Sentenced to Marriage

"What the hell is this?" I hissed, looking at the document I was given.

A lawyer in a fancy suit corrected his designer-rim glasses. "Your contract," he said.

"Why does it say "marriage" on it?" I glared at him, blood boiling in my veins.

"This is what my client needs. He needs to get married." The lawyer's expression remained emotionless, making me feel as if I was tossing all my anger into a void.

I took a long breath out and glanced at the papers. "I'm not going to sign it," I said, this time more composedly, as I crossed my arms over my chest.

The lawyer turned his head towards something, which I assumed was a one-way mirror. The second he did, the door next to the mirror opened with a slam, and a tall, black-haired man barged inside. It was Aren Lan, the only guy in this city whom no one dared to mess with. I looked at him, meeting his cold as stone gaze. I flinched but was unable to take my eyes off of him. For certain, he was dangerous, but he was also the most handsome man I had ever met in my life.

He smirked as he saw me shiver, my body submitting to him against my will. He strode across the office towards my seat. His broad shoulders and muscled chest could barely stay locked under his tailored suit jacket and tight shirt. As he stood in front of me, I could barely resist the urge to lower my gaze to his belt. He could have been deadly intimidating, but my lewd thoughts kept challenging my self-preservation instinct.

He leaned over me. His cologne was intoxicating but not as lethal as his onyx irises roaming my face. I gulped, indulging his confidence. His full lips were an inch away from mine, nearly touching them. A part of me instantly began craving their softness. My heart pounded erratically, turning me into a madwoman I had never imagined myself to be. He slightly opened his mouth, and I couldn't restrain myself from looking at the tip of his tongue, slowly teasing the inner side of his upper lip. Unknowingly, I opened my mouth as well. He chuckled, sending a cold shower over my head.

"You can either sign it or go to jail." He leaned back and smiled mischievously, emphasizing his impeccable jawline.

"I didn't do anything wrong," I choked out.

"You stuck your nose into my private matters," he hissed.

"You can't prove that I had anything to do with it aside from being at the same hotel," I said, as a confident smirk curved my lips.

A cold chuckle escaped his throat. "I don't have to prove it. All I have to do is tell the judge."

"No one can sentence me without proof," I challenged him.

He straightened up. Any traces of a smile abruptly disappeared from his face. "You still don't get it, do you? I own this city. It means that if I say you go to jail, that means you go to jail." He leaned over me again, his stare piercing right through me, "And if I say that I want you, that means you are already mine."

My jaw tensed as I resisted an urge to talk back. This wasn't a battle I could win, and this wasn't a man I could win against... How did I get myself into all that mess?!

***

Three weeks earlier

"Cora! Hurry up with that espresso!" Christine's nosy-pitched voice certainly didn't increase my speed.

"I'm doing my best. Can't speed up the machine, can I?" I squeezed through my teeth, trying not to shout in the customers' direction.

Tuesday mornings at the Café Dorado, where I'd worked, were the worst. On Mondays, people were still acting zombie-like as the weekend effect couldn't leave their systems entirely. But on Tuesdays, they were all work-mode-on, running on nothing but caffeine. Monique, Marco, and I were probably filling our 999th cup, and it wasn't even 9 AM. I stretched my lips into a thin smile and placed the final to-go in a paper cup carrier. As I completed the order, I took the carrier back and put it on the counter.

Christine looked me up and down and rolled her eyes, expressively enough for every customer to see. God! Could she at least not fuel customers' irritation?! I seriously wanted to kill her! I knew that she was the owner's cousin, but there should be a limit to her cockiness, right? She could have helped instead of bitching, but she was too lazy to move her fat butt around while calling herself "the manager." Monique placed the rest of the coffees from the order right beside those I brought. Then she winked at me to defuse the fury rising within me. It helped… a little.

Taking a deep breath, I glued a professional grin to my face and shifted my eyes to an impatient female customer. "Three lattes: one chocolate and two soya-milk, two au lait special half-and-half, three americanos, two espressos, and one red-eye," I recited on one breath.

