HERMIONE

It remains a few hours before my shift is over. I don't have any surgery scheduled until the next two days. Mercifully.

As I step out into the hallway, my path is intercepted by Professor Patel.

He is one of the oldest doctors to have worked in the hospital, even though he attempts to appear young.

He never fails to dye his graying hairs into an obsidian black. He has that air of cheerfulness about him, which is a sharp contrast to my typical aloofness and icy personality.

Residents love to join his team rather than be under my mentorship.

"Impressive performance, as always, Professor Pierce," Doctor Patel says, clapping loudly.

My dad's name is Pierce - Jackson Pierce. My mom refuses to change her surname fully to his after marriage, hence the two surnames on my profile: Hermione Watson Pierce.

I introduce myself first as Hermione Pierce, before adding Watson as my other surname. Most of my colleagues are often baffled by this act of mine, wondering why I would hide my affiliation to the renowned Watson Foundation. If only they knew.

Sure, my family has loads of money - generational wealth; the luxury is secure and enviable. However, not all that glitters is gold. Beyond the glittering facade lies a darker reality.

"Mmn," I grunt low under my breath. "Did she request my audience?" I ask him.

"Don't be too rigid, Professor Pierce." He flattens his mouth into a semblance of a smile and draws a line across it with his finger. "Smile."

I ignore him, heading towards my mom's office.

"That insolent br..." I hear Professor Patel's strangled curse behind me, and a slow smile creeps onto my mouth.

Professor Patel is actually an interesting man. I could have gotten along with him and gleaned some knowledge from him; he's highly skilled in bypass surgery. However, he's too much of a sycophant, kissing up to anyone he regards as being in a prominent position.

That makes me wonder what his true nature is. I can't befriend a man whose true nature isn't apparent.

I knock on the door when I reach my mom's office.

"Come in!"

I turn the knob and push the door open, stepping inside. My mom is on a call, so I gently close the door behind me.

I sit on one of the couches set a few feet away from her desk, where she receives visitors. I recline into the plush chair, letting out a sigh.

My head whips toward my mom, and our eyes connect. The sigh was louder than I intended, and it catches her attention.

"Let's talk later, alright," she says, wrapping up her conversation. She sets her phone down on her desk and stands up, her desk chair rotating to the side.

Her heels click rhythmically against the polished marble flooring as she approaches me. She sits across from me, crossing her legs at the knee.

Her eyes are sharp as she assesses me. "Tea or coffee?"

I shake my head, unable to speak. My throat is dry, so I swallow and try again. "No, I'm good."

Her jaw twitches, but she holds back her comment. She rings for tea to be brought in for her.

I suspect I'm in for a lengthy and critical discussion, given that my mom is offering tea before opening her mouth.

My anxiety spikes, and tension builds in my bloodstream. I stiffen my legs and clasp my fingers over my thighs to hide my nervous reaction. I assume a leisurely pose, but my entire body is shaking with worry.

My mom's tea arrives, and the lady who brings it in sets it on the table and quickly exits the office. Mom doesn't appreciate the effort either. She raises the steaming cup of herbal tea to her mouth and sips.

The thick scent of chamomile with peppermint fills the air, and I struggle to hide my repulsion.

My mom is probably aware of my aversion to her choice of tea. It's either she prefers this torturous way of keeping me grounded, or she just doesn't care.

Right. I smack my lips, recollecting. In my mom's regard, I'm not a human being; I'm a mere robot. I have no feelings or thoughts of my own; I'm merely conditioned to act out her wishes.

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat. My stomach shifts under her intense scrutiny, and I wish earnestly for a reprieve.

"Are you feeling stressed?" Mom asks out of the blue.

My gaze snaps up to hers. "Pardon?" slips through my lips before I can help it.

A frown lines her forehead, and I immediately answer, "No." I hold my breath, searching for a fresh scent, but none can be found, not in Mom's office.

