Chapter 2 — The Proposal
"Marry me."
I froze, mid-step, as if the floor beneath me had betrayed me. Those two words shouldn't have been possible, not from a stranger I had only met twice—once outside a hotel room, and once under the suffocating spotlight of a runway.
"What?" My laugh slipped out sharp, bitter. "You've gone insane."
But he didn't even blink. Keifer Watson—because that was his name, I later realized, the untouchable man the business pages obsessed over—just leaned back in his chair, eyes holding me hostage. Calm, deliberate, terrifyingly sure.
"I don't waste words," he said. "I want you to marry me."
Heat rushed to my cheeks, anger and disbelief mixing until I couldn't tell which burned more. "You think I'm some… convenience? A model you can buy and put on your arm?"
"You're not a convenience," he said smoothly, voice low, the kind that dripped like velvet but cut like glass. "You're a weapon. You don't just walk away from men who break you—you burn them. I saw it that night. And right now, I need someone who can burn with me."
I folded my arms, glaring. "Why me? You have a whole empire. You could marry anyone. Women probably beg to be in your shadow."
For the first time, his expression cracked—his jaw clenched, his gaze hardening. "Because I don't want shadows. I want someone who stands in the fire and doesn't flinch. Someone who won't tremble when the world stares. That's you, Jay."
My heart stuttered. Damn him. He knew exactly what to say to touch a wound I'd buried.
"And what do I get in return?" I forced myself to ask.
His lips curved, faint, dangerous. "Protection. Power. A platform bigger than any runway. And the satisfaction of watching your ex choke on his own lies when the world knows exactly who he really is. You want revenge, Jay. I can give it to you, clean and brutal."
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to steady my voice. "You're asking me to tie my name to yours—for what? A spectacle? You realize this isn't some TV drama. This is real life."
"And real life is crueler than any drama," he countered. "You can walk away and keep letting men ruin you… or you can stand beside me and ruin one back."
The silence between us was electric, stretching taut, pulling me closer to insanity. His eyes wouldn't let me go, and I hated—hated—that a part of me wanted to listen.
I stood, grabbing my bag before the weight of his presence swallowed me. "If I keep talking to you, I'll lose my mind. I have a runway to attend. Some of us still have actual jobs."
I started to leave, then paused at the door, cursing myself even as the words slipped out. "Tomorrow. Four o'clock. The café across from the Royale Tower. If you're serious, show up."
And then I walked out, my heels striking too loud, my heart beating louder.
Time Skip — The Café
The next afternoon, the café buzzed with soft chatter and the scent of roasted coffee beans. I told myself he wouldn't come. Men like Keifer didn't waste time chasing women.
But there he was, seated by the window, posture too perfect for this ordinary place, eyes locking onto mine the second I walked in.
"You actually showed," I muttered, sliding into the seat across from him.
"I told you," he said simply, "I don't waste words."
I exhaled slowly. "Fine. You want to convince me? Start talking."
He leaned forward, his gaze sharper than any spotlight. "Jay, I don't need love. I need someone the world will believe in. A marriage ties us together—your image, your influence, your voice. You're a model with fire in your veins. Standing beside me makes my company untouchable."
"And me?" I challenged.
"You get your revenge," he said without hesitation. "You get to crush the man who broke you. You get a name tied to more than betrayal—you get power. Respect. No one will dare look down on you again."
My hands trembled under the table, hidden from his sight. I hated how much his words made sense. I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
"This is madness," I whispered, more to myself than to him.
"Madness," Keifer said, his lips curling in a half-smile, "is the only thing worth living for."
Something in me snapped then—anger, pride, a hunger I didn't want to admit. I met his eyes, steady and defiant.
"Fine," I said at last. "You have yourself a deal."
His smile deepened, and for the first time I realized the danger wasn't in marrying him.
The danger was in what I might become standing beside him.