KNIGHTS 02

The restaurant shimmered, a kaleidoscope of soft light and hushed conversations, but Aza felt utterly trapped. Seated opposite Wilton, their table nestled near the glass wall, she felt exposed, her unease a palpable thing in the air. The journey to the restaurant had been a torturous exercise in forced politeness; Wilton’s unwavering smile, a constant, intense gaze that felt more like a spotlight than a gesture of affection, had grated on her nerves. Each forced smile she returned felt like a tiny betrayal, a concession to a situation she desperately wanted to escape. The weight of Oz’s precarious financial situation pressed down on her, making even the smallest act of defiance feel impossible.

"Please, let this day be over," she silently pleaded, her eyes involuntarily drifting to Wilton. His smile had broadened, a triumphant curve that sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.

A torrent of self-deprecating thoughts flooded her mind. Who would ever marry someone like him? she mused, her inner voice sharp and critical. He dresses like a clown, all braces and oversized glasses. He looks like a cartoon character! A wave of despair washed over her. God, what have I done to deserve this? If I felt even a spark, anything at all, for him, I'd accept him, flaws and all, but I don't.

She offered another tight-lipped smile, a pathetic attempt at normalcy, unconsciously adjusting her own glasses. Was Wilton's nearsightedness genuine, or just another quirky part of his carefully constructed persona? The question hung unanswered, adding to the growing sense of unease.

"Thank you, Aza, for agreeing to this date," Wilton began, his voice smooth and confident, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within her. "I've dreamed of this, of having you here, the most beautiful woman I know," he continued, his words dripping with a saccharine sweetness that felt suffocating.

"Huh? N-no, it's nothing, Mr. Bernabe," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, a forced smile twisting her lips. Wilton's gaze intensified, unwavering and unsettling.

"Just call me Wilton, Aza. Let's drop the formalities," he insisted, his tone softening slightly. She nodded, a silent agreement born of exhaustion rather than genuine consent.

"Hehehe, okay, Wi-wilton," she managed, her voice trembling slightly.

Then came the bombshell, delivered with the casual confidence of a man utterly convinced of his own righteousness. "You know, Aza, I've liked you for a long time. You're beautiful and kind, and I'm completely smitten. I'm willing to help Oz, to save his business...if you'll marry me. I promise to make you happy, to give you everything you want."

Aza stared, dumbfounded, the words hanging in the air like a guillotine blade. "H-huh?" she breathed, the single syllable a testament to the utter shock and disbelief that had paralyzed her.

Aza’s internal monologue screamed, a silent protest against the sheer audacity of the man across the table. So direct, so presumptuous! The polished elegance of the restaurant felt like a cruel joke, a stark contrast to the raw, unsettling power emanating from Wilton.

"I know you don't love me yet," Wilton stated, his voice a smooth baritone that somehow amplified the unsettling nature of his words. "But once we're married, I'll make you fall in love with me. I'll serve you, I'll make you a queen." The words hung in the air, heavy with a possessive undercurrent that made Aza's skin crawl. She gulped down a mouthful of water, the cool liquid a meager shield against the rising tide of her discomfort.

"Wi-wilton," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "don't you think we should, you know, get to know each other first? Jumping straight to marriage seems...rushed. We shouldn't rush into this kind of—"

He cut her off, his tone hardening, the smooth veneer cracking to reveal a steely determination beneath. "We can get to know each other perfectly well after we're married! I want to possess you, Aza." The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Aza’s eyes widened, a mixture of shock and revulsion flooding her features. The casual cruelty of his words, the blatant disregard for her feelings, left her speechless.

"P-possess?" she whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. The casual brutality of his declaration was a stark contrast to the romantic setting. Wilton's face flushed slightly, a flicker of something akin to embarrassment crossing his features before his expression hardened again.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and intense, "I love you, and I want to marry you so I can possess you. I long to make you mine, to have children with you." His gaze lingered on her lips, then drifted lower, a blatant appraisal that made her stomach churn. The casual way he assessed her body, the possessive gleam in his eyes, stripped away any remaining pretense of romance.