Mom inhales the steam from her tea, a smile of appreciation on her lips. I cringe inwardly, schooling my expression to maintain a mask of neutrality.

The cup clinks against its saucer when she sets it down. She produces a magazine from nowhere and flings it across the center table toward me.

I glance at the magazine, curiosity sparking. I don't reach out to pick it up, but I catch the headlines: "Alvin Dale Mendes: The Visionary Behind MD's Success."

I haven't heard of him. He's not the kind of news I'd follow, if I watched the news. I've always been too busy with research books and practicing late into the night to hone my surgical skills.

I meet my mom's gaze questioningly when she gestures for me to pick up the magazine.

"Acquaint yourself with every detail about that family," she says.

"Why?" I mutter, still trying to process the information.

"You will be getting married into that family soon," my mom states, her tone matter-of-fact.

"What?" I exclaim, squinting my eyes in shock. I glance down at the old man on the magazine. He looks to be around my dad's age, fifty-two, but appears much older.

I leap to my feet, a mix of disbelief and irritation sweeping through me. "This old man?" I seethe, flinging the magazine in my hand.

My mom's demeanor remains unchanged. "Calm yourself down. You will be getting married to his second son," she says with a finality to her tone. "He's around your age," she adds, as though that's something to rejoice about.

I feel a surge of anger and resentment. She's tying my future to some faceless man for her ambitions, and expects me to act the obedient child and say yes to this?

Hell, no. I can work myself to exhaustion, but I'm not settling for a loveless marriage.

"No," I breathe, facing my mom head-on. "I'm not getting married to anyone. That will be my choice to make. No," I say more firmly.

My mom doesn't react. Instead, she slowly folds her arms across her chest. Then, she begins to laugh – a dry, menacing cackle that has me withdrawing a step back.

When Ezra Watson Pierce laughs, it doesn't end well. It means someone's going to cry. And we both know who that person is in here: me.

AIDEN

When Dad informs me about my marriage match at dinner, I bite my tongue. I want to protest, but that would be a waste of breath. Dad's orders are ultimate and binding.

I've learned to be optimistic about every challenge I encounter in this household. I try to find the good side of every displeasing task that comes my way.

The lady I'm expected to marry may be the perfect remedy I need, following my recent breakup. I don't have to love her, since our union is a marriage of convenience, purely contrived for a business purpose.

Besides, my issues with commitment are a factor to contend with. Marrying her will nip my rakish lifestyle in the bud, as my home training won't allow me to cheat while bound to another woman, even if not willingly.

"Who is she?" Beatrice asks, seemingly unaware of this announcement.

I shovel my food into my mouth, barely tasting it, and chew slowly. This is my typical conduct – acting like I'm not there. I only speak when I'm told to speak. I avoid making any noise with my cutlery, lest I attract Beatrice's scornful look.

Being the subject of that look has taught me to be the perfect dinner companion, with impeccable table manners.

Beatrice hates me with passion, and she's made that fact obvious since I was brought into this house.

Lachlan, my stepbrother, shares similar sentiments with his mother. They perceive my presence as a threat to Lachlan's future as the company's successor.

If only they knew about my apathy toward power struggles. I'm grateful for the luxury I enjoy here, but fighting over the inheritance of a man who wouldn't have sought me out if my mom hadn't abandoned me on his property is the last thing on my mind.

"My mom told me she'd be back," I recall, the memory still etched in my mind. But all I saw was her back as she walked away. She never returned. I have no idea if she's dead or missing. It's as if Violet Gallagher's memory and existence never existed.

Moreover, Beatrice regards me with contempt. My background makes her deem me unfit to eat off her pet's plates, let alone share meals with her.

I noticed the abhorrence radiating off her the first moment her eyes set on me. I was wearing my worn-out school clothes, which dulled in comparison to her garish and expensive-looking dress.

I had already braced myself for her disdain, judging from her expression. Still, I put on a cheerful facade. Despite the jabs, flak, and insults, I brush them off with an air of indifference.

