Amanda's heart skipped a beat as she pulled her hand away. She lowered her eyes, hiding her confusion as she mumbled, "The nature of my career is complicated. I probably won't be able to wear this ring often."
A marriage born of a mistake—every time she touched the cold diamond, she felt a chill in her chest.
Quentin didn't seem bothered by her hesitation. He simply smiled, took out the matching band, and slid it onto his own ring finger. "Then just wear it when you're at home."
Surprised by how easygoing he was, Amanda looked at him. She opened her mouth to argue, but he was a step ahead, catching her hand and leading her down the street. A strange, steady warmth radiated from his palm. Amanda hesitated for a second, then allowed herself to be led.
"If I hadn't stumbled into the wrong room that night," she said softly, "you wouldn't have had to marry me. I'm just causing you trouble."
She had been furious with him at first, but that anger was fading. She knew that as the head of the Harris family, a scandal like this—or a marriage to a woman who might be working against him—could cost him everything.
Quentin noticed the faint sadness in her eyes. "It is a bit of a hassle," he admitted with a soft smile.
Mostly because there doesn't seem to be a way into your heart yet, he thought. He reached out and gently patted the top of her head. When she looked up at him with wide, startled eyes, his smile deepened. "But it's not that difficult. I'm actually quite easy to win over."
Amanda, still feeling guilty from his "troublesome" comment, snapped back into focus. She took advantage of his proximity to punch him squarely in the chest. "Who are you calling 'easy to win over'? Are you saying I seduced you?!"
Quentin clutched his chest, feigning agony. "Are you trying to become a widow on our first day of marriage?"
Amanda felt like she should be more mature after living two lives, but every time she talked to Quentin, he managed to tease her back into her twenty-one-year-old self.
"Widow? I don't even have a husband!" she huffed, spinning around to walk away.
Quentin quickly followed. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going home!"
Seeing her huffing with indignation, Quentin felt a sense of relief—the sadness had left her eyes. He reached out and steered her in the opposite direction. "You might want to turn around then. You're heading the wrong way."
"I... damn it!"
Amanda stomped her feet in embarrassment but couldn't escape the arm he draped over her shoulders.
As he settled her into the car, Quentin leaned down to look at her. Her face was still flushed a deep crimson from her outburst. "Should I change my name?" he asked softly.
Amanda frowned. She knew that as a married woman, calling him "Uncle" or "Mr. Harris" sounded ridiculous, if not a little suspicious. But "Husband"? The thought gave her actual goosebumps. Even calling him "Quentin" felt too intimate.
"I can't think of anything right now," she muttered, pushing him away from the door and slamming it shut. "I'm going home. Goodbye!"
Quentin stood on the curb, watching her car disappear into the night. He lit a cigarette, his smile fading into the grey smoke.
Inside the Bentley, Secretary James watched his boss with pity. The man works twenty-hour days to make time for a wedding, meticulously chooses a ring, and the bride runs away the second it's on her finger. Maybe I should stay single forever.
"You think it's better to be single like me, right?" James asked the driver.
The driver just snorted with contempt. "If you're single because nobody wants you, don't brag about it like it's a choice."
James stared out the window. Can I walk home from here? ***
Not far away, a silver sedan sat in the shadows. Javier watched the roadside with cold, calculating eyes. He picked up his phone and dialed.
Amanda was leaning her head against the car window, watching the city lights blur, when her phone buzzed. She answered indifferently. "Hello?"
"Mandy," Javier's voice was warm, a contrast to the cold wind blowing through her window. "You're moving into the villa with my uncle tomorrow, right?"
"Yes."
"There's a project on his desk," Javier said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Help me find out which piece of land he's eyeing in the west end of the city."
Amanda closed her eyes, letting the wind chill the bottom of her heart. "I know."
"Then rest well. Love you."
Amanda hung up. The "love" in his voice sounded like cheap plastic. He didn't hesitate to sell his "love" or his "fiancée" if it meant getting an edge over Quentin.
She looked down at the sparkling diamond on her finger. She could still feel the warmth from Quentin's touch. She knew he wanted this marriage to be real.
I'm giving you a chance, Quentin, she thought. I came to you to use you, to destroy Javier from the inside. If you're as smart as they say, don't let me down.
At the Harris main house, the atmosphere was the polar opposite of the quiet street. The moment Javier stepped inside, he was met with the sound of smashing glass and screaming.
"You still love her, don't you?! Your eyes were glued to Milena all night!" Tiffany Harris shrieked, her face twisted with a decade of resentment. "Do you even remember that I am your wife?"
Dylan Harris looked at her with pure exhaustion, which quickly turned to spite. "What if I do? If you hadn't used Javier to trap me all those years ago, I never would have married a woman as bitter as you!"
"You...! I'll kill you!"
Tiffany lunged for a vase, but before she could throw it, a second vase flew across the room and shattered at their feet.
Both parents froze. Javier stood in the doorway, his silhouette dark and menacing. He looked at them with a bone-deep indifference. "Is that enough?"
"You bastard!" Dylan shouted, his face reddening. "How dare you speak to your parents like that!"
Javier didn't blink. He just stared until Dylan, unnerved by his own son's gaze, waved his hand dismissively and stormed out of the house.
Tiffany collapsed into a chair, tears streaming down her face as she watched her husband leave. Javier watched her for a long moment, his fists clenching and unclenching. He turned to leave, but his mother's voice stopped him.
"Javier... are you going to leave me, too?" She looked at him like a drowning woman reaching for a life buoy.
Javier closed his eyes and let out a tired, ragged breath. Finally, he turned back, walked over to her, and silently helped her up to her room.