A wave of nausea washed over Aza. He's not just like Doding Daga, he's a predator! The thought was a desperate, silent cry for help, a plea to anyone, anything, to rescue her from this horrifying situation. She felt utterly alone, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

"I want every part of you," Wilton continued, oblivious to the turmoil he was causing. "So agree to marry me, for Oz's sake. His company won't fail, Aza. Just say yes, and I'll take care of everything." His words, delivered with a suffocating blend of urgency and veiled threat, left Aza reeling, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She felt a cold dread grip her, the weight of his relentless pursuit pressing down on her with suffocating force.

A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm Aza. The sheer vulgarity of Wilton's words, the blatant disregard for her boundaries, made her stomach churn. She felt a desperate urge to escape, to run to the nearest bathroom and vomit out the vile things she'd heard. Each of his words felt like a physical blow, draining her strength, leaving her weak and trembling. In her silent despair, she offered a desperate, silent prayer, a plea for divine intervention, for someone, anyone, to deliver her from this nightmare.

"So..." Wilton purred, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down her spine. He rose from his chair, his movement deliberate, predatory. As he approached, Aza's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the terror that gripped her. He knelt before her, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity, and took her hands in his. A jolt of revulsion shot through her; his touch felt invasive, violating.

She yearned to yank her hands away, to push him back, to create some physical distance between them. But a strange paralysis held her captive. Fear, raw and potent, kept her rooted to the spot. Then, his grip tightened, his fingers closing around hers with a possessiveness that stole her breath. His gaze, intense and unnerving, was fixed on her hands, his eyes lingering on her skin.

"Damn," he breathed, his voice thick with a possessive hunger that made her blood run cold. "Your hands are so soft, Aza. I can't wait to marry you and claim you completely." The words were a violation, a declaration of ownership that stripped her of her dignity. With a surge of adrenaline, she pulled her hands free, scrambling to her feet, nearly losing her balance in her haste.

Wilton stared at her, his expression shifting from possessiveness to confusion. He rose to his feet, his eyes still holding that unsettling intensity. Aza couldn't bear it any longer. The horror that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiled over, leaving her trembling with revulsion.

"Aza..." he began, his voice laced with a possessive tenderness that only amplified her revulsion.

"L-let's talk about that later, okay?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, a desperate attempt to regain control. "Ahmm, let's order some food, I'm starving," she added, her words a transparent lie, a desperate attempt to deflect his attention.

"Okay! What do you want to eat?" Wilton replied, his smile returning with unsettling ease as he sat back down, signaling for the waiter. The speed of his recovery was terrifying.

"A-anything, you choose," she managed, her voice shaking. "I'm going to the restroom!" she blurted out, unable to bear another moment in his presence. Without waiting for a response, she fled, her steps hurried, her retreat a desperate flight from the suffocating intensity of his gaze.

Panic clawed at Aza's throat. "Gosh! What am I going to do?" she whispered, the words a desperate plea lost in the opulent silence of the restaurant. "If I stay with that…that man any longer, I might not make it home alive! I have a terrible feeling he's going to do something awful!" A cold dread, sharp and icy, pierced her heart. She was trapped, caught in a web of obligation and fear, and the suffocating weight of it threatened to crush her. In her frantic state, she didn't even see the man she collided with, her body jarring against his as she stumbled, her knees hitting the hard floor with a painful thud.

"Ouch!" she cried out, the sharp sting of the fall a minor pain compared to the overwhelming terror that consumed her. Tears pricked at her eyes. First, the looming threat to Oz's business, and now this…this terrifying encounter with Wilton. The unfairness of it all threatened to break her.

"I'm so incredibly unlucky!" she sobbed, the words barely a whisper as she sat on the cold, unforgiving floor. Then, a hand appeared before her, a lifeline in the swirling vortex of her despair.

"Miss, are you alright?" A voice, gentle and concerned, cut through her turmoil. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the man kneeling before her, his eyes filled with a kindness that felt like a balm on her wounded spirit. He was strikingly handsome, his features sharp and kind, his presence a sudden beacon of hope in the darkness.

Lost in the unexpected kindness, she barely registered his helping hand as he gently pulled her to her feet.