They're more irritated by the fact that their actions don't dent my happiness. However, that's a half-truth. I hide my hurt deep down, where they can never see it. Only when I'm alone do I cry out loud, waxing nostalgic.

"Hermione Watson Pierce," Dad answers.

"Watson Foundation," Lachlan inquires, drawing his brows together.

My ears perk up at the name, but it doesn't strike a chord.

"She's a brilliant lady with a bright future ahead of her. Why pair her with him?" Beatrice demands, looking baffled. She casts a pointed glance in my direction. "Lachlan would have made a much more suitable match for the lady."

Dad grunts. "My reasons are none of your concern. Their marriage has nothing to do with suitability or compatibility." Dad waves one finger in Lachlan's direction. "Aren't you seeing someone already?"

Lachlan shifts in his seat, his head hanging low. "No," he responds, before adding, "Our relationship isn't serious," when he observes Dad's skepticism. He can't fool Dad; I'm sure the old man has eyes on us everywhere we go, keeping tabs on our lives. Lachlan doesn't have to attempt deceit to win his favor; Dad can easily sniff through the lie.

To be honest, I have no idea why Lachlan is trying so hard. It's no secret that he's the eventual heir of the company, my presence notwithstanding.

The fact that Dad has placed me in a key role within the company's hierarchy doesn't mean he's setting his sights on me over Lachlan, the son he's groomed as his successor for years before I entered the picture.

I snort under my breath. I doubt the old man will bequeath any of his inheritance to me. I'm the good-for-nothing, long-lost son of the Mendes family, who ought to have remained hidden. Lachlan is the golden son, and everyone knows it.

Dad responds to Lachlan's statement with another grunt. He's a man of few words, not cold, but indifferent. I never feel comfortable under his scrutiny. I rarely see him smile. His aura is intimidating and radiates unease.

"You two should get to know each other. Your marriage plans will kick off soon," Dad informs me.

I shift my focus to him, asking, "How soon is that?"

When his eyes connect with mine, I promptly break eye contact. His eyes look hollow, filled with depths that leave shivers in their wake.

"When do you plan to have the marriage held?" I ask, speaking as though it's not my marriage being discussed.

"In a month's time."

"Okay." I nod.

"It's up to you to charm her. Try to gain her affection. It's what you do best," Dad says, gesturing dismissively in my direction. "Perhaps the only thing you're good at," he adds.

I flatten my lips at the direct insult. I hear Lachlan's snicker across the table. I ignore him, tuning out of the ensuing conversation.

When I finish eating, I silently leave, grumbling a halfhearted goodnight to everyone. I don't get a response, not that I anticipated one anyway.

****

"You don't mean it?" Ray laughs when I tell him about my upcoming nuptials when we meet the following evening.

He's amused that I'll be standing at the altar before he does, given my attitude toward anything long-term and involving commitment.

"Who's the lady?"

"It's Hermione Watson Pierce. I heard she's a prodigy in surgery and all that." There were plenty of praises about her when I looked her up online. Her photos showed a poised woman with piercing green eyes and raven-black hair, her smile radiant and confident. But I'm not naive enough to trust everything the media says. Except the articles written about me – those are accurate.

"Yes, I've heard of her," Ray says, tapping his chin.

I lean forward, curious to hear what he knows. "Any insight into the real woman beyond the screen?"

"She's not normally the type of woman you'd go for." Ray shrugs. "You know how it is with medical students, especially one with her level of excellence at her age." Raymond tilts his jaw meaningfully at me.

I sag back in my chair, holding the waist of my beer bottle. The dim lighting of the restaurant and the hum of conversation around us create a cozy atmosphere, but my mind is elsewhere. "I bet she's an arrogant, narcissistic, and mean woman." A tortured sigh escapes me, and Raymond waves a hand in consolation from across from me.

"My condolences, brother," he says.

