Sentenced to Marriage by MadlainQ

Monique and Marco saved my life again, taking care of the cleaning and bringing the order upstairs in a brand-new un-messed-up version. Certainly not that any of them would ever let me forget what had happened. Glancing at the upper floor, I could see that with me gone, Mr. Lan acted composedly-slash-indifferently or even politely! What the hell was his problem anyway?!

I stayed put behind the counter, waiting for all three businessmen to leave. I treated it like my personal bunker, keeping me safe from any nuclear reaction that this black-haired man could induce within me. I could breathe again only when the door closed behind him. I crawled out of my hiding place and started wiping the tables, preparing them for another tourist attack.

Monique walked over to me with a mischievous smirk. “Here,” she said, giving me a hundred-dollar bill.

“What’s this?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Mr. Lan said that I should give you this. He said that you should buy yourself some good ointment for the hand you burned.”

That son of a… He was bringing out the worst in me! How dare he trade “I’m sorry” for a hundred-dollar bill?! I crushed the bill in my hand and rushed towards the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Monique grabbed my hand before I reached the door handle.

“I’m going to find him, and shoved that money deep into his freaking mouth so he can choke!” I roared.

“Are you crazy, or do you have a death wish?” Marco cut in, pulling me away from the door. “First of all, don’t treat money this way. What has this poor Benjamin Franklin ever done to you? Second, it’s more than 5% of your rent, and the hell I’m going to let you throw it away; you deserved it, hon! And third of all…” he paused to take a deep breath, looking straight into my eyes, “you don’t want to mess with a guy that owns half of New York.”

“I don’t care who he is! Do you think he should be able to get away with anything just because he has money?!” I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest.

sighed and stroked my head. “Why do you hate money so

don’t hate money, I just hate people

my rent, and maybe I could even get back to Oxford and finish my studies. I used to see those issues differently when I was still on my full scholarship. The rest of my living expenses were covered by the inheritance I received when my Grandpa died. He wanted me to get the best education I

a wealthy family, and I knew that I could pay him back quickly. I believed that as soon as I’d graduated, I’d start earning big money. I was confident because I had already gotten a few lucrative job offers. All I needed to do

His heartless outburst equaled the end of our three-year relationship. Easy to say that he was my greatest reason for developing rich-man-phobia. Some would say that I was prejudiced, and I knew I was. I wasn’t an idiot. Inside my head, I created an image where every single rich guy was cold, arrogant, and rotten to the bone, but, sadly, after over two years of working next to the richest of Manhattan, I was yet to be proven wrong. Mr. Lan sure as hell wasn’t the

Lan guy?” I asked, narrowing

his phone from behind the counter. “This is him.”

post he found, and she read it aloud. “Aren Lan, a 32-year-old billionaire, owner of

Lan…” I repeated softly, glancing at his picture

state otherwise. He was wearing a black suit and a white shirt in that picture. The aura of confidence that surrounded him was breathtaking. I could easily imagine a long line of beautiful women ready to spread their legs before him. That made me wonder

filled with a coffee scent. I got through the end of the day without any other unexpected events. Swaying on my feet, I packed myself into the bus and felt the island, hoping to get myself to bed in my Brooklyn apartment as soon as possible. I crawled inside on autopilot and put the tips I hid in my jeans pockets into the box I kept under my bed. The next thing I remember was my face meeting the softness of a pillow. Another day of focusing on nothing but earning

friends of mine and I created. I loved working with computers, but I would never be able to pay Grandma’s hospital bills without my coffee shop job. And there I was again, standing behind

day off. Monique was somewhere at the back, checking our supplies, but it strangely took her longer than usual. Glancing around the empty café, I went

shifting my attention to the door. I froze. Aren Lan closed the door behind him. He stood still for a moment, presenting himself to me in a perfectly tailored gray suit, a black shirt, and a tie. His lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile, as he locked his eyes on

Mr. Lan?” I breathed out shakily, barely handling his

and loosened up his collar. “You’re all I need.” He turned the lock on the door and stepped toward

a broad day… and this is a public place…” I