Chapter 5

Miles

My mom and sister had flown in for my wedding, which was happening tomorrow. My twin sister, Minnie, is the CEO of Tonyhan in London. We grew up there, where my dad started the company-London being the oldest and most prestigious branch. But after my parents' divorce, my dad moved to America, and for some inexplicable reason, I joined him after college.

Don't ask me why I chose to live with him if he is a pain in my ass. Even I can't even answer that.

We were lounging under the blazing summer sun by the pool at our family home. Minnie and her eldest daughter were splashing in the water, while her youngest was napping on my mom, who sat in the shade next to me.

"I can't believe my son is getting married, and I still haven't met the bride," my mom remarked for what felt like the millionth time.

"Eommaaa, I offered to bring her to meet you yesterday, but you refused," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"I haven't met her either," Minnie chimed in, flopping onto the chair beside Mom.

"I can go get her now," I offered, sitting up.

"No, no, don't bother the poor girl. Tomorrow's a big day for her, and she's probably nervous and resting," Mom replied, wrinkling her nose.

Then stop whining about it, I groaned internally.

"I want to meet her. Go get her," Minnie countered, slurping her drink obnoxiously.

"You're crazy if you think I'll go just because you said so," I shot back, leaning lazily against my chair.

"Yes, you will. You never do anything nice for me. I haven't seen you in years, can't you do this one thing?" she argued, playing the victim card with dramatic flair.

With a loud sigh, I grabbed my towel and stood. "Fine."

"Miles, let the poor girl be," Mom complained half-heartedly, though I could tell she secretly wanted to meet the bride as much as Minnie did.

"Be right back," I muttered, heading inside to change.

Sliding into sweatpants and a T-shirt, I grabbed my car keys and stepped into the driveway. I paused briefly in the driver's seat, realizing I couldn't even remember her name.

Yes, the bride. That's what I'd been calling her. Don't judge me.

I opened the glove box and fished out an invitation card. The audacity of having to check my own wedding invitation to remember my bride's name.

"Cheryl," I read aloud. A nice name, at least.

Pulling into the modest compound where Cheryl lived, I killed the engine and sat for a moment. Voices spilled through the slightly open windows, loud and heated.

"You must be very stupid! Who lies to their father like that? Did you think I wouldn't find out you're interning at Tonyhan?" A man's voice her father's-boomed.

"You think you deserve good things? To intern at Tonyhan while being married to the CEO?"

Her father's mocking laugh was followed by a woman's voice-probably her stepmother.

"Honey, you're missing the point. She lied. If Dia hadn't followed her, you wouldn't have known. She needs to be punished."

My gut twisted, and I pushed the door open quietly, stepping inside. The argument grew louder as I made my way toward the living room.

"Why did you lie? Answer me!" her father shouted, raising a clenched fist.

I moved on instinct, sprinting into the room and grabbing his arm before it could strike Cheryl. The rage on his face matched my own, but I had the upper hand.

"Were you about to hit her?" I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.

"It's not what it looks like, Miles. I was simply correcting her for lying," he stammered with an awkward laugh.

Bastard.

My jaw tightened, the urge to break his jaw with a punch nearly overpowering. But I forced myself to focus.

Without another word, I grabbed Cheryl's hand, pulling her toward the door. She stumbled slightly, but I steadied her as we stormed out.

The drive was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. My grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, frustration pulsing through me. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She was staring at her hands, dressed in my company's intern uniform.

How did I not know she was interning at Tonyhan? Then again, I don't even remember her damn name most of the time. Why would I know that?

"Does he hit you?" The words came out harsher than I intended.

"No," she said softly, her voice trembling.

"No?" I scoffed. "Does he just raise a clenched fist out of nowhere? You're over eighteen-you can leave! Why the hell do you put up with this?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling over.

Her eyes flicked to me for a moment before dropping to her lap. "He doesn't. It's just... It only happened once, and he apologized."

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel, the sharp thud startling us both. "Goddamn it!"

The silence stretched, broken only by her uneven breathing. I didn't understand her. She had every opportunity to leave, to stand up for herself. But instead, she stayed, accepting whatever hell they threw at her.

But then I remembered: this wasn't a real marriage. I wasn't in love with her. This was about keeping her safe, keeping her out of their reach.

When we arrived back at the family house, I killed the engine and turned to her. "Wipe your face. You're meeting my mom and sister." I stepped out without waiting for her reply.

She took her time in the car, and when she finally emerged, her face was composed, though her eyes were still slightly red. We walked inside to find everyone preparing for dinner.

"She's here!" Minnie announced, grinning like she'd just won a prize.

Mom rushed out of the kitchen, stopping abruptly when her eyes landed on Cheryl.

"Annyeonghaseyo," Cheryl said, bowing deeply in greeting.

Her voice was steady, but when she straightened, I noticed the dampness on her sleeve. My grip on her wrist had been wet earlier too. Her clothes... were wet. Why?

Mom and Minnie exchanged pleasantries with her, but the awkward tension was palpable. I excused us quickly, taking Cheryl upstairs to her room.

"You're staying here tonight," I said firmly. "I called Chris to have your things sent over. You're not going back to that house."

She didn't argue, only nodded as I handed her one of my T-shirts. I didn't ask why her clothes were wet-I didn't want to hear another excuse. Her father threw water on her? She slipped and fell? Or maybe they tried to drown her? I didn't trust the answer not to send me into a rage.

Dinner was already on the table when I came back downstairs, ready to dive into the spread of my mom's home-cooked food.

"Is she not coming down?" Mom asked, eyeing me as she ladled soup into bowls.

I groaned, reluctantly leaving the table to get Cheryl. Knocking softly on the door, I opened it to find her standing by the bed.

She was wearing my oversized T-shirt, which fell to the middle of her thighs. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, highlighting her slim figure and toned stomach. Her hair tumbled loosely around her face, damp at the ends.

And then I saw it: the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

Fuck.

I looked away, my jaw tightening. This was exactly the wrong way to start fulfilling the promise I'd made-to protect her, not ogle her.

"Dinner's ready," I said, my voice gruffer than I intended. Without waiting for her response, I turned and left, muttering curses under my breath.