"Sorry, Ms. I didn't see you. I was in a bit of a rush," he said, his voice apologetic, his smile warm and reassuring. It was a stark contrast to the chilling intensity of Wilton's gaze.

"H-huh? I-it's okay," Aza stammered, her voice still shaky, "It's my fault. I wasn't paying attention. I'm so sorry," she added, a genuine apology escaping her lips. His smile, genuine and kind, was a lifeline in the suffocating atmosphere of dread that had been clinging to her.

He's so handsome, she thought, her mind momentarily distracted by his captivating presence. Is he even human, or some kind of Greek god?

Snapped back to reality by a gentle touch on her shoulder, she blinked, her focus returning to the present.

"H-huh? Did you say something?" she asked, her voice still trembling slightly.

"No, you just seemed a little…lost in thought. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his concern sincere and genuine. She nodded, the relief washing over her like a soothing wave.

"Yes! I'm fine, perfectly fine," she insisted, her voice gaining strength.

"That's good to hear! Well, I should get going," he said, turning to leave. But something within her, a desperate instinct for survival, propelled her hand forward. She grabbed his arm, her fingers tightening around his sleeve.

"Miss? Do you need something?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

He's the answer to my prayers, she thought, a surge of hope coursing through her. He's my escape. A desperate plea formed on her lips.

"Mr., please help me. Get me out of here, please!" she begged, the words tumbling out in a rush, her voice thick with desperation.

"Huh? Get you out? Out of where?" he asked, his confusion evident.

"It doesn't matter! Just get me out of this place. Please, save me!" she cried, her voice choked with emotion. The weight of her situation, the crushing fear of Wilton, propelled her forward.

She couldn't go back. The thought of facing Wilton again filled her with a nauseating dread. This was her chance, her only chance, to escape.

"Please! I'll treat you to anything, just help me get away from here. Please, please, I can't stay here another second!" she pleaded, her voice cracking with desperation.

A smile touched his lips, a smile of understanding. "I think you really need to get out of here. Fine, I'll help you," he said, his voice firm and reassuring.

Overwhelmed with relief, Aza threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. "Waahhh! Thank you!" she sobbed, the words a mixture of gratitude and pure, unadulterated relief.

"Yes!" she thought, a wave of pure joy washing over her. "I'm going home!" The sound of a throat clearing brought her back to reality. She quickly pulled away, blushing crimson.

"S-sorry," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I got a little…excited." His smile, warm and understanding, reassured her.

"No worries, let's go," he said, his voice a comforting balm against the lingering terror. His words, simple yet reassuring, eased the knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.

Aza hesitated, casting a nervous glance towards the front of the restaurant. "Is there another way out besides the front door? I might get caught," she whispered, the fear still clinging to her like a shadow. The image of Wilton's possessive gaze, the chilling intensity of his words, sent a fresh wave of unease through her.

A slight frown creased his brow. "That Doding Daga guy has his goons with him, doesn't he?" he murmured, his voice low and understanding. He'd clearly picked up on her unspoken fear. The fact that he understood, that he anticipated her concerns, sent a surprising warmth spreading through her. She found herself smiling faintly, a small, involuntary reaction to his empathy.

"Oh, is that so? Then let's use the back door. That way you won't get caught," he suggested, his tone gentle yet firm, his words a promise of safety.

"Is that okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, still hesitant despite the growing sense of relief.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, his smile warm and genuine, his eyes twinkling with an easy confidence that calmed her racing heart. He gently took her hand, his touch surprisingly comforting, sending a pleasant shock through her. The simple act of physical contact, the warmth of his hand in hers, felt incredibly safe and reassuring. A blush crept onto her cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and a burgeoning sense of something more.

"Let's go," he said, his smile widening, and with a gentle tug, he led her towards the back door. Aza barely registered the movement, her attention completely captured by the feeling of his hand in hers, the warmth spreading through her, chasing away the lingering chill of fear.

Oh my gosh! she thought, her heart doing a little fluttery dance in her chest. I think I'm developing a crush on him. The unexpected turn of events, the escape from Wilton, the surprising kindness of this stranger, and the simple, yet electrifying touch of his hand—it was all a heady mix of emotions, leaving her breathless and utterly captivated.