V

"I didn’t like what you did, Cosette. It would be a huge embarrassment if people found out. But I never expected that your disobedience would actually pave the way for our company to prosper even more.”

My head snapped up at Dad’s words. His lips curled into a grin, his eyes glinting with something calculated, something sinister.

"I know you're acquainted with Zion Yohan Warren. He doesn’t just own hotels and casinos here in LA—he has properties everywhere, vast lands in other cities, and let’s not forget… he’s a distant relative of the Spanish royal family."

He leaned back in his chair, watching me like a predator sizing up his prey.

"I wanted to apologize for raising my hand to you that day, my lovely daughter. You know I only do these things because I care about you, right? I just don’t want you ending up with someone unworthy—someone who isn’t on our level. But since you were with Zion that day… I won’t scold you. In fact, I won’t oppose this relationship at all.”

His voice was gentle, his expression warm, but his intentions couldn’t have been colder.

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or even more devastated.

Dad never truly cared about me. Not really.

This wasn’t about my happiness, my future—this was about business.

If I had been with someone else that night, someone who wasn’t as rich, as powerful, as untouchable as Yohan… would I even be standing here right now? Or would I have been beaten, humiliated, and cast aside like an inconvenience?

I forced a small smile, swallowing the lump in my throat, afraid that if I said the wrong thing, my emotions would spill over.

“Before you and Zion get married, your sister will marry Harrison Whitmore first.”

My heart stopped.

My eyes widened as I stared at him in disbelief.

He was still pushing through with Geneva’s wedding.

“D-Dad, can’t you just… not marry Geneva off?” My voice wavered, but I forced myself to stay composed. To negotiate. “C-Can I do it instead? Yohan is wealthy. Our company will thrive even more if I marry him.”

I knew I had failed.

My reckless plan had only made things worse. But if I could redirect this—if I could sacrifice myself instead—maybe I could still fix it.

Yes, the Whitmores were powerful. But so was Yohan.

He was calculating, manipulative, ruthless. He played the game better than anyone, crushing his enemies with precision, using his devilish nature to stay on top.

Even though I despised him, I would rather endure a lifetime with him than watch my sister suffer.

Geneva had dreams, ones that didn’t involve being sold off in an arranged marriage. She deserved to live. To love. To be free.

But me?

I could take it. I could bear the weight for her.

“D-Dad, please.” My voice broke as I pleaded with him. “Let me take Geneva’s place. Spare her from this. Let her follow her dreams. Don’t take that away from her.”

Silence.

And then—

Dad laughed.

A sharp, mocking sound that sent chills down my spine.

I stared at him, stunned. What was so funny?

“Oh, Cosette,” he sighed between chuckles, shaking his head. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

My stomach twisted.

“Whatever you do, you won’t be able to save Geneva.” His voice was final, unyielding. “I can’t let go of the Whitmores. They’re too valuable to our business. And Simon? He’s my friend.” 

He smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“If it were possible for you to marry both men, I wouldn’t mind having Harrison and Yohan as your husbands.”

I froze.

The air in the room felt suffocating.

Dad had never cared about who I married. He only cared about what that marriage could give him.

My eyes widened at his words. I couldn’t believe he’d say something like that—to his own child.

Did he really have no love for me? Not even a fraction?

What kind of decent parent talks about their daughter like she’s a business deal waiting to be sealed?

A sharp ache twisted in my chest, but I forced myself to swallow it down.

I couldn't sit there any longer. I stood abruptly, and the smug grin on my father’s face vanished, replaced by a sharp scowl.

"Where are you going? I’m still talking to you," he said, his tone cold and expectant.

A part of me hesitated, but I forced myself to meet his gaze, schooling my face into a neutral expression.

I gave him a faint smile, pretending to be unbothered.

"I have a dinner meeting, Dad," I said, glancing at my wristwatch as if I had just remembered. "I’m already running late."

He raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing me, but after a few seconds, he nodded and waved me off.

The moment I stepped out of his office, I exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to my chest.

I needed to get out of this house. Now.

As I hurried down the staircase, I nearly collided with Mom, who was carrying a cup of coffee—probably for Dad.

