Sentenced to Marriage

Chapter 3

Monique and Marco saved my life again, taking care of the cleaning and bringing the order upstairs in a brand-new un-messed-up version. Certainly not that any of them would ever let me forget what had happened. Glancing at the upper floor, I could see that with me gone, Mr. Lan acted composedly-slash- indifferently or even politely! What the hell was his problem anyway?! NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

I stayed put behind the counter, waiting for all three businessmen to leave. I treated it like my personal bunker, keeping me safe from any nuclear reaction that this black-haired man could induce within me. I could breathe again only when the door closed behind him. I crawled out of my hiding place and started wiping the tables, preparing them for another tourist attack.

Monique walked over to me with a mischievous smirk. “Here,” she said, giving me a hundred-dollar bill.

“What’s this?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Mr. Lan said that I should give you this. He said that you should buy yourself some good ointment for the hand you burned.”

That son of a… He was bringing out the worst in me! How dare he trade “I’m sorry” for a hundred-dollar bill?! I crushed the bill in my hand and rushed towards the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Monique grabbed my hand before I reached the door handle.

“I’m going to find him, and shoved that money deep into his freaking mouth so he can choke!” I roared.

“Are you crazy, or do you have a death wish?” Marco cut in, pulling me away from the door. “First of all, don’t treat money this way. What has this poor Benjamin Franklin ever done to you? Second, it’s more than 5% of your rent, and the hell I’m going to let you throw it away; you deserved it, hon! And third of all…” he paused to take a deep breath, looking straight into my eyes, “you don’t want to mess with a guy that owns half of New York.”

“I don’t care who he is! Do you think he should be able to get away with anything just because he has money?!” I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest.

Marco sighed and stroked my head. “Why do you hate money so much?”

“I don’t hate money, I just hate people who have a lot of it.” I shrugged.

The truth was that I would love to have money. I loved money; it just didn’t love me in return. Money could solve at least 90% of my problems. I wouldn’t have to worry about paying for my Grandma’s next medical procedure. I wouldn’t have to worry about paying my rent, and maybe I could even get back to Oxford and finish my studies. I used to see those issues differently when I was still on my full scholarship. The rest of my living expenses were covered by the inheritance I received when my Grandpa died. He wanted me to get the best education I could get, and I respected his wishes… Everything changed when my Grandma was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. Her health insurance could barely cover the most standard treatment, which was far from enough to improve her condition. I had no other choice… I took a semester off to find the best treatment for my Grandma. I found it in New York, but it was a private and expensive clinic, and there was no way that the insurance would cover the costs.

I went to every kind of bank, hoping to get a loan, but I was a student without a job or working experience. My request was rejected every time. After I had exhausted every other option, I ended up asking my boyfriend for financial help. I knew that he was from a wealthy family, and I knew that I could pay him back quickly. I believed that as soon as I’d graduated, I’d start earning big money. I was confident because I had already gotten a few lucrative job offers. All I needed to do was to get the degree. I had only two semesters left…

You can imagine how shocked I was when my boyfriend called me a beggar and a leech once I asked him to help my Grandma. It was the most painful slap in the face I had ever received from someone I loved. I had never been so humiliated in my whole life. His heartless outburst equaled the end of our three-year relationship. Easy to say that he was my greatest reason for developing rich-man-phobia. Some would say that I was prejudiced, and I knew I was. I wasn’t an idiot. Inside my head, I created an image where every single rich guy was cold, arrogant, and rotten to the bone, but, sadly, after over two

years of working next to the richest of Manhattan, I was yet to be proven wrong. Mr. Lan sure as hell wasn’t the exception to the rule I’d made. And speaking of the devil…

“Marco… do you know this Lan guy?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

Marco chuckled and went to get his phone from behind the counter. “This is him.” He pointed at his iPhone’s screen.

Monique looked at the post he found, and she read it aloud. “Aren Lan, a 32-year-old billionaire, owner of the Lan Diamond Corporation and Lan Industries…”

“Aren Lan…” I repeated softly, glancing at his picture in some article.

