Diana's POV

I haven't left my room since Roland stormed out yesterday. Even though Mom has knocked on my door about a million times, and Dad has sent Celine to try to coax me out, I haven't moved from the bed or said a single word. And I'm sure they know the door isn't locked-they could come in anytime. But they won't. Cowards.

I tried to sleep, but the horror of the wedding haunted every dream. So I kept my eyes open, staring at the empty ceiling while my mind spilled a thousand questions I know I'll never get answers to. Like why marry off your son to anybody? What happens if I refuse? What's my life supposed to look like with those cuffs on my finger?

If I had known earlier, maybe it would've been easier. I would've lived more. I would've tried to understand the man I was being tied to-hell, maybe we could've even been friends. But now? Now I hate my parents for using me as payment for debts I didn't owe. I hate his and my parents for creating this mess, his grandparents for thinking this was acceptable. And most of all... I hate him. Roland. He is everything I never wanted-arrogant, prideful, detached. I get the feeling he could be violent too... and definitely a cheater.

That's not the life I pictured for myself. Not the husband I imagined myself marrying.

Anyone but him.

For the next two days, I only leave my room at night to grab food when everyone else is either asleep or pretending to sleep. I can hear their cautious breaths every time I move. I ignore it. I don't care.

Sitting at the kitchen counter, eating Nutella straight from the jar, I'm lost in thought. I'm getting married tomorrow. It all feels unreal.

From the corner of my eye, I catch my mother's shadow. I sigh.

"Let your husband know I'll be going to the court on my own tomorrow. I don't want any of you there."

I don't wait for her response. I shove the Nutella back in the fridge and stride to my room.

---

Roland's POV

It's been two freaking hours since I started waiting for my damn bride, and I'm getting really angry. She's a tough one, I'll give her that-but I'm not sure whether to call her behavior bravery... or foolishness.

I am a Graham. Nobody leaves a Graham hanging. Definitely not me.

I don't care whether we get married or not-either way, she's going to pay for this.

My mom is panicking in the car while my dad tries to calm her down. She's been doing that for the past hour, and it's becoming unbearable. Apparently, Diana told her parents she wanted to come to the ceremony alone. My parents are convinced something bad happened to her on the way-some of our company's rivals know about this wedding, so they're paranoid.

But I know better.

I've met this girl. If she's not here, it's because she chooses not to be here. Tsk. She's playing a very dangerous game.

My head bodyguard approaches.

"Sir, we checked her house and all possible routes she might've used. Everything is clear."

"Well, isn't that lovely."

Sarcasm drips from my voice.

Before he can continue, my phone starts ringing. Unknown number. Dramatic.

Missing bride on her wedding day and a call from a stranger? Almost cinematic.

If it's a kidnapping, I'm not paying a dime. She's unbearable, and I barely know her anyway. They can keep her.

I answer.

"Hello, darling."

Her voice is unmistakable.

I pause, then laugh. Of course. The little witch.

"Diana Corten, what exactly are you playing at?" I step away from the crowd, moving to a quiet corner.

"Now what could you possibly mean?" she replies, feigning innocence.

"Oh, how did your wedding go? Sorry I couldn't attend. I had pressing matters to attend to."

If a stranger heard her, they would actually believe her little performance.

"Diana, you get here right now."

My voice is calm, but sharp.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Slow down, Roland. I never said I wasn't going to marry you, did I?"

Her tone changes-finally serious.

"Diana, you realize I could just sign the papers for both of us... right?"

"You can lie to yourself, Roland, but not to me. The court needs my signature. You can't do this alone

You forget who you're talking to."

She goes silent. Not a breath. For a moment, I think the call has dropped.

She speaks again, lower this time. "I just want to talk."

Her voice shifts. Softer now-uncertain, but steady.

"You couldn't have said that yesterday? Or the day before? Maybe even the day you threw me out of your room? Today isn't just any other day, Roland. My mother thinks you've been kidnapped. Your parents said you told them you'd come alone. They're frantic, and you're... what? Brooding?"

Another silence-this one longer. Heavy.

"If you're waiting for an apology, don't hold your breath. I won't marry a stranger who can't even pretend to care. And if I could rewind time, I'd make the same choice-again and again." Her tone sharpens. "I said I want to talk. I chose today because... today is when I wanted to. So stop pretending you're the reasonable one here and just get over here."

She snaps, but I don't feel anger-not even irritation.

I feel... amused. Almost impressed.

I smile.

"Where are you?"

---

Of course. Somewhere unexpected . Somewhere nobody would think she'd be . Somewhere bold.

I move through the empty hallways of my house, each step echoing. The maids scatter out of sight-they always do. Fear is useful. Predictable. It keeps the world obedient.

My room is just how I left it: curtains drawn, air thick with the morning's silence.

But I'm no longer alone.

Through the glass doors of my mini office, she's there. Diana.

Barefoot in white socks on my dark carpet. Gray baggy jeans, white hoodie, hair in that wild bun she never bothers to fix.

She's watching me.

Her heartbeat is loud enough to feel, even across the room. But her eyes give nothing away-not fear, not hesitation. Just... presence.

I walk toward her, slow, deliberate. Open the glass door. Close it. Lock it.

She turns her eyes briefly to the door. Then back to me.

I take the last few steps. Close enough to feel her breath. Towering over her, but she doesn't flinch.

"Hello, Diana."

"h..hi." Her voice is breathy, but steady.

"You're very daring, I'll give you that. How did you get in here?" My tone is flat, cold.

