CHAPTER TWO

ARIANNA

"Has anyone ever told you that you're terrible at jokes?" I snapped. Evan nodded, smug like he'd been waiting for the moment.

"If you already know that, stop trying to be funny,"  I stated, my voice was sharp yet flat. It was as if I were holding on by a thread.

“Okay,” he mouthed like a child, but I could see the calculation in his eyes.

So I swung open the door and stepped into the hallway. I needed air and silence. But barely a second passed before his hand wrapped around my wrist and yanked me back.

"You didn’t pick either of the options,” he said, as if he were simply reminding me about lunch.

“That’s because your options are a damn joke.” I ripped my hand from his grasp.

"I wasn’t joking,” he said, voice quiet but heavy. He meant it. God help me, Evan Gates was serious.

I laughed, though it was short and bitter. “Yeah, right.”

“If you marry him, the problem will be solved. If you marry me—well, the media would be too busy exploding over the story of me getting married to Arianna Lancaster to care about your unfaithful ex. So with that, Landon becomes old news, you stay untouchable, and I… I stay interesting like always.”

Hearing all of these, the weight of it hit me like bricks. Since he wasn’t bluffing, he wanted me to marry him.

My chest tightened with panic and disbelief. The heartbreak I’d been keeping together in fragments started shattering all over again.

"I can't marry you, Evan. Anyone but you,” I spat.

He burst out laughing, it was so loud, unbothered, and delightful. “That’s rich. Got a long list of potential husbands waiting in line?”

I glared but said nothing. I didn’t even have a single soul I could trust, much less marry.

“Go home, Rihanna. Think it through,” he said, releasing my wrist and disappearing into the control room.

So I stood there, fuming, breathing hard, and hating everything…him, Landon, myself. Especially myself.

*

Back home, I’d barely collapsed on my bed when a knock echoed through my door.

“Miss, your mother’s asking for you,” a maid called.

I groaned, yanking my hands through my tangled hair. “Tell her I’m asleep!”

“It’s no use. I’m already here,” came Mom’s voice.

Panic surged. “Shit,” I whispered, leaping up and darting to the mirror.

Where the hell was that bonnet?

I ransacked my drawer and found it, shoving my messy curls into it and tying a quick ponytail. It still looked like a train wreck. My eyes were puffy and red from crying, and my face... God, I looked like I’d been dragged through emotional hell.

I sprinted into the bathroom, splashed water on my face, dabbed on moisturizer, and forced a fake yawn as I opened the door.

Mom’s eyes scanned me. “You look like a zombie.”

“I was asleep,” I muttered. “What is it? Did someone die?”

She smacked the back of my head. “Landon’s mother is here with gifts. Aren’t you excited?”

Excited? I could barely stop myself from screaming.

“I’m tired,” I said flatly. “I’m not coming down.”

Her face twisted into confusion and mild offense. “What? You were so excited to meet her.”

“I need to sleep,” I replied, then I shut the door before she could pull more maternal guilt. But she knocked for another minute before giving up.

With that, I grabbed my phone and scrolled back to the anonymous text that had shattered my world this morning. The one that had tipped me off about Landon and Kayla.

It had to be Evan.

So, in response, I texted the anonymous to meet me at the Grand Ville. 7 pm, and with that, I turned my phone screen off to reminisce on what I was dragging myself into.

If Evan was the anonymous texter, why would he, of all people, offer to help me?

Because, as much as I know Evan, he never did anything without a price. So what was he getting out of marrying 

Soon, the anonymous text replied in a way that got me on the edge, "You’ve been curled up in bed for hours. Landon’s mom just left. No point waiting till 7. Meet me in one hour. So, get up now, and you’ll make it."

Reading this, my eyes widened. I froze as I just kept staring at my phone as his messages popped in. So I took a look at the window, wondering where and how he was seeing me.

Then another text popped in and it says, "I’m not at your window, Rihanna. But you really should learn to lock it."

Immediately, I leapt up from my bed and slammed the window shut, as my heart began hammering. Soon, I changed inside the bathroom as I wasn’t taking my chances in giving him a show. Not today.

*

Some minutes later, I was on my way to the Grand Ville VIP lounge to meet with the anonymous texter, who was most likely Evan. And getting there, I was right all along. it was indeed Evan

“And even with a head start, you still show up five minutes late.” Evan's voice was thick with mockery as I walked in.

I ignored the jab and sat down, cutting straight to it. “I thought being a prick wasn't your specialty, because I still don't get why you text me anonymously. "

"Did that upset you? Well... sorry but not sorry," He replied, with nonchalance echoing in his voice.

I mean, he is an asshole, so I don't expect much.

"Anyway," Rolling my eyes over. "I’ve thought about what you said. You want a contract marriage, right?”

His expression was unreadable. Then he nodded slowly, like he’d been waiting for me to come to my senses.

“Fine. I agree.” The words came out of me like a dare, but I meant every syllable.

“I thought you would.” He gestured, and a man in a suit stepped forward and handed him a thick envelope.

Evan placed it in front of me. “Marriage agreement. Review it, sign it, and we proceed.”

I skimmed the pages—most of it was legal jargon and cold expectations. It didn’t matter. I signed.

Evan’s smirk widened as he slid the document back. “Welcome to the game.”

“What now?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Now?” His grin turned dangerous. “You keep playing the clueless fiancée. Go on with the wedding plans. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I bolted upright, blood draining from my face. “What? You tricked me into marrying you so I could marry him?”

“Did he put you up to this?” My voice rose. “Was this some twisted plan—did Landon send you?”

He looked genuinely offended. “It’s insulting that you think I’d take instructions from that idiot.”

“Then what the hell is this, Evan? Who sent you?” My voice cracked. My hand hit a wine glass, shattering it against the floor.

“Rihanna,” he growled, jaw tight. “Fucking listen. Stop asking questions, I’m not going to answer. Just play your part. I’ll play mine.”

He stood and walked out without another glance, leaving me alone with broken glass and a contract that felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

And for the first time, I realized— I wasn’t just in heartbreak anymore.

I was in something far more dangerous.