He was hot, and no one could state otherwise. He was wearing a black suit and a white shirt in that picture. The aura of confidence that surrounded him was breathtaking. I could easily imagine a long line of beautiful women ready to spread their legs before him. That made me wonder even more why he decided to lay his eyes on a waitress from a coffee shop. Was he bored and looking for some entertainment? I wish I could add slapping his face as a part of the show, but that would without a doubt cost me my job.

With a deep exhale, I switched myself back to work mode, making any thoughts about mischievous Aren Lan dissolve in the air filled with a coffee scent. I got through the end of the day without any other unexpected events. Swaying on my feet, I packed myself into the bus and felt the island, hoping to get myself to bed in my Brooklyn apartment as soon as possible. I crawled inside on autopilot and put the tips I hid in my jeans pockets into the box I kept under my bed. The next thing I remember was my face meeting the softness of a pillow. Another day of focusing on nothing but earning money was over…

For more than two years, my life consisted of nothing but work. When I wasn’t working at Café Dorado, I fixed computers in a little workshop that two geek friends of mine and I created. I loved working with computers, but I would never be able to pay Grandma’s hospital bills without my coffee shop job. And there I was again, standing behind the counter waiting for the customers.

Suddenly, I found myself alone. Christine wasn’t working that day, and neither was Marco, who took a long-planned day off. Monique was somewhere at the back, checking our supplies, but it strangely took her longer than usual. Glancing around the empty café, I went to clean up the table after the tourists that had just left.

The bell rang, shifting my attention to the door. I froze. Aren Lan closed the door behind him. He stood still for a moment, presenting himself to me in a perfectly tailored gray suit, a black shirt, and a tie. His lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile, as he locked his eyes on me.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Lan?” I breathed out shakily, barely handling his intensive gaze.

He exhaled a chuckle and loosened up his collar. “You’re all I need.” He turned the lock on the door and stepped toward me.

Panic flushed me with a shudder. “Please, don’t joke around like that, and open the door. It’s a broad day… and this is a public place…” I mumbled as a peal of hysteric laughter escaped my throat.

My eyes roamed around, searching for Monique. Where was she? Why was I alone with Aren Lan all of a sudden?! I stepped back, squeezing a damp cloth in my hand as a weapon. He glanced at it and smirked.

“You’re not really planning to use it, are you?” His deep, breathy voice instantly melted the strength of my hand grip.

The stupid cloth landed on the floor. A second later, Aren’s hands were on my shoulders, and he pushed me against the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” I yelled, my hands struggling to push him away.

“I’m giving you what you desire,” he whispered, leaning over my ear.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t even find you attractive,” I hissed.

“Liar.”

His lips clashed with mine. His tongue entered me with lush strokes that made my head spin. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer. As he pressed my body against his own, I could feel every inch of his rigid muscles. Unknowingly, my hands roamed to embrace his neck, my fingers stretching to comb his thick, black hair. Suddenly, one of his hands went to the back of my head, positioning me so he could deepen our kiss. I moaned against his lips, and the next moment his hands were on my buttocks, lifting me before placing me on the table. I surrendered to him completely. His hands were on me, enticing me, making me wet and ready for him. The way he kissed my neck made me shiver.

“God!” I groaned as his fingers traveled between my thighs.

At one moment, I felt a strange wave of cold air that brought an uncomfortable shiver to my feverish skin. I shifted anxiously on the table, then I lost my balance and hit the floor…

“Ouch…” I hissed, rubbing my poor butt, before opening my eyes wide and finding myself in my apartment.

It took me a second to realize that I had fallen off the bed, and the cold air was coming from the window I had forgotten to close before I fell asleep. My heart still hammered and my core throbbed. How could I dream about this guy?! How could I dream about him in THIS way?! I rarely had erotic dreams, and I’d never had this vivid. Putting my clumsy self back to bed, I started thinking that my off-balanced hormones and I needed to have a serious conversation…