"I dread my future now, Raymond. Getting married to Hermione Watson will be a nightmare," I moan aloud, bemoaning my predicament.

"I'm glad our feelings are mutual." A sonorous female voice echoes behind me, sending a shiver down my spine.

I turn to face the owner of the voice as she stands up from her chair, facing me squarely. Our tables are placed side by side, although the seating arrangement keeps our backs turned to each other. Otherwise, I would have noticed her.

My heart skips a beat when our eyes lock. My mouth falls agape as recognition sparks. I'm staring at Hermione Watson Pierce in person, and I just talked badly about her in her presence.

The soft overhead lighting illuminates her features, making her even more breathtaking. I close my mouth, work my jaw, and open it back to apologize, but she speaks before I can.

"It was nice meeting you too, Aiden Mendes," she says, her voice as silky as a siren's. It lures me in, and I drink in its euphony. She smiles, and her eyes sparkle with amusement.

What was I saying about my future with Hermione Watson Pierce? I take my comment back. I earnestly look forward to a marriage with this woman. She's perfection in its physical form.

When she excuses herself to leave, I don't stop staring after her until Ray clears his throat. He looks questioningly at me, a knowing grin across his mouth, when I turn back to face him.

"Mmn?" Ray urges.

"I'm smitten, bro. I think I've fallen in love," I whisper, dreamily conjuring Hermione Watson Pierce's beautiful form in my head.

HERMIONE

I stormed out of my mom's office in annoyance the previous day. However, I still looked up the details of the second son she had chosen for me. His reports were just as egregious as the prospect of getting married to his father - a reckless playboy with a lackadaisical attitude toward his duties. I wondered what my mom was thinking, trying to matchmake me with a man like him.

She was concocting another of her manipulative plans, deliberately choosing the less ambitious Mendes brother to gain the upper hand in our marriage. I cringed at the thought of my life with him, being played like a puppet at my mom's disposal.

When I recalled his thoughts about me, which I had overheard at the restaurant, I couldn't help but tut. Our paths crossing had been an unexpected turn of events. I hadn't realized he was sitting behind me until he mentioned my name. I'm not the type to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, but the restaurant's setting wasn't conducive to subtlety.

I had almost choked on my food at the abrupt mention of my name. A stinging sensation speared through my chest, and I rubbed the center of it, trying to process my emotions.

The shock written on his face when he realized the object of his gossip was sitting right behind him was gratifying.

Aiden Mendes is an attractive man, I have to admit. With his blonde hair and blue-green eyes, he's quite handsome. However, from his physical appearance to his personality, he's a far cry from my ideal type of man.

I slow down my pace on the treadmill and get off, reaching for the towel and water bottle nearby. After wiping the sweat off my face and drinking a huge amount of water, I return the bottle cap to its place. My breathing is uneven from the exercise. I head to the shower to wash off the smell of sweat, brush my teeth, and change into my nightdress.

As I plop down on the settee, my phone rings. I reach for it, noticing Dad's name on the screen.

"Hello, Snugglebug," his calm voice says, and I stifle an eye-roll, biting down on a smile. Dad never ceases to taunt me with the moniker, which contrasts sharply with my personality now.

"Dad made my childhood bearable," I think, recalling how he's always been calm and easygoing, perhaps too calm, as Mom often dominates his authority. I try to see him as a supportive partner, but it irks me how Mom overrides him.

"I heard about your argument with your Mom," he says, bringing me back to the present.

"Yeah." I nibble on my middle finger, staring at the walls far away. I'm sure Mom must have told him all the details.

"The decision is yours to make, Hermie," he says, using his typical phrase.

I sigh, feeling frustrated. It seems like Dad's always sitting on the fence when there's a disagreement between me and Mom.

I love my dad, but I wish he would take a stand sometimes, especially when it comes to Mom's overbearing behavior.

"You are an adult now, Hermione. Your life is in your hands. However, whatever actions you take, remember to think the consequences through."

