The Borrowed Bride
The hum of conversation and clinking of glasses faded as we stepped into a more secluded part of the mansion.
He pushed open a set of heavy wooden doors, revealing a hidden terrace that overlooked a sprawling garden. The air was thick, laced with the scent of jasmine and the distant salt of the ocean. Lanterns flickered along the stone pillars, casting long shadows that seemed to reach toward us.
I swallowed, eyes darting around, my pulse quickening. The stillness of the terrace felt almost suffocating, and being alone with him in this secluded space felt like a dangerous game.
"I can't marry this girl," he said bluntly, his voice low, rough.
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