02. Snuff My Hopes Out

“Yes!” I gasp, breathless. “I’ll do whatever you want!”

He leans his face in slowly, deliberate, the air thickening between us. My heart hammers in my chest, desperate and frantic. Then his voice brushes against me, cold as frost.

“Then... marry me.”

The words hit me like a slap, leaving me stunned. I freeze, disbelief knotting in my throat. My hope—the one last flicker I clung to—snuffs out instantly.

“What?”

“You said you’d do what I say.” He steps closer, his presence pressing down on me, suffocating. “I say: marry me.”

I shake my head, as if I’ve misheard, as if this isn’t real. But his voice slices through my confusion, calm and merciless.

“And if you really hate this agreement, then let's get married like a man and a woman should do—not like a contract tells us to.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns his back and walks toward the door. His footsteps echo in the silence, a final reminder of how little he cares. He played me—made me think there was a way out, only to tear it away the moment I reached for it.

“I hate you...” I whisper, the words bitter on my tongue. The weight of the empty room presses down on me, suffocating, thick. I’ve felt this powerless before, but still, I hate the feeling than anything.

***

I push open the heavy double doors of the dining room, the weight more than I expected. The aroma of roasted meat and something rich lingers in the air, but it only churns my stomach.

The long dining table stretches before me, vast and cold, like a frozen lake. Maximilian sits at the head, poised and indifferent, like a king on his throne. His fitted gray turtleneck and sharp profile catch the chandelier’s dim light, casting shadows along his high cheekbones. He doesn’t look up.

“Miss Harper,” the butler steps forward from the corner. “Please, have a seat.”

My jaw tightens as I glance at the chair across from Maximilian. “I said I didn’t want to eat,” I mutter, glaring at him. He seems unfazed.

“You’ll only make things harder for them if you refuse again,” he replies calmly, as if speaking to a child.

Frustrated, I yank the chair back with unnecessary force, the screech of its legs echoing across the marble floor. Maximilian’s gaze flickers, just briefly, before he gestures toward the butler.

“This is Mr. Alfred. He’ll attend to you from now on.”

I shoot Mr. Alfred a cold glance, seeing him as just another part of the prison Maximilian has built around me. “I don’t need a butler.”

“You will. After the wedding, things will get busy. We’ll move to an apartment near my office—easier for me to keep an eye on you.”

“You mean control me.”

Maximilian’s gray eyes finally meet mine, cold and unyielding. “I mean making sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

Maximilian shifts in his chair and pulls a crisp white paper from the folder. With a flick of his wrist, he hands it to Mr. Alfred, who carefully places it in front of me.

“Those are the terms,” Maximilian says, his voice calm and detached, as if discussing a business deal, not my life.

My hands tremble as I grab the paper. The words blur under the weight of anger pounding in my skull. My breath shortens, and the room tilts slightly, his control tightening like invisible chains.

“What the fuck is this?” The words escape before I can stop them, sharp and loud, echoing through the dining room.

Mr. Alfred stiffens, his calm slipping for a split second. The maids exchange startled glances. Good. Let them see how absurd this is.

I slam the paper onto the table, my heart pounding. “No activity outside? Are you having wife or a fucking pet?” My voice rises, hot with frustration. “And what about school? I have to attend!”

Maximilian tilts his head, a trace of condescension in his gaze. "For what? A good job? What’s the point of marrying a billionaire if you still want to struggle like everyone else?"

"It’s not about working or struggling, you arrogant jerk!" I snap, my voice cutting through the cold room like a whip. "It’s about my freedom—something you’ll never understand."

His expression remains stoic, but his gaze sharpens, as if my words hit a nerve. He clasps his hands, calm and deliberate. "For your peace of mind, Miss Harper, I won’t lock you in the basement." His lips barely shift, as if speaking is the only expression he allows himself. "You’ll have everything you desire. I’ll bring the world to your feet, so you won’t need to wander it."

Our gazes clash—mine burning with defiance, his icy and unyielding. The space between us feels like a battlefield, tense and unforgiving. Neither of us yields.

I grip the table’s edge, tension thick in the air. My voice lowers, though anger simmers beneath every word. "What’s your real motive?" My nails dig into the polished wood. "You were never close with my reckless brother. Why are you so insisted to marry me?"

Maximilian leans back in his chair, the picture of calm. "Marriage is the best decision for you," he says smoothly. "Didn’t he tell you it’s for your own good?"

"I know what’s good for me." My eyes narrow, burning with frustration. "He only did this for money. Don’t insult me by pretending it’s for my sake."

Maximilian’s gaze remains cold, calculating outcomes, not emotions. "Sometimes you need someone older to guide you," he replies evenly, like a father lecturing an unruly child. "So you don’t end up in danger by choosing the wrong path yourself. That’s what he did for you."

"What danger are you talking about? I don’t understand!"

In a flash of anger, I hurl my glass across the long table. It shatters just before his plate, sending shards flying. One slices his cheek, leaving a thin red line.

"Sir!" Mr. Alfred shouts, rushing forward, his voice sharp with panic.

Maximilian doesn’t flinch. He sits perfectly still, indifferent to the sting, his expression as cold and unreadable as ice.

I’m trembling now, breaths uneven, chest heaving under the weight of everything I’ve bottled up. "Everyone keeps saying it’s for my good!" I scream, voice cracking. "Like I’m a child who can’t decide for myself! Like I can’t protect my own damn self!"

"But you are," he replies quick.

The simple words stop me in my tracks. Maximilian’s gaze darkens, but there’s no anger—only a calm so unsettling it makes my skin crawl. My anger catches me off guard at his unexpected response.

Before I can spit out the words burning on my tongue, a sharp beeping sound interrupts us. My eyes dart to Maximilian’s wrist, where a sleek device flashes briefly. He glances at it, taps a button, and the sound stops—no explanation, no apology, just silence.

Maximilian smoothly shifts his chair back and rises, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. His movements are methodical and distant, as if I’m not even here. “Eat your dinner,” he says coolly, his tone flat and final. “I don’t want to hear about hunger issues in the morning. You’ll be busy after tonight.”

He turns toward the door behind his chair, the one leading out of the dining room. No glance back, no hesitation.

“Mr. Milton, stop!” I push my chair back with a sharp screech and follow him across the room. My heels click against the cold marble floor, every step fueled by frustration and fury.

He’s already slipping through the door by the time I reach it, but I lunge forward—only to have two guards step between me and the doorway, blocking my path.

“Move,” I snarl, trying to sidestep them, but they don’t budge. Their faces remain emotionless, as rigid as statues.

“Mr. Milton!” I shout, my voice bouncing off the high ceilings. “We’re not finished yet!”

But the door shuts with a cold, deliberate click.

“Miss Harper,” Mr. Alfred’s soft, polite voice drifts in from behind me, calm as if nothing has happened. “I’m afraid Master Maximilian does not entertain visitors after dinner. It’s his time to rest.”

I whirl on him, my anger boiling over. “Do you think I care?”

He doesn’t flinch, his hands neatly clasped in front of him, his expression annoyingly composed. “It would be best to conserve your energy for tomorrow, Miss Harper. The designer will arrive in the morning to take your measurements.”

His words hit me like a slap. My measurements? For a wedding I never wanted?

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, trembling with fury. The guards stand firm in front of the door, Mr. Alfred calmly beside me, and the cold emptiness of the dining room settles over me like a heavy shroud.

With no way to reach him and no means to fight back, the only thing I can do is scream—loudly and viciously—into the stillness.