Chapter 2: The Minute He Proposed to Me
(First-person POV)
Raymond came back into the room where I sat with his sister. He paused by the door, his tone softer than I'd ever heard it.
"Take care of her well, sis."
Paris turned to him, eyes wide in disbelief. "Wait—what did you just say? You, telling me to take care of someone?"
He cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze. "You heard me. She's injured. Just… make sure she eats and rests."
Paris folded her arms, smiling knowingly. "Of course, brother. But that sounded very unlike you. Should I be expecting a sister-in-law soon?"
His eyes flashed cold. "Don't start, Paris." He turned and walked away before she could tease him further.
Paris chuckled under her breath. "Okay, I'll do as you said, Mr. Husband."
I didn't know whether to laugh or feel uneasy. The air in this mansion felt heavy—too rich, too quiet, too strange.
Later, I heard his footsteps fade down the hall. He'd gone to his study, and I could almost feel the storm that brewed behind his calm face. I didn't know what he was thinking, but something about the way he looked at me unsettled me. His eyes held too many secrets.
Somewhere far from here, Marcus and Charlotte were living the life they stole from me.
"Finally, we've gotten rid of the devil, haven't we?" Charlotte probably said with that serpent's grin.
"Yes, baby," Marcus would reply, his voice smooth as poison. "Let's forget about her."
Forget about me.
I clenched my fists even in sleep that night. The pain was still fresh, the memories still alive.
Morning light spilled through the curtains when I finally opened my eyes. My head felt clearer, though the ache in my body still lingered.
The first thing I noticed was that my bags—the only things left of my old life—were neatly arranged inside the wardrobe. I ran to them immediately, opening each one with trembling hands. My parents' photos, my mother's necklace, the letter my father wrote before he died—still there. I exhaled shakily.
"Oh… I thought I'd lost them."
I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, staring at the woman in the mirror. My skin was pale, lips dry, eyes swollen. That woman didn't look like me anymore.
A knock came. "Knock, knock, knock!"
"Are you awake, sleeping beauty?"
I opened the door slightly, and a kind-looking woman smiled at me.
"I'm Paris," she said warmly. "My brother brought you here last night. You're safe. You can relax."
"Thank you, ma," I replied quietly.
"You don't have to be formal," she said, laughing softly. "Just call me Paris. You know, this is the first time my brother has ever brought a woman home. You're the first."
Her tone was teasing, but I saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. Still, I stayed guarded. I'd seen kindness turn to betrayal before.
"Dress up and come down for breakfast," she said. "We'll be waiting."
I nodded. "Thank you."
When I entered the dining room, the butler greeted me with a slight bow. "Good morning, ma."
"Good morning," I replied.
Then I saw him—Stafford Raymond. The man who'd saved me, the same man whose silence now filled the room like ice.
He looked up briefly. "Morning."
That one word—flat, cold, detached—was the first thing he said to me that day.
Paris smiled, trying to ease the awkward air. "You can try some vegetables, Frances. There are French fries too—you'll love them."
"Thank you," I said softly.
But his eyes were on me. I could feel them. Sharp, observant, cold—yet something else flickered beneath. His gaze lingered on my wrist, on the bruises I tried to hide beneath my sleeve.
He suddenly spoke, voice low but commanding. "Wait. Let my sister help you with that wound."
I froze, caught off guard by the concern in his tone.
Paris nodded and stood. "Come with me. He's been worried since yesterday," she whispered as we walked away. "He even wanted to call a doctor, but I told him to wait till you rested."
Worried? I didn't know whether to believe that or not.
Inside, my heart hardened again. No kindness can wash away what people have done to me.
Meanwhile, I knew Charlotte was probably somewhere uptown, laughing in a designer boutique, pretending to be a queen.
I could imagine her voice perfectly:
"I want the most expensive gown here! My husband will pay."
My stomach twisted. Husband. She'd stolen everything, even the title that should've been mine.
Later that afternoon, the house fell quiet. Paris had gone out, and I found myself alone with Raymond for the first time.
I stood hesitantly at his study door. "Can I come in?"
He didn't look up. "Come in."
The air in the room was thick with the scent of smoke and power.
"I wanted to thank you," I said, voice small. "For everything. For saving me."
He didn't even glance at me. "Okay. Is that all?"
I hesitated. "I… wanted to tell you I'll be leaving today."
That made him stop typing. He didn't look at me yet, but something changed in the air. "What's your name?"
"Frances Lin."
"Okay. You can leave."
That was it? No expression, no care, no warmth. Just words—cold as frost.
I swallowed hard. "Actually," I continued, gathering courage, "I wanted to ask if you could lend me some money. I'll pay you back—with interest."
He finally looked up, eyes locking on mine. "And that's all I get in return?"
"Yes. You've already done enough."
A faint smirk appeared on his lips. "I don't need you to pay me back."
"What?"
"Marry me," he said simply.
My mouth fell open. "Sir, I said I need money, not a man."
"I'll pay you hundreds of millions if you marry me," he said flatly, leaning back in his chair as if it was a normal business deal.
I scoffed, my heart pounding. "Go on blind dates or hire a matchmaker if you want a wife."
"I don't want anyone else," he replied calmly. "Go to your room and think about it."
His voice was so certain that it terrified me more than any threat could.
I left quietly, my legs shaking. In my room, I sat on the bed, trembling. Marry him? Impossible.
But then my eyes fell on my hands—empty, scarred, hopeless. I had no home, no job, no one to run to.
Tears filled my eyes. I'll do it, I whispered. I'll marry him. I'll take his money. And when I'm done… I'll leave. And finish what I started.
My revenge.
I stood up, heart heavy, and walked straight to his study.
"Let's get married," I said firmly. "As you want."
His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. The kind that made my skin crawl. It wasn't joy—it was power.
Before I could process it, the world tilted.
"What—?" I gasped. My knees buckled, body collapsing onto the sofa. I couldn't move.
The last thing I saw was his shadow towering over me… and that same cold smile that made me wonder—
Had I just saved myself, or sold myself again?