Chapter 3–Don’t Mess This Up

Natasha’s POV

I woke up to a throbbing headache. 

My head felt heavy against the pillow. The dull pain reminded me of the whiskey I had insisted on drinking last night. Sunlight pierced through the half-closed blinds of my bedroom. 

Fragments of the previous night returned as I sat up straight. 

Ananya’s voice yelling over the music. The drunk man who had grabbed my waist last night. And then… 

“Those arrogant grey eyes.” I groaned. 

I reached for my phone beside me. It was already past noon. Ananya’s messages glowed on the screen. 

Are you okay, Tasha?

I guess you’re still in bed.

Just checking in on you.

Call me when you wake up!

I dropped the phone onto the bed and collapsed back onto it. 

The ceiling stared back at me. My body felt heavy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same things. My father’s face when he told me about the arrangement and the way he had dismissed Lucas like he was nothing. Of course Lucas wasn’t perfect, but still. 

I turned onto my side and pulled the pillow against my chest. It didn’t help. The restlessness sat under my skin. I needed it out.

My hand slid down, over my stomach, lower. I let it stay there for a moment, waiting to feel something other than anger and grief. I pressed harder, chasing any kind of relief, any small escape.

Nothing came.

Like I was trying to force a door that had been locked from the inside. After a few seconds, I pulled my hand away and sat up.

“Useless,” I muttered.

I dragged both hands over my face and stayed like that until the frustration settled into something clearer. I couldn’t keep lying here while my father decided the rest of my life. If this marriage was happening, I at least wanted to look the man in the face and decide what I thought of him myself.

I reached for the phone again, scrolled to my father’s number, and called. 

“Natasha.”

“I want to meet him.”

There was a short silence on the other end.

“What?”

“Yes, Dad,” I said. “If Tristan Castillo wants to marry me, then I want to hear it from him myself. I want him to tell me why he wants to marry me out of all the women he could have in this world, why he chose me.”

“I already told you it was for the company.”

“So? And he didn’t say anything to you?” I said. “He can’t just wake up and decide, ‘Oh, I’m in the mood to get married, and not just to any woman but Natasha Whitmore just to save her father’s company.’”

My father exhaled into the phone. 

“Okay then, I’ll arrange a meeting. And please, Natasha, don’t mess this up for me. For us.”

I ended the call and wondered when they’d both talked about this. 

Hours later, I received a call from my father, telling me Tristan was ready to see me that evening. I wasn’t expecting it to be that fast. 

Anyway, a car pulled up at our house just as the sky darkened. 

I got dressed in a pink sequined dress, which had a high slit that ran up my thigh. The dress was deliberate. If I was going to meet the man who thought he could buy me with a business deal, I wasn’t going to show up looking like a victim. 

I let my hair fall loose, soft waves framing my face. Minimal jewelry. Just enough to match the heels I had put on. 

The driver held the door open for me. 

“Miss Whitmore.”

I slipped into the car without a word. 

The drive felt endless. The driver didn’t speak, and neither did I. 

The city lights blurred past the tinted windows as my thoughts circled the same question. Why me? 

I thought about my father. I had never seen him this desperate. Maybe the situation was beyond him. 

I sighed. “What have you gotten us into, Marcus?” 

The car slowed before finally coming to a halt. 

“We’re here,” the driver said. He stepped out to open my door. 

I climbed out of the car. “Thank you.” 

My heels clicked softly against the ground. 

The night air was cooler here. Ahead, a yacht sat quietly against the water, lights glowing against the dark surface. It was larger than I expected and far too private for my liking. 

The moment I stepped onto the deck, I noticed how quiet it was. 

No crowd. Just the soft sound of water and the distant hum of the city behind me. 

Then I saw a man standing near the edge, his back turned to me. 

Dark suit. Broad shoulders. Completely still, like he had all the time in the world. 

Something about the way he stood made me think he was Tristan Castillo. And the hair was strangely familiar.

“You have a weird way of inviting people,” I said as I walked in further.

“And yet, you’re here,” he replied evenly. 

That voice. I’d heard that voice before. Something about it tugged at my memory. 

Before I could place it, he finally turned around. 

A pair of familiar grey eyes met mine. Everything clicked. He was the same man from the club. 

The same man who had gotten under my skin without trying. 

I blinked once, then let out a short breath. 

“Well… fuck me,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. 

He studied me briefly. Then, a slow, deliberate smile curved his lips. He took a step toward me, unbothered and confident. 

“You want us to do that right now, cariño?”