JOREL AND GABE

GABE’S POV

What kind of woman wears an orange dress to an event like this? I’d seen some dare to wear dark green, almost black, but orange? Never in my life had I seen a woman in an orange dress, especially one like hers: loose, with long, colorful sleeves and ruffles at the hem. And the shoes? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she wore knee-high, glittering blue boots, the sliver of leg between the dress and boots revealing she hadn’t seen the sun in ages.

The wallflower wasn’t as bland, odorless, and insignificant as I’d thought. She was a carnival-ready wallflower. She was trying to catch Jorel’s eye, her dark brown hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, covering part of her chest, hiding her breasts like they were locked away in a vault. Chance of seeing anything before the wedding? Zero.

And why the hell was Jorel making her laugh? Sure, in that useless idiot’s mind, he’d sleep with her, have his fun, and move on to others. But… what if he fell for Wallflower Stick? Because Wallflower Stick was… strangely captivating in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

As I mulled over what the hell this girl had that made her laugh and enjoy herself during an arranged marriage with a guy who’d sleep with anything that had a pulse, she marched toward me, her gaze steady, staring at me in a way no one had in years.

She wasn’t intimidated by my name or reputation. She looked at me like I was the doorman who’d let her in, some random guy she’d met casually at a bar. I took a step back as she got close enough for me to catch the sweet, woody scent of her perfume. For the first time in my life, someone made me yield, stepping aside as if she might bulldoze right over me.

Her slender hand, with delicate fingers as pale as the shirt under my Kiton K-5 suit, extended toward me.

“Good evening. You must be Gabe Clifford,” she said, flashing a smile. “My future brother-in-law.”

I swallowed hard, at a loss for words. My mind raced with thoughts: Are you insane? Do you have internet access? Do you understand what’s happening here? Do I need to spell out that you’re a nobody, as significant as a chandelier in this house? How dare you speak to me without permission?

Her brown eyes framed her small, delicate face, with a slightly upturned nose and full lips coated in glossy, natural-toned lipstick. A thick fringe fell over her forehead, making her look even more fragile than in the photos I’d seen.

She smelled of life, of warm blood, of wood that could ignite a forest if set ablaze. She was… an invitation to love for my brother, Jorel Clifford.

For the first time, I’d made a mistake. This woman would be my brother’s downfall. The fool might actually fall for his own wife and stop being the shameless womanizer he was. And he was entertaining her instead of ignoring her completely.

This was supposed to be revenge, damn it! I nearly called it off and married the wallflower myself—“Daddy’s sweetheart”—to ensure the job was done right.

Jorel’s only role was to break her heart. But it felt like the opposite was happening: she’d destroy the last shred of dignity that idiot had left.

I looked at her outstretched hand and said, “I don’t shake hands with bastards.”

I expected any reaction but the ironic smile she gave me. “Then why do you want a bastard in your family? I doubt you didn’t have better options. From what I hear, I was handpicked.”

“Who do you think you are?” I gripped my whiskey glass so tightly I nearly shattered it.

“Who do you think you are?” she shot back. “You don’t call all the shots here. I agreed to the marriage, but my house is still empty, not a single piece of furniture left. What kind of deal is this?”

“My God, Olivia!” her stepmother gasped, horrified. “She’s not like this, I swear! I don’t know what’s gotten into her, Mr. Clifford.” She tried to grab Olivia’s arm, but Wallflower Stick pulled away, stepping back, her eyes still locked on mine, challenging me.

I glanced at Ernest, who had a smug little smirk on his lips. No, he wouldn’t win. His “sweetheart,” as he called his illegitimate daughter, would be broken so thoroughly that he’d regret ever being born.

Jorel might even be genuinely interested in this bland, odorless, insignificant girl. But my brother would do anything for money. I could manipulate anyone and anything with money. And little did the wallflower know, I’d give everything I had to see her father suffer. I’d watch Ernest Abertton’s downfall from the best seat in the house, using his precious Olivia as my puppet—or rather, my brother’s puppet, who, like every other human, was under my control.

I’d already done my good deed for the day: letting Ernest and his family of rats step foot in my house. From now on, family gatherings would be frequent. How else could I witness the destruction of the man who’d ruined my only shot at happiness?

I’d lost my child, and he’d lose his—to pain, failure, and despair.

“The wedding will take place in one week,” I announced. “My secretary will contact you. Now, everyone, leave my house. You stay,” I said, pointing at Jorel, who downed the last of his champagne—because the drunk never wasted a drop.

“What about the furniture? Our house?” the youngest Abertton brat demanded. “You’re taking my sister. You need to keep your promises.”

“You’ll get a house and furniture… as you deserve, kid,” I said. “Are all of you this annoying?” I looked at Ernest. “I get why your life’s a mess. I’d want to end it myself if I had to live with people like this every day. Your family is awful.” I didn’t hide my disgust. “We’ll see you at the ceremony. The prenup will be sent beforehand. I won’t pay for a lawyer to explain it to you. But since the Aberttons have nothing to lose, I know you’ll return the signed documents. Now, get out of my house.”

As soon as they left, I grabbed Jorel by the collar of his shirt, which he’d unbuttoned halfway to show off for the girl. “You’re worthless, you son of a bitch,” I snarled, feeling like I could rip him apart like a wild animal.

“Why?” His eyes bulged, wide with fear.

“You think this marriage is for you to live happily ever after with Wallflower Stick?”

“I… didn’t think that,” he said, shoving me off and straightening his shirt. “And don’t ever talk about my future wife like that again.”

I swallowed hard, incredulous. Had Jorel lost his mind? Had he already fallen for her before I’d even introduced them?

“Let me make one thing clear: I’ll reduce you to dust if you don’t make this girl’s life hell.”

“You know what? If you want to screw her so bad, why don’t you marry her?”

“What are you saying?” I could barely believe my ears.

“I’m saying I’m sick of you telling me what to do,” he shouted. “You’re not my father!”

“And I wouldn’t want to be, you idiot,” I shot back. “Our father never had time to even talk to you or me.”

“And you think you’re better than him for that?” Jorel laughed, his voice dripping with scorn. “Aside from being busy with work, he wasn’t a heartless monster.”

“You think calling me a ‘heartless monster’ offends me?” I snapped. “I don’t give a damn what you think of me. In fact, I don’t care what anyone thinks. The only person with a place in my heart is Rarith. Other than her, no one has or ever will have my attention unless it’s about business.”

“Is Olivia business?” Jorel shot back. “Who do you really want? Her mother? Her father? Because I doubt poor Olivia did anything to you.”

“That’s none of your concern, Jorel,” I said coldly.

“You talk like everything that comes out of your mouth is normal and digestible,” he said, his face twisting in disgust. “When will you realize you’re not God, Gabe? That you’re a man, flesh and blood, with weaknesses like everyone else?”

“I’m not wasting my time discussing my life with you,” I said, my patience thinning. “I made you an offer. If you think Olivia’s worth more than what I’m giving you, feel free to say no to the marriage.”