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.

Then his voice cuts through my spiral. "See?" he says in that infuriatingly calm tone. "You just had the chance to tell me, and you didn't."

I sink deeper into my seat, suddenly exhausted. "You're right," I mutter. "I didn't."

And that's the last thing I say. I keep my eyes glued to the window for the rest of the drive, letting the world smear past me.

"We're here."

His voice drags me out of my thoughts, and I blink, realizing we're parked right in front of my house.

"I have to go to the office," he says casually, reclining his seat and closing his eyes like I'm nothing but background noise. "Don't take too long."

My jaw locks. "I'll take as much time as I want. Don't tell me what to do."

He doesn't react. Not a twitch. Not even a flicker of irritation. As if my anger is a breeze brushing past him.

I slam the door hard on purpose and stomp toward the house.

The moment I enter, my parents rush toward me.

"Diana, are you okay? What happened? They said they couldn't find you," my mother says, her voice trembling with concern.

Her concern comes too late. Concern means nothing when they already handed me over like a bargaining chip.

"I'm here to get my stuff," I say bluntly. "I'm moving in with the Grahams."

That shuts them up. Their eyes drop, and I walk past them, heading upstairs to my room.

Celine is already there, sitting beside my packed bags. Her small, sad smile hits me like a punch. She saw my message. She always does.

"You got my text," I say softly.

She ignores that. "Are you leaving forever?"

"I hope not." I laugh, though it sounds wrong to my own ears.

She doesn't fall for it. She pulls me into a tight hug. "If he's bad to you, I'll kill him," she whispers, voice thick with held-back tears.

"Us both," I whisper back.

She pulls away only to give me a list of instructions in a rush. "Call me all the time. Send me your address. Don't let him starve you. Eat properly. Spend all his money-it's the least he owes you. And-"

"Celine." I cut her off gently. Her attempt at being tough is adorable. "Did you forget who you're talking to? And besides... we didn't get married today."

Her face twists in confusion. "Why not?"

"I stood him up," I admit, and we both laugh.

"So why are you still leaving with them? Why tell me to pack your stuff?"

"It's part of the new agreement." I swallow. "We're officially... dating."

The word burns my tongue.

"Oh," she whispers. "I see."

"Don't worry too much. I'm still my own person. For now."

She nods. I stroke her head. "And... I'm sorry for how I acted these last few days."

"It's okay," she says. "I would've done worse. This is all his fault."

"And our parents," I add.

Her sigh says enough.

We stay locked in each other's arms for a long moment before I pull away. "I should get going."

She helps me carry the bags downstairs. My parents don't say another word-they just follow us silently. Dad loads my things into the trunk. Roland still doesn't step out. He remains reclined, eyes closed, like this is all an inconvenience he's enduring out of obligation.

I get into the car. Celine leans in and hugs me again before closing the door. Then she marches to Roland's window and knocks sharply. He lowers it lazily.

"I dare you to treat her badly, asshole."

"Celine!" my mother gasps, dragging her back.

Roland's lips twitch-not in amusement, but in something dry, almost empty. "Cute," he says, before rolling the window back up.

Then he starts the engine without looking at me, without saying a word, and drives.

Cold. Indifferent. Unbothered.

Just like him.

Just like the storm I'm about to walk into..