Chapter 3 On my own

Kianna

The words hung between us, dense and absurd. I stared at him, my knuckles whitening as I clamped the duvet tighter against my collarbone.

"I—I’m sorry, what?" My voice cracked, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "You want to marry me? Are you completely out of your mind?"

Ares flinched, his shoulders locking up as his chest heaved with a sudden, shallow breath. The smooth confidence he’d radiated a second ago evaporated, leaving his posture stiff and defensive. He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting down to the floorboards for a fraction of a second before he forced his eyes back to mine.

He cleared his throat, a faint tremor running through his jaw. "Will you... marry me?" he repeated, his voice dropping into a tense, quiet murmur.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. He shifted his weight, trying to project a casual indifference, but the sharp, rapid rise and fall of his chest gave him away.

My mind spun into a complete short-circuit. 'He’s serious. He’s actually proposing to a woman who just ruined his entryway.' Marriage wasn't a casual transaction. It wasn't something you ordered off a menu and sent back to the kitchen if it arrived cold.

A dangerous, desperate thought crept into the margins of my panic. 'People get divorced every day. It doesn't have to be permanent.' I shook my head violently to clear the fog, my teeth clicking together. 'No. Stop it, Kia. Look at this place. He clearly comes from money, and men with that kind of money only bring wreckage.'

I thrust a hand out from beneath the covers, waving it dismissively. "Absolutely not. Forget you even said that. Just... please help me find my dress. I need to get out of here right now."

Ares’ expression darkened, his jaw dropping slightly as if the words were a physical slap.

"Hold on a second," he said, his arms jerking outward in a wide, frantic gesture before he caught himself. "Are you actually turning me down? Do you even know who I am? I’m... I’m just an ordinary guy!" A sharp, brittle laugh escaped his throat, completely devoid of real humor.

He took half a step closer, his hands dropping to his sides, his eyes searching mine with a sudden, raw vulnerability. "Look, I know this is insane. We just met. But I'm not playing games with you. I want to take care of you. I mean it."

A cold numbness settled over my face. The last bit of warmth drained from my perspective, leaving my gaze hard and flat.

"Didn't you hear me?" I said, my voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper. "I told you to find my clothes because I am leaving. I am exhausted. I am entirely done with rich people, and I am done with lies."

...

Ares

'Rich people?'

The words hit me like a physical barrier, throwing me completely off balance. I steadied my breath, tracking the sharp, defensive line of her shoulders and the hollow, guarded look in her eyes. This wasn't just a hangover reaction; she looked like someone who had been systematically dismantled by someone she trusted.

I forced a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck as my eyes darted toward the high ceilings and the expensive moldings of the suite.

"Rich?" I said, shaking my head as I let out a long breath. "No. You’ve got it completely wrong. You’re misjudging me because of this room." I took a step back, trying to reduce the threat of my height. "I’m an assistant. That's it. Do I look like someone who owns a place like this? I got completely blind-drunk with my superiors last night, and they felt guilty enough to book me this room to sleep it off. I swear."

Kianna narrowed her eyes, her gaze tracing every line of my face, searching for a tell, a twitch—any sign of deception.

"You're telling the truth?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.

"Every word," I said, letting a soft, reassuring smile take over. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would lie to you?" I took a shallow breath, my voice softening further. "But regardless of who owns the room... I meant what I said. I want to give you a home."

For a long moment, she didn’t reply. The word seemed to linger in the empty space between us, fragile and heavy.

...

Kianna

A home.

The word vibrated in my chest, heavy enough to make my lungs ache. Once upon a time, I knew exactly what that word meant. It meant Sunday mornings smelling of burnt flour and sweet syrup, late-night movie marathons where I’d fall asleep on the rug, and hugs that felt like a fortress. It was a house that practically vibrated with my parents' laughter.

Then the brakes failed, the metal twisted, and Mom never came back.

After that, the warmth vanished from the hallways. The mornings became quiet, hollow, and cold. And Dad... Dad moved on before the dirt on her grave had even settled. A new wife. A new daughter. A new life.

And I became a ghost haunting their perimeter. The special treatment, the affection, the sense of security—it all dissolved as if it had never existed. The house belonged to 'them' now. I was just an intruder taking up space.

My eyes drifted back to Ares, my breath escaping in a long, shuddering sigh. 'Maybe this is the pivot. Maybe this strange, aggressive proposal from a guy who can't keep a straight face is the exit ramp I've been praying for.' Maybe it was time to build a family by choice, rather than waiting for the old one to notice I was gone.

"Could you please just do what I asked?" I murmured, my voice losing its defensive edge. I wasn't ready to yield, but the urge to run was fading.

I kept my eyes on him. The morning light caught the sharp angle of his cheekbone and the clean line of his torso. It felt almost unfair that someone could look that flawless while standing next to a pile of literal vomit.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, breaking into my thoughts.

"Are we doing this as a marriage of convenience?" The question bolted out of my mouth before I could filter it.

His expression didn't change; he simply gave a single, firm nod.

"I want a strict timeline," I added, forcing my voice to remain level despite the heat rising in my throat. "We sign the papers, complete the contract, and part ways after two years like none of this ever happened."

The casual smile instantly slid off his face.

My stomach did a cold, violent flip. 'Shit. I pushed too hard.' The unreadable, dark intensity returned to his eyes, and the urge to hide beneath the duvet returned in full force.

"I... I mean, we'll get a divorce in two years," I stammered, my cheeks burning as I scrambled to fill the silence. "But I'll fulfill my obligations. I'll... I'll be a proper wife while the contract is active. Or whatever."

He stared at me for three agonizing seconds. Then, the tension broke.

"Alright," Ares said, his voice ringing out clearly as he stepped toward the bed. "Let's make the deal."

I blinked. 'Just like that? No negotiation?' Either he was completely indifferent to the terms, or he had a hidden agenda that required a wedding license immediately.

He slid onto the edge of the mattress, his sudden proximity making my pulse spike. He reached out, his large, warm hand open between us. I instinctively clutched the duvet tighter against my chest with one hand, offering him my other.

"No point in stalling," he said, his fingers closing firmly around mine. "Let's get it done today. You get your paperwork, I'll grab mine, and we'll meet at the civil registry."

"Uh... okay," I breathed, my brain completely overwhelmed by the sheer velocity of the situation.

He stood up, turning toward the foyer, but a sudden thought hit me. "Wait!"

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder with a sharp, arrogant smirk. "What? Regretting it already?"

"N-no," I stammered, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand. "I just... I realized I don't even know your name."

The smirk widened into a full, confident grin that made my jaw tighten in irritation. 'Great. He knows exactly how handsome he is.'

"Ares France Vuertalejo," he said, his voice dropping into a smooth, formal cadence. "Your future husband."

"Ares," I repeated, testing the weight of it. "Fine. But Mr. Ares France Vuertalejo—you tore my dress. How am I supposed to walk out of a luxury hotel looking like this?"

He winced, his hand flying up to scratch the back of his neck as a flush of color hit his ears. "Right... my bad. I lost my grip a bit. I'll go buy you a replacement. Promise."

Before I could reply, he turned and practically bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

The silence returned to the bedroom. I sat alone in the center of the massive mattress, wrapped like a cocoon in the white linen. I looked at the closed bathroom door, my heart still thumping against my ribs.

'What have I just done? How do I know he isn't a professional con man with a devastating jawline?'