it , the moment where I had to sell the fantasy. I could almost hear Logan’s voice in my head, laughing. You’ll never do better than me, Frey.
Well… watch me.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said, “but the night we met on the bridge…”
I let my voice tremble slightly. Enough to suggest I was holding something back. Rowan’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker in his eyes , a shift.
“You thought I was going to jump,” I continued. “And maybe… maybe I was thinking about it.”
Lie. A big fat lie.
I was just cold. Wet. Heartbroken. I never once thought of ending my life. But it was a believable story , one he’d already planted in his own mind.
“But then you spoke. And it stopped me.” I looked down at my hands. “You made me feel seen, when I felt invisible to everyone. Including the man I thought loved me.” I said voice soft and sweet like honey. “You made me realise that life is worth living.” I looked at him through my lashes.
There was a pause.
A long one.
Rowan’s gaze didn’t soften, but it stilled. Like he was watching something fragile unravel in front of him and trying to decide whether to stop it or let it fall.
“You fell in love with me after one conversation,” he said, voice unreadable.
“Not love,” I corrected quickly. “But something real. Something that made me want more. Made me want you.”
More lies.
Stacked on shaky truths.
But I made my eyes wide, my voice soft, and I watched him like he was the only person in the world who could fix me.
And somehow, it worked.
Because Rowan didn’t push me away.
Instead, he took a slow breath and leaned forward.
“You think marriage is the answer?”
“I think you’re the only thing that makes sense right now. ”
Another lie.
But at least this one didn’t hurt to say.
Rowan stared at me for a long moment. Then he leaned back again, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered—
“Jesus Christ.”
I almost smiled.
“If it helps,” I said gently, “I’m not expecting you to fall in love with me. Or pretend to. We can make it clean. Practical. Paperwork, if that’s all you want. Until I make you fall for me” I said with a grin as he looked at me as if I had grown three heads.
He gave me a look.
“So this is a proposal.”
“Yes.” I replied.
“A proposal from a stranger in a bar,” he said, still stunned.
“You’ve probably had worse offers. But since I am pretty I don't think this is worse proposal”
His lips twitched. Not a smile. But maybe the ghost of one.
“What do you get out of it?” he asked finally.
I didn’t hesitate.
“You.” I replied shamelessly. “What more can I want?” I asked as I tilted my head and stare at him with puppy eyes.
Rowan looked down at the table. Then back at me.
“And what do I get?”
“Someone who’ll play the role. Look the part. Make your life quieter. Easier.” I said and when he didn't seemed convinced through my words , I added some more. “You know what people say about man getting married? That their wives makes their life easy.” I said. “I promise that I won't complain about anything. I just want you by my side.”
Another pause.
“Alright.”
The breath caught in my chest.
“Wait…what?”
He picked up the drink the waiter had placed earlier, swirling it slowly.
“Let’s get married, Freya Sinclair.”
- ผู้เขียน
