chapter 6
My coffee grew cold while I gawked at Caleb doing his Greek god routine in the garden. Each pull-up revealed another muscle group that had no business existing outside of Marvel movies.
I was basically conducting scientific research at this point.
When he turned and caught me staring, neither of us pretended it hadn’t happened.
Our eyes locked across thirty feet of manicured lawn, and something electric snapped between us—a current that made my toes curl against the cool stone of the terrace.
After what felt like an eternity, he broke the gaze, grabbed his shirt, and headed my way. The cotton clung to his damp skin as he approached, and I frantically tried to remember how normal humans arranged their facial features.
“Morning,” he said, voice still rough from exertion. “Hope I’m not interrupting your coffee.”
“No interruption.” My voice sounded like I’d been gargling gravel. “Didn’t know you worked out here.”
“Been doing it all week,” he replied, taking the seat across from me. “Usually earlier, before anyone’s up.”
The question hung between us: why are you awake at dawn? But explaining “I’m meeting my arranged fiancé while simultaneously auctioning my virginity online” seemed excessive for breakfast conversation.
“Nervous about lunch today?” he asked, cutting to the chase.
“That obvious?”
“You have that look people get before facing a firing squad.”
I laughed despite myself. “Is that what dating was like for you? When you were young?”
“No one arranged mine,” he said, his expression softening. “But I recognize when someone’s being forced into a mistake.”
His directness knocked the air from my lungs. “Most people just congratulate me.”
“I understand how you feel,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Not sure I have the right to interfere, but… couldn’t stay silent.”
We fell quiet, the weight of unspoken things settling between us like snow. I stared into my coffee, overwhelmed by the urge to tell him everything—about the website, about my desperate bid for freedom, about how his mere presence made me feel things I’d never allowed myself to feel before.
“I have a meeting today,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “With a business partner who’s also in New York.”
“I guess you’ve already heard about my plans,” I replied, attempting a dry tone but hearing the tremor in my voice. “Lunch with Anthony Harris.”
Something flickered across his face—so brief I might have imagined it. “Yes.” He hesitated, then added, “Good luck.”
We exchanged polite goodbyes, and I returned to my room.
I spent the next four hours turning myself into a weapon. The black cocktail dress, the calculated makeup, the hair arranged in waves that suggested innocence while my eyes burned with something darker. By the time Mother approved my appearance with her cold smile, I was ready for battle.
“I’m pleased to see you’re finally accepting your situation,” she said, mistaking strategic compliance for surrender. “Anthony Harris is a wonderful choice.”
The bile rose in my throat. A choice implied agency, options, freedom. I had none of those things.
The car idled outside Le Coucou, and I checked my watch—12:35 PM. Already five minutes late, but punctuality seemed an absurd courtesy when your life’s been derailed without consent.
“Miss Wallace,” the driver interrupted, “it’s time.”
I yawned deliberately. “Are you moonlighting as my bodyguard now? Planning to escort me in personally?”
Without waiting for his response, I stepped out, heels clicking against pavement with a precise, angry rhythm.
Somewhere inside, Josie was watching. My only ally in a sea of sharks.
I spotted Anthony immediately—conventionally handsome in that privileged-heir way.
Athletic build, expensive watch, tailored suit. My heart sank as I noticed his eyes—glued to his phone, scrolling Instagram while waiting for his future wife.
“Hi,” I said, standing at the table’s edge.
“Hey,” he muttered without looking up.
Something snapped inside me. “Are you planning to propose to one of your Instagram influencers instead, or would you rather waste my time today?”
His head jerked up, eyes widening as they took in my appearance.
A flicker of something—appreciation, perhaps—crossed his features before settling into calculated indifference.
I slid into the seat and texted Josie.
Me: How far are you from our table?
“Texting one of your secret lovers?” Anthony’s voice cut through the silence, smooth as glass and twice as sharp. “Maybe see if they’ll marry you instead? Oh wait… you’re a virgin, right? Which means you’ve got no one. And that also means… no one wants you. Including me.”
He flashed a smile, perfect teeth courtesy of orthodontia and regular whitening treatments. The cruelty pierced deeper than I wanted to admit.
My virginity, valuable to my parents only, was apparently a liability to Anthony.
I swallowed hard, forcing neutrality. “I can see you’re also against this arranged marriage.”
He nodded, something like respect flickering in his eyes.
“Then how does someone so confident let his parents push him into it?” I asked, studying him with sarcastic interest.
That hit a nerve. His posture shifted, defensive yet curious.
“Sassy you are, I see,” he admitted, gaze tracking slowly over me. “And hot enough. I could actually get into playing this game with you.”
I scoffed and opened the menu, suddenly ravenous from skipping breakfast and the emotional toll of the morning.
The menu’s descriptions blurred before my eyes, elaborate culinary terminology meaningless in the face of Anthony’s hollow personality.
The next hour passed in excruciating slowness.
Anthony occasionally broke the silence with comments about his father’s company, his role there, the office politics he navigated with what he clearly thought was impressive skill.
I nodded at appropriate intervals, my mind drifting to the terrace that morning—to Caleb’s genuine presence, the way his eyes had actually seen me instead of through me.
“The analysts think we’ll see a fifteen percent increase by third quarter,” Anthony droned on beneath the clink of silverware and ambient restaurant noise.
My phone vibrated with two notifications. The first message from Josie: I’m close. I can see you but can’t hear anything.
But the second notification stopped my heart mid-beat, the words burning into my retinas with searing clarity:
All other participants have declined to outbid. The lot has been purchased.