The woman flashed me a brief smile as she grabbed the paper carrier and then darted out of the café. Well, at least she had no time to argue about why it took us the whole seven minutes to prepare her eleven coffees.

I couldn't wait for the morning rush hours to end. If it weren't for the extremely good money I earned at Café Dorado, I would never have decided to work in a coffee shop in Midtown Manhattan. Working there was exhausting, not to mention that it forced me out of my introvert's comfort zone and put me in front of people. But as a computer freak without a diploma, I had little possibility of getting a job in my area of expertise that would actually give me a proper income. Funny, isn't it? A former student who had once received a scholarship at Oxford University's computer science department became a professional barista-slash-waitress. That's what happens when you don't have a wealthy family, but you have an ill Grandma instead. I had no regrets about abandoning my studies. Grandma's life was more important than anything. Since I needed money to pay her medical bills, I had to quit studying and start working. I could say that it wasn't fair, but life was never fair in general, especially for those who weren't rich.

I would probably end up in jail for murdering one of the customers... or Christine if it weren't for Monique and Marco, my coworkers and friends. Monique was a half-Spanish, feisty girl with a heart of gold. She had a ton of dark-brown curls on her head, brown eyes, a beautiful, tanned complexion, and a gorgeous smile. Marco was a 6-foot-tall Italian gay with a Greek god's body and a deceiving smirk that fooled 99% of women. Both of them were like my personal rays of sunshine, getting me through even the gloomiest day.

Finally, it was past ten and the crowd had lessened to the point where I was able to see free spots on the café's floor. The take-out orders decreased, and our seven café tables, four on the ground floor and three upstairs, were now occupied by tourists.

"We made it through hell today," Marco breathed out, wiping the table counter with a cloth.

"You will say that again after lunch hours," Monique corrected, shooting him a lopsided smirk.

I truly hoped that she was wrong about that. I was already barely standing on my feet. It wouldn't be running on fumes if Christine joined us and did something, anything aside from glaring and crossing her arms over her chest. Unfortunately, the only thing she knew about coffee was how to drink it. She couldn't even clean the tables without breaking anything.

I pulled my blonde hair into a high ponytail and went to take the dirty cups from the tables by the door. I was leaning over the table when I heard a doorbell announcing new customers. As I raised my eyes, I saw three men in expensive suits walking in. Two of them were nervously smiling while politely leading the third inside. It was easy to guess who had the upper hand in their conversation. Normally, I wouldn't bat a single glance, but my eyes seemed to follow that third guy unknowingly. It was a black-haired man with slight Asian-like features. I had instantly become jealous of his smooth, porcelain complexion. As my eyes roamed lower, I saw a three-piece dark-grey suit sexily embracing his broad shoulders. I smiled faintly, thinking that his muscled arms must have been made to hold a woman. Then I sighed inwardly, reminding myself that I had been single and unsatiable for more than three years.

The two nervous men debated whether to sit near the counter or on the upper floor while the gorgeous black-haired, impatiently stared at his Patek watch. I couldn't explain why I kept staring at him. He wasn't the first mogul to enter our café. Besides, I hated rich and arrogant people more than anything, and he looked exactly like one of those. I was about to force myself to shift my gaze when suddenly our eyes met...

"Oh, God," I muttered under my breath.

His dark irises had the most extraordinary glow I had ever seen. The intensity of his stare made me hold my breath. I leaned back, feeling an instinctive need to get away from his dangerous aura. He carried an impeccable, commanding posture which made him completely irresistible. He didn't say a word, and I was more than ready to submit. He took a step toward me, and my body started to shiver. I registered a slight curve on his lips as his eyes consciously and slowly scanned down my body, paying extra attention to my cleavage. Seriously?! I would yell or slap any other guy who would be as shameless as he was, but now... my only reaction was an audible gasp. When his eyes went back to meet my gaze, I was already flushing in the reddest of red, which earned me his wide grin and a soft chuckle as he headed upstairs to take a seat with his two companions.

Bemused, I stood by that table for another minute, ineptly collecting dirty dishes and wondering where my brain had gone...