Chapter 4: The Proposal Problem

Rhian’s breath hitched, but she refused to let him see her flinch. Damon stood before her—imposing, calm, and irritatingly composed. He wasn’t just dressed in perfection; he wore power like a second skin. The kind of man who didn’t enter rooms so much as own them. His presence filled the air, as commanding as his cologne—intense, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“The perfect scent,” he repeated with that rich, commanding voice. “For our wedding day.”

She stared at him, trying to steady herself. “You’re serious,” she said finally, blinking. “You’re actually serious.”

Damon raised a brow, amused. “Do I look like a man who jokes about marriage?”

“You look like a man who doesn’t believe in it.” Rhian sarcastically mentioned, trying not to look weak in front of the man she once bluff about marriage.

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “That was true. Until you offered.”

Rhian gasped. “I did not—!”

He stepped closer, amusement flashing in his eyes, along with something far darker. “Oh, but you did. In that bar. Right before you passed out in my arms.” He paused, his voice mocking but velvet-smooth. “‘If you're gonna sit here, you might as well marry me,’” he recited. “‘You’re handsome, you smell good, you didn’t leave me like the others… That’s husband material.’ Sound familiar?”

Her face turned crimson. She blinked rapidly, eyes darting anywhere but his face, as the memory hit her like a freight train. She could still feel the warmth of the alcohol in her veins, the sting of heartbreak, the haze of desperation. “T-that was sarcasm!” she blurted out, defensive and mortified.

Damon tilted his head, eyes locked on her, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he were savoring every second. “Maybe so. But you sealed it with a pinky promise—and where I come from, that’s a binding contract.”

“You’re unbelievable!” she snapped, her voice high with disbelief. Her cheeks were burning. “I don’t even love you!” she cried. “So why would I marry you?” Her words came out fast and jumbled, a mixture of panic and confusion.

Damon didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn business card—her business card. The corners were bent, the ink slightly faded from being handled too much. He placed it gently on the table between them like a legal document.

“And yet,” he said softly, “you gave me your scent. Your name. Your vow.”

Rhian stared at it, her stomach twisting into knots. It felt like her entire world had slipped sideways. “You’re insane.”

“No,” Damon said, calm as ever, his voice like steel beneath silk. “I’m a man who finishes what he starts. And right now, that means making you my wife.”

She tried to laugh it off, but her voice came out too shaky. “You can’t just decide that. I have a business. A life. Plans.”

“So do I,” he replied, folding his arms. “And you just became part of them.”

Rhian stepped back, pressing a hand to her temple. “This isn’t real. This is some ego trip for you.”

For a moment, the charm fell from Damon’s face. His expression darkened, sharp and unyielding. His voice dropped an octave, quiet but chillingly clear. “I don’t play games, Rhian. When I give my word, I keep it. When I make a promise, I follow through. And when something is mine… I protect it.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Whether you realize it yet or not—you are mine.”

The room fell into stillness.

Then, moving slowly, he came around the table. He stopped just in front of her and reached up, gently tilting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. His touch was soft, but his eyes were deadly serious.

“I won’t rush you,” he said quietly. “But don’t mistake patience for weakness. The ring is ready. The date is flexible. But the outcome—is not.”

Rhian’s pulse roared in her ears. Her lips parted, but no words came out. “Why me?” she finally whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

His gaze softened. Just a little.

“Because you were fearless enough to challenge me,” he said. “Bold enough to stare me down. And reckless enough… to kiss me back.”

Her eyes widened. “I—I didn’t—” If the ground could swallow her whole, she’d gladly let it, She couldn’t recall anything clearly, but every time her eyes fell on his lips, a vivid flash of a kiss lit up in her mind.

“But most importantly,” he interrupted smoothly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “because you made me promise. And I keep my promises.”

There was a beat of silence between them, heavy and electric.

Finally, Rhian whispered, “And if I say no?”

Damon smiled, not unkindly, but firm. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”

He stepped back, adjusting his cufflinks like the matter was settled. “You have three days to choose the scent,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. “And one week to choose the dress.”

The door clicked behind him.

Rhian stood frozen, eyes locked on the card still resting on the table—her own logo glaring back at her like a signature on a contract she never intended to sign. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she sank to the floor, numb. “What kind of mess have I gotten myself into?” she whispered, dread curling in her chest. It’s impossible to reason with him. Regret washed over her—regret for going to that bar, for drinking too much, and most of all, for ever crossing paths with Damon.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Cathy asked gently, helping her to her feet, though Rhian’s legs still felt like jelly beneath her.

“Do I look alright?” she snapped, gesturing toward the door Damon had just walked out of. “I don’t even know that man, and yet he’s acting like he can just decide we’re getting married—like he gets the final say in my life,” Rhian said, her voice filled with disbelief and frustration.