An arranged marriage. An illicit affair. An unforgettable passion. A forbidden love...
A spoiled socialite clashes with a streetwise mechanic who challenges the order of her privileged life while an arranged marriage threatens even more.
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I didn't leave the hotel. I fell into a state of numbness that lasted for days. I didn't eat, barely drank, and did nothing as I stayed in my king-sized bed.
The phone rang entirely the first day, until it died from lack of charging.
After that disastrous lunch with Cain, I had nothing to look forward to. No reason to try. The days filtered in and out as I suffered in my lonesome. There was no escaping this dreadful union. No way out of this mess I hadn't made.
Heavy knocks sounded at my front door. Easily heard due to the static silence in my penthouse.
I guessed it was housekeeping. I'd shooed them away Tuesday morning when they attempted to come and clean. I'd wanted to be alone.
Now, perhaps they were doing a wellness check.
My phone was dead, but the calendar on the wall said it was Friday. The frosted glass clock nearby said it was just past twelve.
Huh.
The knocking was still going.
I climbed out of bed and padded out of my bedroom to get the front door in my ivory silk pajamas. My hair was still wrapped up under my scarf. Usually, when I was on my game, I didn't allow anyone to see me like this, but I was beyond caring about my appearance at this point.
I reached the front door and didn't bother checking the peephole as I unlocked it. I stood back and pulled the door open, prepared to tell housekeeping to fuck off.
Only, it wasn't housekeeping knocking.
It was Cain.
My morally questionable fiancé.
Like always, he was sporting a suit, this one a three-piece indigo wool suit with a striped silver and navy tie that really did it for him. Cain looked impeccable in a suit. It wasn't a surprise he'd been photographed candidly in style sections of gossip magazines and gossip pages online. He was bringing the suit and tie aesthetic back tenfold. His suits didn't outweigh him, he wore them with confidence and a swagger most men would envy.
On paper, and in a photo, we did make sense together stylistically. My style was professional, dresses, blouses, and slacks. A look I'd always adored and obsessed over after growing up watching my father and mother go out to dinner or cocktail parties.
Still, even if we looked good together, it didn't mean we were good for each other.
Cain's men were hard to miss, as I spotted Beans and another man flanking the elevator and watching the hall for passersby.
I didn't bother greeting my future husband, instead, I glowered at him, wanting him to get the hell on with whatever reason he'd stopped by.
He took his time in front of me, examining me in my state of dress. That morning, when I'd washed my face and brushed my teeth, I momentarily rejoiced that I hadn't developed bags under my eyes or dark circles. My grim mind hadn't taken my appearance yet.
