eidyl dwyn ( on-going )

PROLOGUE

Swaying her body to the rhythm of the music as she dances on the floor with tons of men and women. It's a club, what do people expect? Mag rosaryo?

She dances as if it's her last night out. Well, if her mom hadn't bombarded her with news, she might have gone home sober. But no, her mom dropped the news like a mic, and she couldn't say no.

Her mother has been trying to set her up with any man she fancies. Claiming she isn't getting any younger and needs to settle down.

And here she is, making excuses that she's only twenty-two, for the love of God. She's far from the end of the calendar.

She sways her hips provocatively when she feels a hand tracing her back. It sends shivers down her spine, and she likes it.

She's used to it. She lets men touch her, just touch, and nothing more.

"Hmm..." a baritone voice engulfs her. It overpowers the bar's speakers. She was about to face the man when her mother's voice echoed in her ear.

"If I see you with another man again, Eidyl, I will freeze all your accounts, and you'll be staying at your grandma's house in Davao!"

And just like that, she pushed the man, but he didn't budge an inch.

"Too late, baby, I'm getting married," she said, leaving him with a smirk on his face.

She wobbled towards the table where her friends were.

"Let's go home," she said loudly, placing her whiskey on the table.

"Is this new? You're really going to accept the marriage Auntie mentioned? I thought you didn't want to get tied down?" Sweet asked while sipping her drink straight from the bottle.

Disgust crossed her eyes, visible to everyone at the table. She didn't want her bank account frozen.

Her phone beeped, so she took it out of her purse.

It's her mom.

"Where are you?" her mom asked. She could hear the displeasure in her mother's voice. When was she ever pleased with her?

"Why?" she asked.

"It's almost eight, and I told you we have dinner with the Donovans. Clean yourself up. I want you presentable." And the call ended just like that. She didn't even ask if she agreed to the marriage.

Her mother always gets her way, whether she likes it or not.

"I gotta go."

"Meeting the future husband already? That was fast," Sweet said, still drinking from the bottle.

"Sweet, stop that, or you won't be able to go home later," Khayriah, who was watching her seven friends drink, remarked. Khayriah might be the only one not drinking, but her mouth is always drunk. Always yapping.

"Take care, Eid. If you don't want to get married, you can always call me. I'll hide you from Auntie," Third, who was drinking vodka, said.

She didn't listen to the others and left. When she looked at her phone, it was already seven in the evening.

One hour.

She drove to her penthouse and cleaned herself up. It took forty-five minutes to prepare, and unfortunately, she was fifteen minutes late.

When she arrived at the place, her parents were already talking to a man with his back to her. He had broad shoulders and black-gray hair.

Her mother noticed her immediately and stood up to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Here she is," her mom said, indicating the seat beside her.

"Thank you for waiting. I was stuck in traffic," she explained as she sat across from the man.

"It's okay," the man replied in a deep voice. She hadn't looked at him yet. Upon hearing his voice, she turned to him.

A man with beautiful dark ash-gray eyes, rose peach lips, a pointed nose, and a charismatic and appealing aura.

According to Third, her source about this guy, he is thirty-two, ten years older than her, but he looks fine and not his age. He goddamn looks like twenty-seven!

"I know I'm handsome. Thank you, but staring is a crime, Miss Velasquez. I might sue you, and you'll plead guilty," he said with a teasing smile. She immediately furrowed her brows.

What a confidence. Arrogant.

That was all she could think of as she glared at him.

"Arrogant, indeed," she muttered and just put her bag beside her before facing him again.

"I can hear you. False accusations are also a crime, Miss Velasquez," he replied. She didn't notice her mom excusing herself to the bathroom.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I heard you murmur that I stole your heart. Isn't that stealing? And I am not stealing anything from you. That's a false accusation," he answered arrogantly. She looked at him with a gaze that could kill.

"You're handsome, but you're deaf. I said 'arrogant,' not 'stealing.' I suggest you go to an otolaryngologist and have your ears cleaned. It seems there's a lot of gunk in there, and you're hearing things," she said and ignored him. She started eating the food in front of her.

Why is she here again? She hadn't agreed to her mother's plans yet, but here she is. Where is her mom, and why are they the only ones here?

She took a deep breath and sighed.

There's nothing she can do even if she doesn't agree with her mother's wishes. Her mother is, after all, her mother. She's doing this for her. Even when she was a child, her mother always had the final say.

"Rigel," a man's voice called. She turned to see who it was. Who is this guy?

"You're late. Your future wife here gave me a hard time," the man across from her said, leaving her stunned.

Wait, what?

The newcomer laughed and looked at her. He extended his hand.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had something important to do. Slate, Slate Wenceslaus Donovan. Your future husband." And just like that, she saw a man with beautiful dark forest green eyes and the face of a Greek god.

" Your future husband. "

My future husband.