She was lost and so was he.
Who knew that two broken hearts can connect to one.
Arabella's world has been rigged since the day she was born. Her fate had been decided for her much longer before she even had been conceived in the womb. So it came as...
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I continue to impatiently wait at my table, my knee bouncing along with the obnoxious ticking of the clock. I glance at my blank phone, then back at the door every few seconds, waiting for her to walk in. But apparently, she loves to keep me waiting.
Finally, the door opens, and the girl from the picture stands tall and proud as she saunters over, immediately spotting me. Her short, curly ginger hair sways with each step she takes.
This is the girl I've been glaring at so intensely when I looked at her picture. The girl I wished had been born a boy. But when she sits so persistently in front of me, her composed expression never wavering, I'm not mad—I'm simply annoyed.
"Dominic," I say as I hold my hand out politely and she takes it. Despite everything, my mother taught me manners.
"Ciara." Her Irish accent is thick, but her voice remains poised and calm.
The waiter comes over, asking for our orders, and I look over at Ciara. "I'll be quick. But if you'd like, you can order something for yourself."
She waves him off, glancing back at me. She places her chin on her hands, tilting her head slightly to the side. The gesture reminds me of Arabella. "I'm not one to beat around the bush, so let's get straight to the point, Mr. Hernandez. You're going to need to end things with your little fling."
My hands ball into fists on the table, and I have to keep my glare in check, fighting to maintain a blank expression. Her calm face smirks at me, and my anger rises by the second. God, this girl is going to be a little bitch.
"It's good to know you're also a straightforward person, Miss Byrne. That'll make this conversation end quicker," I say, glancing down at my watch. Each passing minute feels like an eternity, and the urge to shove the fork into my eye grows stronger. "I'm not in a fling. My relationship is very much real, and it stands much higher on my list of priorities compared to this fucking contract our grandparents fussed over."
Ciara straightens in her seat, and I see her eye twitch, a clear sign that she's trying to maintain her composure. She wanted to play? Fine, let's play.
"This contract is the only thing keeping peace between two powerful mafias," she says, her voice icy. "So, don't undermine it. You better realize how important it is, or people will die because of you. Even that little girlfriend of yours," she adds, rolling her eyes and air-quoting 'girlfriend.'
"And what about your list of boyfriends?" I shoot back, enjoying the way her expression falters. She looks taken aback, clearly unprepared for that. I force myself not to grin too widely. I love seeing that look on people's faces when they underestimate me. "I know you're not some pure virgin, and honestly, I don't care. But our mafias will have quite a reaction when they find out."
Her posture stiffens, and she seems to retreat into herself for a moment. "That matter is not important. The contract mentions nothing about that. I don't have to be a virgin, but you have to marry me. It's all written on that piece of paper."