His advice isn't particularly helpful, as I'm still at a crossroads with Mom's decree hanging over my head.

"Alright, Dad. Thanks for calling," I say drily. I blow a kiss over the phone, signaling him to end the call.

"Won't you be visiting at all? Don't you miss us?"

"I miss you," I confess.

"Just me?" Dad teases, his tone filled with mirth.

We both know the answer to that. Since I went to medical school, I never moved back into my parents' house. My residency at the hospital was automatic – I didn't have to worry about placements.

But I had been eager to get away from my mom's presence that when the opportunity occurred, I vowed to maintain the distance between us as much as I could.

If only Dad lived apart from her...

However, I couldn't wish for my parents' marriage to have issues because I couldn't stand my mom's controlling nature.

"Is that Hermione?" I hear Mom's icy voice in the background, and I murmur a quick goodbye to Dad.

However, Mom beats me to it before either of us could end the call. She must have yanked Dad's phone out of his hands.

She had ordered me out of her office following her ominous laughter, but I know she's seething within, contemplating how best to make me succumb to her will.

"I have arranged for you to meet with the Chairman's second son tomorrow," my mother states, her authoritative voice cutting through the speakerphone.

I flatten my mouth, feeling a surge of frustration.

"We already met," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.

There is a hint of skepticism and suspicion in her words. "You have?"

"Yes," I affirm. "And I'm still firm on my stance that I don't want him as a partner. It's not a decision to be taken lightly, Mom."

"I never asked for your opinion," she retorts, her voice firm but laced with a hint of annoyance. "My instructions are clear, and you will abide by them."

"Mom, the man doesn't like me," I explain, trying to reason with her. "He hates the idea of marriage with me. Our feelings are mutual. Why are you forcing this?"

"Did he say it to your face that he didn't like you?" she asks, her tone dripping with doubt.

"I'm not every man's cup of tea, nor is he mine," I reply, trying to convey my point without being confrontational.

Why am I even discussing this with her? I frown, feeling a sense of exasperation.

"If this is about a business arrangement, we can find a way to make it work rather than forcing a union on..." My mother hisses, interrupting me.

"You are marrying him," she declares, her voice firm and unyielding. "He's a suitable partner for you. You are at a marriageable age, after all."

"But I'm not ready to settle down," I complain, a sense of desperation creeping in.

"He will be your partner," she reiterates, her tone brooking no argument.

I hold my tongue from arguing further, knowing it's futile. There's no point arguing with my mother when she's made up her mind.

"I don't like him," I murmur beneath my breath, resignation washing over me.

"You don't have to like him," my mother replies, her voice devoid of emotion. "Marriage out of love is a mere fantasy for girls with no ambitions. Love is an ephemeral feeling. You need to think ahead. I didn't raise you to be sentimental."

I feel a sting from her words, knowing she's implying that my father wasn't a suitable match for her.

"Why did you marry Dad, then?" The question slips from my mouth before I can help myself.

My father clears his throat in the background, and I sense a flicker of tension in the air.

"This is why I'm emphasizing that you should marry into a good home and not be impulsive as I was during my youth," my mother responds, her tone dismissive.

The insinuation rings clear to both of us, but my mother is unperturbed by it. She continues speaking as though she hasn't indirectly ridiculed her marriage with my father.

"And don't you dare argue with me about this," she warns, her threat firm. "You know you don't want to face my wrath."

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat, feeling a sense of trepidation. I know I'm trapped, and my mother has the influence and resources to keep me in line.

My mother doesn't wait for my response or bid me goodbye before ending the call. I lower the phone from my ear and sag back in my chair, feeling defeated.

I huff in exasperation, putting my phone down on the table. I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, flipping through channels until I find a show that catches my attention.

A sigh escapes me, and I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. I know I need to think clearly and make a decision soon, but for now, I just want to relax and forget about my troubles.