In just three days, Andreas managed to secure all the paperwork for the couple's marriage in Country A. It was a Herculean task for most, but for his boss, it was as simple as lifting a finger. Welcome to the world of capitalism, where money can speed up even the most tedious processes.
Meanwhile, Sandra hadn't been herself for days, her mind whirling with desperate plans to escape marrying Roland. But no matter how much she racked her brain, she came up empty. She considered calling the police, but in this third-world country, she knew she'd be outmatched by a billionaire who could toss money around like confetti. What would she even say to them?
Looking at the luxurious business card in her hand, Sandra resigned herself to her fate. "Just one year," she told herself, "It'll fly by." Little did she know, Roland had no intention of letting her go even after that year.
Just as she was about to dial the number, her doorbell rang. Opening the door, she found herself face-to-face with a tall, slender, stunning man in a navy-blue suit, complete with a vest and a red tie. Her heart skipped a beat; she had a weakness for beautiful creatures.
The man waved with a dazzling smile. Sandra frowned. "How did you know where I live?" But she answered her own question in her mind. Of course, he had ways of finding out even her birthday.
"Are we just going to stand here and admire each other?" Roland quipped, breaking the silence.
"Mr. Fleming, I haven't called you yet," Sandra replied, her voice icy.
"I haven't heard from you in three days. I needed to make sure you hadn't run away from me," Roland said, stepping closer. Sandra instinctively stepped back, and before she knew it, they were inside her house with Roland closing the door behind them.
Sandra's mind was screaming red alert, her eyes watching him cautiously. Roland let out an inward sigh. She was like a prickly porcupine. "Do you have an answer for me?" he asked.
Sandra let out a self-mocking snicker. "Mr. Fleming must be joking. You've left me with no choice; why act like I have one?"
Roland moved closer until Sandra was cornered against the wall, his gaze intense. He had vowed to break down her walls and make her his, but he also knew not to push too hard. He stepped back and sat in her quaint living room, taking in the clean, bright space that smelled distinctly of her.
Sandra disappeared into the kitchen, returning with tea and cookies. She sat across from him and asked, "Mr. Fleming, what do you gain from this marriage?" No matter how she looked at it, marrying someone as insignificant as her seemed to offer him no benefits at all.
Roland picked up the teacup with an elegant grace, crossing his long legs. "Didn't I tell you? You took my virginity," he said, his face utterly serious.
Sandra's mouth twitched; she was itching to punch that smug look off his face. "Besides, haven't you heard the rumor that my family is strictly conservative and principled? If I sleep with a woman, I have to marry her," he continued, a playful smile dancing on his lips.
Sandra had heard the rumor, but she dismissed it as just some silly gossip among the elite. Billionaires cared only about making money, right?
"How would they know what happened?" Sandra's face turned red at the mere thought of that night. Roland's smile widened; he found her cuteness irresistible.
"My mother is more resourceful than I am. In fact, there's a chance she's on her way here to get us engaged," Roland said, discussing it as casually as if he were talking about the weather.
Sandra thought it was absurd. Then a sudden realization hit her. Wasn't the owner of Rosé Couture Rosa Fleming? His mother? Her eyes widened as she remembered that just a few days ago, the owner had informed her she'd be coming to negotiate herself.
Could Roland be telling the truth? Was Rosa coming because she knew about that night at the hotel?
Realizing this, Sandra's face paled. How was she supposed to face her? Would she throw money in her face and tell her to stay away from her son, like in those exaggerated dramas? That would be for the best, but if she really was coming to force them into marriage, that would be even more awkward.
While she was lost in thought, Roland suddenly stood up, and before she knew it, his arms were on either side of her, cornering her against the sofa. Sandra instinctively pulled back.
She looked up to meet his deep, intense gaze. Roland then spoke, "We'll leave in a month, once I've finished my work here. After the marriage, we'll come back and live our own lives. Next week, our engagement will be announced, but don't worry, your identity won't be disclosed at all."
Roland returned to the sofa, continuing to sip his tea with an air of nonchalance. After regaining some composure, Sandra spoke up, "Can we at least set some rules?"
"Tell me what you have in mind, and I'll tell you if I agree or not," Roland responded with a smug grin.
Sandra wanted nothing more than to strangle him. She gritted her teeth and said, "I will stay in this apartment."
"Absolutely not, I've already bought a house near your work," Roland interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.
Sandra bit her lip; he was such a tyrant. "Well, then, we'll sleep in separate rooms."
Roland paused, thinking that even if they slept in separate rooms, it didn't mean he couldn't find ways to get close to her, right? "I'll consider it," he said with a sly smile.
"You won't interfere in my business," Sandra insisted, needing to ensure she could maintain her peaceful life.
"Done," Roland agreed.
Sandra heaved a sigh of relief. She had half-expected him to be completely unreasonable and reject all her conditions.
Two days later, the business magazine Black Elite caused a stir in the circles of the elite. The headline news was that Roland Fleming was engaged.
In a vast, modern-style mansion in the suburbs, Chelly stared at the magazine, seething with resentment. The identity of Roland's fiancée wasn't disclosed, and that should have been her place. But Roland had discovered her schemes and pressured her parents, which resulted in her being forced overseas to study. She didn't want to leave, but she had no choice.
She was leaving in a month, and before she did, she needed to find out who this mystery woman was. In a fit of rage, she threw the magazine across the room.