"Your workers wouldn't let me in, so I used the window." My eyes flick to the glass doors. The window above is still slightly ajar.

"It's a pretty high window."

"Not high enough to stop me." She doesn't look away. Bold. Annoyingly bold.

"You wanted to talk." I move to my chair and sit, back to her for a moment before I turn to face her.

"We need to come to an agreement."

"I thought we were in an agreement." My voice is cold. As impressed as I am, it doesn't change the fact that she irritates me.

"Our agreement. Not the one our families made."

"What do you want, Diana?" I start scrolling through my phone, just for show-anything to get under her skin.

"I'm talking to you, Roland."

"I'm not deaf."

She sighs. "Fine. We're not getting married anytime soon. If we're going to do this, we should at least do it right. I need to know what I'm getting into. So yes, we're engaged... but it's going to be like dating-"

"Dating?" I drop the phone. I can't believe she's serious.

"Yes. Dating." Her voice is steady, her chin up.

"For how long?"

"As long as it freaking takes to feel comfortable."

"And what if that never happens?" I stare her down. She really thinks she can play this like a game.

"Is that a threat?" She leans forward, palms on my desk.

"You seem to forget what you are in this agreement, Diana. You're payment. You don't make demands."

"I'm not making demands. I'm asking for a normal progression. I know where I stand. Don't you dare act like I'm clueless!" Her voice jumps, sharp. She's shaking a bit, but she holds her ground.

I pause, amused. No one raises their voice at me. I should end this right now and have her father rot in jail. But I'm curious. She's different.

"Anything else?"

She breathes out, calmer now. "I was curious. What would happen to my father if I refused to marry you?"

"Well," I say casually, "he'll spend the rest of his life in jail. Everything your family owns-what little that is-would be wiped out. You'd be left with nothing. Homeless. Broken. But hey, if that works for you, don't marry me."

Fear flashes in her eyes. Just a flicker, but I see it.

"I was just asking."

"Of course." I smirk. "Anything else, darling?"

"When we do get married, I want a real wedding. A dress, guests, everything. Not just a signature on paper."

"You could always wear a dress to sign the papers."

"No!" She's fierce now. "I want a real wedding."

We stare each other down for a full minute. I chuckle, leaning back.

"And what do I get from this little arrangement?"

"Peace of mind. I won't make things hard for you."

I laugh, low and cold. "You think you can make things hard for me?"

"More than you think." She smirks now. First time I see her smile, and it's trouble.

"Fine. But I have one condition."

"What?"

"You'll live here from now on."

"What? Why?!" The horror on her face is priceless.

"Because I want to keep an eye on you. You're... tricky."

She thinks for a long moment. "I get my own room."

"What makes you think I have any extra rooms?" I tease, voice flat.

"Oh come on, you have like ten spare rooms in this mansion." She rolls her eyes.

"Don't do that." My voice drops, dangerous.

"Do what?" She's clueless, or pretending.

"Don't roll your eyes at me."

She scoffs. "Or what?"

"You need my cooperation more than you realize."

She swallows. Stands straighter. "So... is it a deal?"

My phone rings. I answer it without looking away from her.

"Yes, Dad. I found her. Yeah, she's fine. Sure. Bye."

She stiffens. "I... is everything okay?"

"How did you even find my house?" I'm honestly curious

"turns out we have a mutual friend"

I pause. Nod.

"Let's go get your stuff." I get up, not waiting to see if she follows.

She does. Slow, but she follows

"Diana's POV

We've been driving for thirty long minutes, wrapped in a silence so thick it feels intentional-like he's using it to remind me who has the power here. I still remember the looks on the faces of his workers when he walked out of his house with me. Fear. Curiosity. Confusion. They stood straighter the moment they saw him, like his presence alone tightened invisible strings around their spines. And he didn't say a single word to them. Just walked right through the middle like the world was obligated to part for him.

Cold, arrogant bastard.

The way they scattered, the way their eyes dropped-was that supposed to be my life now? Am I meant to shrink around him the way they do? Like some trembling little thing afraid to breathe too loud?

No.

He's in for a very rude awakening if he thinks that's going to be me.

But the silence is starting to chew at my brain. Every second stretches, snaps, stretches again. So before I lose my mind, I say, "You're strange."

He doesn't even turn his head. "Mm. Is that so?"

His voice is bored. Detached. Like I'm a commercial he can't be bothered to mute.

"You can at least look at me when I'm talking to you," I scoff, turning to the window.

"Would you like me to crash the car so I can look at you properly," he replies dryly, "or should I drive responsibly?"

I grit my teeth. Of course he'd twist it back at me. Everything with him feels like a power play-subtle, calculated, indifferent.

"Tell me then," he says after a moment, still not looking at me. "How am I strange?"

I can't tell if genuine curiosity sneaks into his voice or if it's just another tactic to keep the upper hand. But anything is better than this suffocating silence.

"I told you we had a mutual friend and you didn't even ask who."

"If you wanted to tell me, you could have," he says simply.

"Well, you didn't exactly give me the chance to," I snap. "You walked out of the office."

Silence again. Cold and heavy. I swallow and look back out the window, watching houses blur. I try to distract myself-counting streetlights, tracing raindrops on the glass, breathing deeply-but no matter how far my mind drifts, it always snaps back to this suffocating reality.

I'm sitting in a car with a man I do not know.

A man I feel absolutely nothing for.

A man I strongly dislike-maybe even something deeper than dislike.

A stranger. The stranger I'm supposed to marry.

My chest tightens.