VIII

The past few days had been overwhelming.

With our new project underway, I had been swamped with work, closely monitoring every detail to ensure nothing went wrong. The budget was substantial—too much at stake for even the smallest mistake. If this project failed, the loss would be devastating for the company. And worse, Dad would be furious.

Despite my workload, my mind kept drifting back to Geneva.

Her wedding to Harrison Pierre Whitmore was just a week away, and she had no escape. Dad was rushing everything, making moves I couldn't predict, and it left me on edge.

Since Yohan’s visit to our house to speak with Dad, I hadn’t seen him again. Strangely, Dad had also stopped pressuring me about our supposed wedding.

Was it really not happening?

Had Yohan managed to put a stop to Dad’s plans?

I wanted to believe it. He was more powerful and wealthier than my father—if anyone could handle this, it was him.

And I prayed he had.

I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love.

No matter how dire the situation, I still held onto the belief that marriage should be a choice—something beautiful, something joyful. Not just an obligation.

I refused to end up like my parents, trapped in a loveless marriage, constantly at each other’s throats.

And I hoped Geneva wouldn’t share the same fate.

I had done my own digging into Harrison Pierre Whitmore, and out of all the Whitmore siblings, he was the kindest and most responsible. That knowledge brought me some relief. Geneva was in good hands.

I could only hope he would treat her well—learn to love her.

That was all I wanted.

For my sister to be happy.

"Ma’am Cosette, Sir Carrington is outside. He’d like to speak with you," my secretary announced as she entered my office.

I straightened, pushing my thoughts aside, and gave her a small smile.

"Let him in."

She nodded and left, and a few moments later, Franklin walked in.

Dressed in a sharp business suit, his expression was unusually grim.

I sighed inwardly. Let me guess—family pressure again.

Franklin Carrington was the second son of his family, but the burden of inheritance had fallen entirely on him. Their eldest sibling had chosen a quiet life in New Zealand with his wife and kids, and their younger brother, Quill, had also declined to handle the family businesses.

Which left Franklin with no way out.

He sank onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

"Work problem or family problem?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Maybe both?" He raked a hand through his hair, frustration etched into his features. "Damn. Why did all the responsibilities of our family's businesses fall on me? I just want to enjoy my life, but instead, I feel—" he exhaled sharply, "—trapped. It’s too much pressure."

I took a deep breath and moved to sit beside him, draping an arm over his shoulder in comfort.

"Rant all you want," I said with a reassuring pat. "I'm here to listen. And if you need advice, I’ll give it."

He turned to me, managing a faint smile before finally letting everything out.

Franklin was the only friend who truly trusted me, and the feeling was mutual.

Our different genders had never mattered—we had never seen each other in any way beyond friendship. No mixed signals, no hidden meanings behind our gestures. Just best friends.

As he vented, I listened intently, letting him unload every frustration, every doubt.

And when he finished, I gave him my thoughts—guiding, not controlling.

Because that was what best friends did.

I wouldn’t let him make the wrong decisions.

I would always have his back.

"Thanks, Princess. Coming to you was the right decision. You know, you're like my personal guidance counselor," Franklin said with a grin before pulling me into a hug and quickly kissing my cheek.

I chuckled at his gesture and playfully pinched his cheek. "Glad to be of service," I teased, happy to see him smiling again.

Wanting to take a break from work, we decided to leave the office early and have lunch together. Our destination? Our favorite Korean restaurant.

Over plates of sizzling samgyeopsal, we indulged in good food and laughter. Franklin, as always, kept the jokes coming, making it impossible not to laugh. But the lighthearted atmosphere shifted when he brought up Yohan.

"So... is the wedding canceled?" His tone was serious now.

I paused, taking a sip of water before meeting his gaze.

"I... I don’t know, Frank," I admitted. "Dad and I haven’t talked about it. He’s been too focused on Geneva’s wedding to Harrison Whitmore. And honestly? I want to ask, but I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll take it as me being eager and just push me into it faster. I—I’m hesitant."

