By the fourth day, a routine has carved itself into my life.
Wake at seven. Breakfast in the dining room...alone, usually, though Grandmother occasionally appears to observe my table manners with critical eyes. Etiquette training from eight to ten, Lunch at noon, sotis alone, sotis with Bael sitting at the opposite end in silence.
More training in the afternoon... speech, posture, how to smile without looking like I’m dying inside. Dinner varies. Sotis alone in my room, sotis in the dining room with Grandmother, who uses the al as another opportunity to correct my every movent.
It’s suffocating, but at least it’s predictable.
Bael has tried talking to .
Little things. "How are you feeling?" "Is the food okay?" "Did you sleep alright?"
I ignore him every ti.
After three days, he seems to be getting the ssage. His attempts have beco less frequent, the silence at als has settled into sothing expected.
He’s understanding, finally, that I want nothing to do with him.
Which makes it all the more confusing that he’s currently pinning against the wall in his ho office, face inches from mine, expression dark with barely controlled anger.
How the hell did I get here?
***
Five minutes ago.
Lunch had just ended. I stood to leave, body aching from this morning’s session where Grandmother made practice walking up and down the parlor for two hours straight because I "shuffle like a servant."
"Li Runze."
Bael’s voice cut through the silence.
Not *Runze*. My full na, sharp with fraying patience.
I kept walking toward the door. Whatever he wanted, I didn’t care.
"We’re living in the sa house," he continued, voice tight. "We’re getting married in two months. Do you really think you can avoid forever?"
I stopped at the doorway but didn’t turn around.
"I don’t care," I said flatly. "I’ll keep ignoring you for however long I can."
The sound of his palm slamming against the table made flinch.
"Li Runze!"
I turned despite myself.
He was standing, both hands braced on the table, and sothing in his expression had shifted. The usual calm control was cracking.
Good, let him be frustrated for once.
"What do you w—"
He crossed the space between us in three strides, grabbed my wrist, and dragged down the hallway.
I tried to pull free but his grip was iron. "Let go..."
"No."
He hauled into his ho office and locked the door with a decisive click.
Then pushed back against the wall.
***
Now.
His hands are braced on either side of my head, caging in. I can sll his cologne, sharp and expensive, and I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
And I realize with a jolt: he’s angry.
Actually, genuinely angry.
Not the cold, controlled businessman, not the calculated heir to the Wuchen fortune.
Just... angry.
At .
The realization sends a thrill through that I don’t want to examine.
"Why the hell are you trying to avoid ?" His voice is low, dangerous. "Are you angry at ? Do you really not know why I did that? Do you think we had another choice?"
Each question hits like an accusation.
My hands curl into fists against the wall. "I understand perfectly!"
"Do you?" He leans closer and I can feel the heat of him. "Would you have preferred I married your sister after knowing you’re carrying my child? Don’t you think it’s better now than if I married your precious sister knowing I can’t even ever fuck her?"
The crudeness of it makes sothing twist in my chest. He’s right...logically, rationally, he’s completely right.
But there’s sothing about his calm, controlled expression even while saying it that makes want to scream. Like my sister’s broken heart is just collateral damage in his perfect solution.
"You got pregnant," he continues, each word deliberate. "We both made it so I had to take responsibility, no? Isn’t it better to co clean early than to get caught later?"
He’s right.
Damn him, he’s right.
But that doesn’t touch the anger burning in my chest.
"So what?" I snap, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t budge. "You want to thank you? Is that it?"
"I want you to stop acting like a child."
"Then stop treating like a problem you solved!" The words tear out of . "Did you have to tell them I seduced you? Did you forget the engagent party bathroom? The heat at your estate? Why didn’t you ntion that you made the first move?"
Sothing flickers in his expression.
"So that’s why you’ve been giving attitude," he says slowly. A smirk curves his mouth. "You’re upset I didn’t take equal bla."
Heat floods my cheeks and I hate that he can see it, hate that my body betrays like this. "I’m not..."
He catches my chin, tilting my face up, his eyes drop to my mouth.
Then he kisses .
Hard, aggressive, claiming. His tongue pushes past my lips and I taste anger and frustration and sothing darker.
My body responds before my brain catches up, heat pooling low in my belly even as fury burns in my chest.
I hate him.
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that I still want him.
He pulls back just enough to speak against my lips.
"Don’t you dare avoid again."
Sothing inside snaps.
My hand moves before I can think, pure instinct, pure rage.
The slap cracks across his face.
Hard.
The sound echoes in the quiet office.
My palm stings. His head turns with the force of it, a red mark already blooming on his cheek.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Oh god.
What did I just do?
I just slapped Bael Wuchen. CEO. My future husband. The father of the baby I’m carrying.
My survival instincts are clearly broken.
Bael turns his head slowly back to face .
His expression is... I can’t read it. Shock? Fury? Sothing darker?
"...Why?" His voice is dangerously soft.
I should apologize, grovel, and beg forgiveness.
Instead, I et his eyes and say exactly what I’m thinking.
"I don’t know. I just felt like slapping you."
His eyes go dark.
"Heh." A laugh, low and without humor. "You’ve certainly grown more than just attitudes now, huh? You’ve learned how to slap your husband-to-be."
The nace in his voice trips every alarm in my head.
I turn and lunge for the door.
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