VII

I sat in the back of the cab, staring blankly out the window, lost in thought.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake off what I’d done to Yohan last night.

Did I really do that to him?

It felt… impossible. I don’t even know about those things. I wouldn’t do something like that.

And yet… I did.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands before tugging at my hair in frustration.

Oh my God, Cosette Blanche Allen!

I don’t even have a boyfriend, and yet I was out there throwing myself at a guy I barely knew?!

Argh! I hate you, Cosette Blanche!

I felt like screaming into a pillow. It was humiliating. Completely mortifying!

"Ma’am? Are you okay back there? Would you like me to take you to the hospital?"

The taxi driver’s voice jolted me from my internal meltdown.

I froze, realizing just how crazy I must’ve looked—crying one second, then laughing at my own stupidity, then crying again, then staring into space like some tragic movie heroine.

He probably thought I’d lost it.

I forced an awkward smile, sitting up straighter. "Hehe. No, I’m fine! Just a little… tired, that’s all."

Then, lowering my voice, I mumbled, "Just ignore me. My other personalities are having a little argument." I threw him a quick peace sign.

The driver blinked. Then, without a word, he winced and focused back on the road.

Great. Now he definitely thinks I’m insane.

I sighed and leaned back in my seat, anxiously waiting to get home.

The moment I stepped inside our house, I froze in my tracks.

Geneva.

She was sitting in the living room, and the second she saw me, she sprang up from the couch and rushed over.

"Setta!"

Her brows furrowed the moment she got a closer look at me. And I didn’t blame her—I must’ve looked like a complete wreck. Puffy eyes, disheveled hair, a walking disaster.

She gently grabbed my arm and led me to the couch, making me sit down.

Now, we were face-to-face.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

I couldn’t meet her gaze. Guilt twisted in my stomach.

How the hell was I supposed to tell her?

I’d promised Geneva I would help her. She trusted me. I saw how much hope lit up her face when I assured her I wouldn’t abandon her.

And yet… I failed.

I ran a shaky hand through my hair and bowed my head. I couldn’t keep this from her.

Lying would only hurt her more. It would make her hold onto something that wasn’t real.

I took a deep breath, blinking back tears before looking up at my sister.

"I’m sorry, Geneva. I ruined everything."

My voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of my words hit her instantly.

Her forehead creased. "What do you mean you ruined everything?"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep my composure.

But the shame—the humiliation—was suffocating.

I had told her I’d do everything to prevent her from marrying Harrison Pierre Whitmore.

But instead, I made everything worse.

Damn it. There’s not a single plan I don’t mess up.

I clenched my fists, inhaling shakily before finally confessing:

"My original plan was to seduce Harrison Pierre Whitmore…" My voice cracked, my hands trembling as I spoke. "But I failed. I—" I swallowed thickly. "I slept with someone else instead."

Geneva’s eyes widened, but I pushed forward before she could react.

"Dad found out… and now he wants me to marry that man, Gene."

I bit my lip, tears welling up again.

"Because of what I did… Dad is rushing your marriage to Harrison."

And just like that, the weight of my mistake crashed down on me all over again.

Geneva just stared at me, her lips slightly parted, as if struggling to process what I had just said.

Her silence made my chest tighten.

I took a shaky breath and forced myself to continue.

"I'm sorry, Geneva." My voice wavered. "I know I promised to help stop your marriage to Harrison, but I only made things worse. I—" My throat constricted, and I lowered my head, overcome with shame. "I doubled our problems instead."

Tears burned in my eyes, blurring my vision.

I felt so pathetic.

Then, suddenly, Geneva pulled me into a hug.

I choked out a sob and clung to her tightly, crying even harder.

"We’ll get through this, Setta," she whispered, stroking my back in quiet reassurance.

I nodded against her shoulder, gripping her as if she were my only anchor in this mess.

We stayed like that for a long time—no words, just the warmth of my sister’s embrace.

And somehow, despite the chaos I’d caused, I felt a little lighter.

After we pulled away, I told her everything about last night—everything except Yohan’s name.

I knew Geneva. She would never let it go if she found out who he was, and I wasn’t ready for that conversation.

She didn’t press me, though. Instead, she guided me to my room and later brought me food, sensing I had no energy to leave.

I didn’t deserve her kindness.

Yet, she still took care of me, even bringing medicine for my pounding headache.

After eating, exhaustion dragged me under, and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

I hadn’t realized how well I’d slept until I woke up and sunlight was already filtering through my curtains.

Morning.

I sat up with a groggy stretch, stomach growling in protest.

Right. I barely ate yesterday.

Throwing off the covers, I hurried to the shower, letting the warm water wake me up. Once I was refreshed and dressed, I headed downstairs, eager to finally eat.

But as I descended the staircase, my steps faltered.

My breath hitched.

What is he doing here?

Yohan stood in the entryway of our house.

He was dressed in a sharp business suit, his hair neatly styled, his entire presence exuding that same intimidating aura I remembered from before.

I swallowed hard, trying—and failing—to suppress the nervousness clawing at my throat.

"W-What are you doing here?" I stammered, struggling to sound composed.

His cold gaze flicked toward me. For a moment, I thought he might ignore me altogether.

But then, in a clipped, emotionless tone, he said, "Your dad wants to talk to me. So I'm here."

And just like that, he brushed past me without another word, heading straight for my father’s office.

I stood frozen, staring after him.

Something about this didn’t make sense.

Why does it feel like Yohan is under Dad’s control?

From what my secretary had told me, Yohan was the type to call the shots, not the other way around. He was known for being selective about his meetings—always the one in charge.

It had become a bit of a hobby for me to study various personalities in the business world, considering I managed our company. I liked knowing the backgrounds of the people I might cross paths with.

And because of that, I had already known who Yohan was… before this entire mess even happened.

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to move again.

I just hoped their discussion was about canceling the wedding.

Yohan didn’t want to marry me any more than I wanted to marry him.

He was a powerful man. My father, on the other hand, was easily swayed by money. If anyone could find a way to stop this arrangement, it was Yohan.

I had to believe that.

I hope… I hope.

For now, I had no choice but to trust him.

Because in the end, we both wanted the same thing—

For this wedding to never happen.