VICIOUS

4. Being a little gay

"I hate you from the bottom of my heart," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion as I stared into his cold, calculating eyes. Hatred burned within me, fueling my resolve. "I will never marry a man like you,Alexander Roy Erikson. "

He is a devil disguised as an angel, but I know the real him, cunning, manipulative, and cruel.

"I… I’m sorry. Please, don’t cry," he murmured, his voice soft as he reached out to wipe away a tear that escaped despite my resolve.

I swatted his hand away, disgusted by the mockery of his concern. Embarrassed by my own vulnerability, I tried to compose myself, but when I looked at him again, I noticed something that made my skin crawl—his eyes gleamed with excitement.

What the hell?

"You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met," I spat, disbelief and revulsion spilling out in my words. Without waiting for his reaction, I stormed out of the restaurant, my chest heaving with a mix of anger and humiliation.

As I stood outside waiting for my Uber, the cool morning air offered little comfort. And then, I heard his voice again.

"Alona, let’s go," he said, approaching me with his usual self-assurance.

"Stay the hell away from me," I snapped, my voice rising. "I hate you."

"What about the wedding dress?" he asked, completely unbothered by my anger.

"Pick something yourself," I shot back venomously.

Minutes later, he emerged, sliding into the driver’s seat.

"I want to go home," I demanded, my voice firm but laced with exhaustion.

"Why? Are you upset that your fiancé has stolen your first kiss, shorty?" he asked with a mocking smirk.

"Take me home now, or else—"

"Or else what, princess?" he interrupted, his tone dripping with condescension. "You can’t escape this marriage. You can’t escape me."

His words sent a chill down my spine, but before I could retort, the car jerked forward, speeding down the highway. My pulse quickened as panic began to set in. He knew. He knew about my dystychiphobia—my fear of car accidents.

"Stop the car," I stammered, gripping the edge of my seat.

He didn’t listen.

"Stop the freaking car!" I yelled, my voice cracking as my breathing grew shallow.

"I’m so… so-sorry," I whimpered, my throat tightening as I felt myself on the verge of losing control. "Please, stop."

Finally, he slowed down, smirking as he handed me a bottle of water.

"I hate you," I whispered hoarsely, my hands trembling as I tried to steady myself.

"I know, lona," he replied with a smirk, his calm demeanor only fueling my hatred.

Later that evening

I stared at the wedding dress hanging before me. It was breathtaking, undoubtedly the work of a talented designer. But all I could think about was the nightmare that awaited me. I was seventeen years old, and in less than a week, I’d be married to a man I despised.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. Emma’s name flashed on the screen, and I answered.

"YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT!" she shrieked. "A guy from English class just asked me out!"

Her excitement should’ve made me happy, but instead, a wave of bitterness washed over me. Emma would get to live a normal life, free to fall in love. I, on the other hand, was trapped.

"Hello? Are you dead? Aren’t you excited for me?" she asked after a long silence.

Finally, I broke down.

"Emma, I’m getting married," I confessed through sobs.

There was a pause, then laughter.

"Haha, good one. You almost got me there," she said.

"I’m serious," I whispered.

The laughter vanished. "Wait… what? Are you freaking serious?"

"Dead serious," I muttered, wiping my tears.

"What the hell? Who’s the guy? When is this happening? Do Krystal and Karen know? How did this even happen?" she demanded, her voice rising with each question.

"It’s Roy," I admitted. "Our families want to strengthen their business ties. They told me yesterday, and the wedding is in a week."

She unleashed a string of curses in French, her frustration palpable even through the phone.

"I don’t want to get married," I whispered when she finally paused.

"Then don’t," she replied. "Talk to him. I mean, he can’t possibly want this either, right?"

"He does," I said bitterly. "He’s actually excited about it."

Emma was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "Are you sure he doesn’t have feelings for you? Sometimes guys act like jerks because they’re afraid to show they care."

"Emma, stop with your dark romance theories," I groaned. "Even if he did, it doesn’t matter. I hate him."

"Fine, then hear me out," she said after a moment of silence. "Convince him you’re gay. No straight man wants to marry a gay woman. Problem solved."

I blinked. "What? That’s insane."

"Do you have a better plan?" she challenged.

I hesitated. "What if I get caught?"

"If you keep focusing on the negatives, you’ll never get anywhere," she said firmly.

"But where would I even find someone to pretend to be my girlfriend?" I asked, then paused. "Wait—you can do it!"

"Me?" she exclaimed. "I just got asked out for the first time! Besides, Alex knows me. He’d see through it in a second."

"Please, Emma," I pleaded. "You’re a tomboy. It’d be convincing."

She sighed. "Fine. But you owe me."

"I know," I said with a small smile. "You’re my best friend."

As I hung up the phone, a spark of hope ignited within me.

I will never marry you, Alexander Roy Erikson.