Secrets, debts and desire.

Ella’s POV.

I was just about to head back into the shop when I heard someone yell my name from behind like his life depended on it.

“Ella!”

The voice came sharp, urgent—and then I heard a loud crash.

A flower vase exploded just inches from where I had been standing. Shards of glass flew in all directions, some catching the sunlight like glittering knives. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might break free. For a moment, everything around me disappeared. The street sounds faded. Even my own thoughts became static.

I froze. Legs locked. Breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t even scream.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears like a bad drum solo. The only thing I could make out was Ethan—his face contorted with panic as he grabbed both my arms, shaking me like I was a ketchup bottle that refused to pour.

“Ella! Ella…are you okay?”

His voice finally broke through the silence like a cracked radio coming back on.

I blinked. “I…I’m fine,” I whispered, though I sounded like someone who had just barely survived a near-death experience with a flying ceramic missile.

He stared at me, worry flooding his usually smug expression. For a second, I forgot this was the same guy who once gave me the worst humiliation of my life. And now? He looked like he was about to burst into tears on my behalf.

“Are you hurt?” he asked again , his voice trembling ever so slightly.

I blinked at him. His face blurred for a second, and I realized my eyes were welling up from the adrenaline.

“No… I think I’m okay,” I said, though my voice sounded far away—thin, like paper.

The silence that followed felt loaded. I saw something flicker in Ethan’s eyes—guilt? Concern? something real—before he quickly let go of me. His hands lingered for a split second longer than they should have.

Lucy ran out just then, probably drawn by the sound of the crash or maybe just the drama.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, glancing between me, Ethan, and the glass shards scattered like confetti from hell.

Ethan didn’t even look at her. “Take her inside. She’s clearly in shock.”

Lucy nodded, though her eyes were practically glowing with curiosity. She didn’t ask any questions, but I knew her well. Her inner gossip engine was already revving.

Grandma was busy serving a customer inside, so I plopped down quietly on the chair near the counter. My legs were still shaking.

Oh, I just can't describe that experience properly.

“That was close,” I muttered with a shaky smile.

Lucy leaned closer, her brows arched in suspicion. “What exactly happened? I saw Ethan sprint toward you like a movie hero. Looked like he was about to throw himself in front of a truck.”

I cracked a dry smile. “He yelled my name and then boom—the vase exploded like it was waiting for a cue.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Physically? Yes. Mentally? I think I’ll be suspicious of all vases from now on. Thanks to Ethan screaming my name like a banshee, it missed my head by about three inches.”

Lucy raised one brow. “You’re calling him Ethan more comfortably now. Girl… what’s going on?”

I gave her a long, dry stare. “Hey… He’s still my enemy. I haven’t forgiven him for humiliating me back then.”

“You said you haven’t not you can’t. That means there’s hope.” She smirked and stood up, winking like some rom-com fairy godmother.

I rolled my eyes. Lucy had a dangerous gift—she could tease someone to tears and still make it sound like a compliment. But as I sat there trying to laugh it off, my thoughts turned serious again.

That vase… Did it really just fall? Or was it thrown? Was someone aiming at me? Could it be connected to the threatening phone call I got the other day? My gut twisted with unease. Something didn’t feel right.

The day dragged on like a slow-loading online video, and night came sooner than expected. On our way home to our tiny apartment—the one Lucy, Grandma, and I shared, we spotted our landlady standing in front of our door like a guardian of doom.

I didn’t need a crystal ball to know why she was there. We have been owing rent for three months now. Not ideal.

“Mrs. Thompson, if you don’t want to pa—”

Grandma didn’t even let her finish.

She dropped to her knees. Literally dropped.

Right there in front of the neighbors. Who, by the way, were peeking from their windows like they were watching a free episode of a drama series.

“Please,” Grandma pleaded, her voice breaking. “Just a little more time. I promise we’ll pay soon.”

The landlady froze. She definitely hadn’t expected a full-on kneel-and-beg performance. She looked around, embarrassed by the audience, then turned without a word and stormed off, muttering to herself.

I helped Grandma up gently. Her eyes were misty. Mine were burning with something else—shame? Anger? Helplessness?

We went inside. No one said a word. No one talked about dinner either. The silence in the room was so loud, I could hear my dreams screaming for help.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

All I could think about was the marriage deal—the one million pounds for a fake marriage. Secret, simple, and apparently faceless. My identity wouldn’t be revealed. I’d just have to pretend to be Ethan’s wife behind closed doors.

Honestly, it sounded better than whatever my current life was serving.

Why wait to drown slowly in poverty when I could just grab a lifeline?

It was around 4 a.m. I couldn’t wait anymore.

I picked up my phone and called Ethan.

At first he didn't answer, then I tried again.

Still nothing.

By the third call, he finally picked up.

“Hello?” he said, voice hoarse and half-asleep.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you this early,” I said, trying not to sound too dramatic. “But… can we go through with the marriage contract now?”

There was a pause. A very sleepy, very shocked pause.

"... Are you serious?"