Sentenced to Marriage by MadlainQ novel Chapter 23

The fake and the real 

Aren poured me another glass of wine while I started to tell him the story of my first love. Normally, I would find it uncomfortable and embarrassing, but there was something in Aren‘s gaze that soothed me and made me trust him. Was I making a mistake in telling him? I had never cared about rich people, and I had never researched Callan and his family, but what if Aren knew him? I observed 

Aren as I mentioned my ex–boyfriend‘s name, but I couldn‘t read anything from his expression. Perhaps he had never heard of him, or it simply didn‘t matter to him. After all, it was merely something that had happened in his contract fiancée‘s past, one of the examples of a fairytale gone bad. 

“I didn‘t care about who he was, although I heard rumors that he was from some wealthy family. I didn‘t like him at first. He was seriously handsome, but he was also this arrogant type who thought that everyone else was beneath him just because he had money. I stood up against him once and called him a douchebag. The next day, he asked me out on a date. I thought that he had made a bet with someone.” I laughed. 

Aren kept his eyes on me while I told my story. I was surprised that he actually listened. It was weird to discuss your previous relationship with someone you are currently dating... Then again, it wasn‘t a real date, and our contracted relationship was far from a romantic one… 

“Was I an idiot to think that Callan could be my one and only?” I asked with a bitter smile. “I have never met anyone from his family. I have never cared about his money, and I would love him just the same if he was penniless. I knew that he liked to spend money and use the money to make other people fight for his attention. I sometimes wonder if our relationship was a game for him... Maybe he waited for a moment when I would finally break and ask him for money, proving that I was no different from those whom he called beggars.” 

I finished another glass of wine, and Aren refilled mine and his, then ordered another bottle. 

He drank his wine and his eyes darkened before he squeezed out, “Was he... your first?” 

“First... in everything,” I responded, tasting the sourness of my own words. 

“Do you still love him?” Aren’s eyes roamed restlessly, trying to read my face. 

“No,” I said confidently, “but he is just a thorn that is stuck in my heart. I just don‘t know how to take it out... yet.” I laughed humorlessly. 

I stopped laughing when I met his eyes. They were burning. I could see anger in his eyes, but it wasn‘t aimed at me. Was he angry for me? There was also pain in those eyes of his, the one I couldn‘t comprehend. As he leaned closer, his hand reached out to me and brushed my cheek. He startled me, and I almost flinched. 

“Stay still,” he said softly. “There is an eyelash on your cheek.” I felt as if my cheeks started to burn when he cupped my face in both hands, positioning me. I thought that he was going to brush off the lash with his thumb, but as he got up from his seat, I realized that he had another plan... 

He brought his face an inch away from mine and delicately blew the streak of air on my cheek, his lips nearly touching my skin. Shivers ran down my spine. His touch, his scent, his closeness, all of it turned me on in an instant. I didn‘t know how it was possible, but every single thing about Aren Lan was making me lose my mind. I swear I saw a flash, like a freaking imaginary fireworks display, the moment he got close to me... Was I a lost cause already? 

Our intimate moment didn‘t stop with that. As I stayed bemused, one of his hands slid from my cheek down my neck. The brush of his fingers, running smoothly through my skin, sent another wave of shudders through my body. “Your skin is so smooth...” he said softly as if in oblivion. I laughed nervously and grabbed his hand on my neck, stopping his fingers from exploring my other sensitive spots. “Please... don‘t tease me like that,” I said, taking his hand off of my neck. 

He smirked and sat down. “I can‘t help it. I have the most beautiful partner around here. I merely want to appreciate her more.” He made me blush again... and speechless. How come he could get away with all those cheap flirt lines, leaving me without a way to talk back? Was it because I hadn‘t been on a date since Callan? Or was it because my dumb hormones whimpered within me, begging me to let him do whatever he wanted? It scared me that I was slowly losing myself to my physical cravings. The warmth in his eyes irresistibly mixed with lust, and it took all the strength within me to pretend that I didn‘t see it. 

“I can help you heal if you let me.” His seductive tone left no room for misinterpretation. 

I stated boldly, “It is my heart that needs healing, and I don‘t think you are a good remedy for it.” 

It was hard to breathe. The air around us was saturated with desire, and I sighed in relief only after we left. Nonetheless, that night changed something between us. I felt more comfortable around Aren. I didn‘t feel the need to push his hand away when he held mine, gently brushing my palm side. Was I being tamed? Was it strange that I didn‘t feel anything wrong with that? 

The next morning, I woke up to find Aren had already gone to work. I was partially glad he was gone. It gave me a chance to focus on that day‘s task. I need to resign from my work at Café Dorado. I had already given a heads–up to the management, and I sent messages to Monique and Marco. All I needed to do was to bring the official form with my signature on it. I knew that I would be asked questions concerning my sudden resignation, and I had to prepare a rational reason for leaving. I figured that I would tell everyone that I had got a new, well–paid job… That lie wasn‘t that far from the truth. After all, I was currently working in the position of a contractual fiancée 

I got dressed, put on light makeup, and called Benjamin to take me to Café Dorado I walked out of the building, holding a resignation form in my hand, and suddenly felt good about ending that period of my life. I surely wasn‘t born to become the wife of a rich man, but I was positive that I wouldn‘t miss angry crowds yelling, “Where is my coffee?!”