Chapter Six: Meeting with Alonso

Skyla's pov

The car pulled up to a towering building in the heart of Barcelona. The sleek, modern structure rose high above the bustling city, its gleaming glass windows reflecting the afternoon sun. The name Ignacio Enterprises was displayed in gleaming silver letters above the entrance, a symbol of power and wealth that seemed to mock my every hesitation.

The driver, a man in a dark suit, stepped out and opened my door with practiced precision. "This way, Miss Parker," he said, his tone clipped and impersonal.

I hesitated for a brief second, my mind screaming for a way out, but then I forced myself to move. I couldn't back out now. My life had already been set on a path I never wanted to walk, and stepping into the unknown felt like my only option.

The lobby was as intimidating as the building’s exterior, all marble floors and soaring ceilings that made the space feel even colder. Employees in sleek business attire moved with purpose, their expressions unreadable, their focus unwavering. No one spared me a glance as I walked toward the elevator, the clack of my heels the only sound breaking the silence.

I was escorted inside the elevator, and the doors slid shut with a soft, almost undetectable ding. My stomach twisted with unease as the elevator ascended, the city skyline disappearing beneath us. I clenched my fists in my lap, staring at my reflection in the polished metal walls.

I will not let them break me.

The elevator stopped with a soft hum, and the doors opened to reveal a private office that overlooked the vast city below. The room was modern, pristine, dominated by dark wood accents and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the breathtaking view. It was exactly what I had imagined imposing, powerful, and completely devoid of warmth.

And there he was.

Alonso Ignacio stood near the window, his back to me. He was tall, even more so than I had anticipated, dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his sharp jawline gave him an air of effortless power. But it was his eyes piercing, unreadable that caught my attention the moment he turned to face me.

His gaze locked onto mine, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

“Skyla Parker,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, laced with an authority that sent a chill through my bones.

I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see the fear coursing through me. “Alonso Ignacio.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement or maybe curiosity flashing in his expression. But it was gone as quickly as itappeared.

"Sit.”

The command hung in the air, sharp and unquestionable.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. But I had no choice. I walked to the chair in front of his desk, lowering myself slowly, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me. He moved to his chair with a quiet confidence, settling into it as if the entire world belonged to him.

He studied me for a long moment, his fingers tapping idly against the desk. “You look nervous.”

I stiffened, resisting the urge to fidget. “I look like someone who was just told she’s getting married to a stranger.”

His expression remained unchanged. “You agreed to this.”

I felt my anger flare, but I kept my face neutral, my thoughts racing. He didn’t know. He thought I agreed, but I hadn’t. He would never understand that I was forced into this.

I forced a tight smile. “Did I?”

A flicker of something crossed his face, but it was gone too fast for me to identify.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Why did you say yes?” he asked, his voice low and measured.

I swallowed, carefully choosing my words. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

His eyes sharpened. “There’s always a choice.”

I let out a breathless laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “Not for people like me.”

His fingers stopped tapping. Something in his expression shifted , was it sympathy? Regret? I couldn’t tell, and before I could make sense of it, he stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape.

“Fine,” he said, his voice cool and detached. “We’ll make this simple.”

He walked around the desk, stopping just a few feet away from me. I forced myself to hold my ground, despite the anxiety tightening my chest.

“This marriage is just a marriage,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Nothing more. I don’t expect love, nor do I offer it. You will play your role, and in return, you will be provided for. Comfortably.”

A chill ran down my spine as his words sank in. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. “So, that’s it? I become your wife, smile for the cameras, and we pretend this is real?”

Alonso studied me for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then he tilted his head, as if contemplating my question. “Yes. This isn’t pretending. It is real. We are getting married.”

A sharp ache pierced my chest, and I had to swallow the lump in my throat. This wasn’t just some game. This was happening. It was real.

I took a slow breath, then nodded, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them. “Fine.”

He didn’t react. No satisfaction, no triumph ,just a simple nod.

“Good,” he said, his voice colder now. “We will be having our engagement party in two days.”

I froze. “In two days?”

Alonso blinked, his expression unreadable. “Is that a problem?”

My stomach twisted in tight knots. I had expected a few weeks, maybe even a month, to process everything, but Alonso didn’t strike me as the type of man who waited for anything. He made decisions, and they were executed on his timeline.

“No,” I said, exhaling shakily. “It’s not.”

His lips twitched again, but this time it wasn’t a smile. “Then we’re done here.”

Just like that, the meeting was over. He turned back to the window, dismissing me with the coldest of gestures.

I stood slowly, my legs trembling, as I walked toward the elevator. My mind was racing, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and fear. This was real. I was marrying Alonso Ignacio in two days. There was no going back now.

---

The engagement party was a spectacle, a lavish display of wealth and power that left me feeling suffocated in my sleek designer dress. Chandeliers cast golden light over the room, their soft glow reflecting off the polished marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the hum of idle chatter. Well-dressed strangers milled around, their faces masked in politeness as they sipped champagne and exchanged shallow pleasantries.

I gripped my champagne flute tightly, though I had no intention of drinking it. My fingers felt cold against the glass, my heart racing as I scanned the room for a familiar face anything to ground me in the chaos of this night. But all I saw were strangers, and in that moment, I felt like the outsider I was.

Across the room, Alonso stood like a fortress, his black suit a sharp contrast to the sea of colorful gowns and tuxedos surrounding him. His expression was unreadable, his cold, assessing eyes flicking over the crowd, taking it all in without a single word. He had the kind of presence that demanded attention, even in a room full of powerful people.

My stomach tightened at the sight of him, and I forced myself to look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.

Just then, a small figure darted between the guests, weaving effortlessly through the crowd until he stopped in front of me, a little boy in a miniature suit, his wide eyes filled with curiosity.

He tilted his head, looking up at me with an innocence I couldn’t quite understand. “Are you really going to marry my papa?” he asked, his voice soft but direct.

I crouched down, startled by his directness. “It seems that way,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

The boy frowned, his small brow furrowing in genuine concern. “He doesn’t smile much,” he said, his words coming from a place of pure, childlike honesty.

A quiet laugh escaped me, the sound surprisingly soft in the otherwise tense atmosphere. “No,” I said. “I don’t think he does.”

The boy’s eyes softened, and he continued, “But he tells me goodnight stories every night. Even when he’s tired.”

Something inside me shifted, a small crack forming in the cold wall I had built around myself. I hadn’t expected to hear anything like that. To know that despite his icy exterior, Alonso Ignacio had a softer side, one that was reserved for the little boy who called him “Papa.”

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something stir inside me. Not relief. Not hope. But something… more dangerous. Curiosity.

And that, I feared, was the most dangerous feeling of all.