"Are you leaving, dear?" she asked, pausing on the steps. "I made you and Geneva’s favorite dish. Your sister is on her way home."

I managed a smile and stepped closer to kiss her cheek.

"Sorry, Mom," I said gently. "I have a dinner meeting, so I won’t be able to join you all tonight."

Before she could ask anything else, I rushed out the door, got into my car, and drove off.

I swore I’d never drink again.

But right now, I needed it.

I needed to forget—just for a little while.

As I drove, I headed straight for a bar I frequented, one where no one would question me. No one would try to stop me.

By the time I arrived, it was already eight in the evening—too early for a full-blown party, but I didn’t care.

I strode inside, went straight to a table, and ordered every drink I intended to consume. A lineup of liquor bottles soon sat in front of me, waiting to take the edge off.

Before downing the first shot, I let myself sit there and cry.

I gave myself an hour—an hour and a half at most—to let it out. To drown in self-pity. To feel the weight of my own uselessness.

And then?

Then I drank.

One glass after another, I drank until my thoughts blurred. Until my body felt numb.

Loud music pulsed through the bar, signaling the start of the night’s festivities. I poured myself another drink, but my hands were unsteady, and I nearly spilled it. My limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

Still, I drank it down.

Then, with unsteady steps, I pushed myself up from my chair and made my way to the dance floor.

I didn’t care about anything anymore.

I just wanted to have fun.

But before I could reach the crowd, I bumped into someone.

The sudden impact sent me off balance, and the room spun. I would have crashed onto the floor if not for the stranger’s strong grip around my waist, steadying me.

I let out a breathy giggle.

Was this fate?

Was he the man who would take me away from here? If so, I was more than ready. I didn’t care if we had just met—I instantly fell in love.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, looked up at him, and smiled.

"Hi," I said playfully.

But instead of a charming smile or even mild amusement, his forehead creased in irritation.

Then, in a sharp, exasperated voice, he snapped—

"Are you stalking me, weirdo?!"

I blinked. What the hell?!

How dare he look at me like that when I was giving him my best drunk-girl smile?!

I stumbled forward and pressed myself against his chest, feeling his entire body go rigid. He was about to push me away when I tightened my grip, refusing to let go.

"Take me away, Prince Charming. I’ll go with you! Marry me!" I clung to him, my voice thick with tears.

His reaction was instant.

"What the heck, Cosette Allen?! Are you drunk?! Get away from me!" he shouted, his tone sharp with irritation.

As if he didn’t want me near him.

My heart sank.

Doesn’t Prince Charming like me? Doesn’t he feel even a little sorry for me?

I need him.

I shook my head and looked up at him, my expression crumpling into pure desperation. Maybe if he saw my sad face, he’d take pity on me.

"Please, Prince Charming! I don’t want to marry Yohan! I want to marry you!" I cried, squeezing my eyes shut and leaning onto his shoulder.

He went silent.

The longer he stayed that way, the more my mind spun.

Finally, I peeked up at him.

He was staring at me. Intense. Serious.

And damn. So ridiculously handsome.

My gaze dropped to his lips. They looked soft—too tempting.

Can I touch them? Kiss them?

Without thinking, I lifted my hand and brushed my fingers across his lips.

He froze.

His eyes widened in shock before he quickly grabbed my wrist, yanking my hand away.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he snapped.

I pouted. "Can I kiss your lips?" I whispered, my eyes still fixed on them.

He blinked. Stared at me, as if he couldn't believe what he just heard.

But he didn’t pull away.

Taking that as a yes, I wrapped my arms around his neck, standing on my tiptoes—because damn it, he’s too tall—and pressed my lips to his.

Damn. He tastes so good.

Soft. Warm.

A flicker of déjà vu rushed through me, but I shook it off.

No.

Prince Charming is different from that man. They’re worlds apart.

But before I could think too much about it, his hands suddenly grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against him.

And then—

He kissed me back.

Deep. Intense. Overwhelming.

A dizzying heat spread through my body, and I surrendered to it, my eyes fluttering shut as I let myself drown in the kiss.