Franklin smirked. "That’s exactly what your dad will think. Best thing? Don’t ask. Just wait and see what he says. But Setta, you still need to be prepared for whatever happens."

I sighed, nodding in agreement before shifting my focus back to my food, choosing—at least for now—to push that problem aside.

After lunch, Franklin drove me back to the office. There was still a mountain of work waiting for me, and I needed to power through before the day ended.

By 5 PM, I packed my things, ready to head home.

Mom had texted me earlier: Family dinner tonight. Be home early—we’ll have a guest.

I assumed it meant the Whitmore family, considering Geneva’s upcoming wedding.

But when I pulled into our driveway, I saw a Bugatti parked outside.

Whoa.

Harrison’s car? Maybe. But if so, that meant he and Yohan had the same taste in luxury.

Curious, I stepped inside the house—only to freeze.

Standing in the living room was a woman I had never seen before.

She looked around my mother’s age but carried herself with an air of cold authority. Her stern expression sent a shiver down my spine, and something about her presence made me feel small.

Then, she turned her gaze on me.

Her sharp eyes assessed me, and with a raised brow, she strode forward until she was standing right in front of me.

"You must be Cosette Blanche Allen?" Her voice was chilling.

I swallowed hard. Even her tone was intimidating.

Who was this woman?

Still, I managed a polite, professional smile. "Yes, Madame. I'm Cosette Allen. Nice to meet you, Madame."

I didn’t even know why, but the word ‘Madame’ slipped out instinctively.

She gave a slight smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Lenore. Miss Lenore Warren," she introduced herself. Then, with a deliberate pause, she added, "I'm Zion's aunt, Miss Allen."

My eyes widened.

Oh my God.

What was the meaning of this?

Why was Yohan’s aunt here?

Weren’t we supposed to have dinner with the Whitmores tonight?

Before I could process it, my mother’s voice cut through the air.

"Great! Zion is already here."

The sound of Dad’s voice made me look up toward the staircase.

What I saw next nearly made my heart stop.

Yohan.

He stood beside my father, his expression cold and unreadable—like a predator about to strike. His sharp gaze locked onto mine, and a shiver ran down my spine.

I had no idea why, but it felt like I had done something terribly wrong.

As they descended the stairs, my father strode toward me and casually draped an arm around my shoulders. I felt weak. I had no words, no clue how to react.

"Good thing you’re here, my lovely daughter!" Dad said, his voice filled with unsettling cheer. "The Warren family is here to discuss your wedding with Zion!"

My breath hitched.

What?

From the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Lenore give a small nod, her face unreadable.

I turned back to Dad, my forehead creasing in confusion. "D-Dad… what are you talking about?" My voice trembled. "I—I'm not getting married!"

A flicker of irritation crossed his face as his smile disappeared. His grip on my arm tightened just slightly before he leaned in and whispered in my ear.

"Cosette, don't be stubborn. Don’t make a scene in front of the Warrens, for God's sake."

His words felt like a noose tightening around my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

But I refused to break.

I forced myself to stay calm, to not explode in front of everyone. At this point, maybe keeping my emotions in check had become my greatest talent.

Then, Yohan’s voice cut through the room like ice.

"I’m marrying Cosette Blanche Allen. And I want it to happen as soon as possible."

The air froze.

My eyes snapped to Yohan, wide with shock.

He stood there, unwavering, his face blank yet terrifying. Cold. Detached. As if my feelings didn’t matter. As if my choices didn’t exist.

As if I was nothing more than a piece on a chessboard—something to be moved and claimed.

I felt like crying.

Wasn’t he the one who didn’t want this either?

Why had he suddenly changed his mind?

F-ck.

Was there really no escape?

Was this actually happening?

Did I have no right to refuse?

Was I really about to marry the devil billionaire?

For real?