Marry Me.

Chapter Two.

Alone in my spacious office, surrounded by sleek furniture and polished mahogany, I find myself fixated on a photograph spread across my desk. Daphne Laurier's image stares back at me, a woman I've never met but have come to know intimately through countless pictures and stories shared by my father, Zachary McGuire.

I'm Nolan McGuire, a young man in my mid-twenties, and the weight of the world seems to rest upon my shoulders at this moment. As the only child of Timothy, the enigmatic CEO of the McGuire empire, I've grown up in a world of opulence and privilege. I was groomed from a young age to take over the family business, to uphold its legacy. But nothing could have prepared me for this—an arranged marriage to a woman I've only seen through a glossy, curated facade. Studying the photograph, my heart betrays me with an involuntary flutter. Daphne's enchanting beauty, the radiance of her smile, the intelligence that shines through her eyes—it all captivates me. An inexplicable connection seems to bind us, even though we remain strangers to each other.

My heart, though, is encased in ice, emotions locked behind a carefully constructed shield. I can't afford to let myself fall for Daphne, for the concept of love has been overshadowed by the burden of my family's expectations.

Weeks have gone by, and the day of our face-to-face meeting has finally arrived. Standing in the grand foyer of the Laurier mansion, I feel the butterflies churn in my stomach. There's a yearning to reveal my true feelings, to embrace the connection that has formed from afar. Yet, the weight of duty, the pressure of my predetermined role, holds me back.

As Daphne emerges, draped in a flowing gown that accentuates her natural beauty, I can't look away. Her presence commands the room, her grace and confidence capturing the attention of every onlooker. My heart races, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to envision a life where our union isn't a product of arrangement but of genuine affection.

But the warmth of that thought quickly fades as I push it away. I can't afford vulnerability, can't let emotions blur my judgment. So, I retreat behind a cold demeanour, keeping my distance from Daphne in an attempt to shield my heart.

Throughout the evening, I dodge eye contact, pretend she isn't there, and keep conversations brief and devoid of any warmth. Each interaction is a pang of guilt and sadness, seeing the confusion and hurt in Daphne's eyes. But I can't expose my emotions—I can't risk the vulnerability.

Days stretch into weeks, and our encounters remain strained and distant. Even when circumstances force conversation, my words are clipped and lack any hint of genuine feeling. I tell Daphne to leave me be, to stop trying to bridge the gap I've intentionally created.

In my heart, every word I utter is tinged with regret. I want to take back those cold rejections, to hold her close and erase the pain I've caused. But the weight of expectation and responsibility presses down, choking the yearnings of my heart. Deep down, I understand that the walls I've erected are just a front—a self-imposed prison that keeps me from experiencing the love I secretly crave. Yet, breaking free from the chains of tradition, of familial demands, feels insurmountable. The battle between my heart and the world's expectations rages on, a war waged in the shadows of my own conflicted soul.