Chapter 10
The morning sun spilled through the wide glass windows of my studio, casting a golden hue over the array of sketches and fabric swatches scattered across my worktable. For the past few weeks, I had buried myself in my designs–my sanctuary, my armor. Drawing, sewing, organizing Life after Johansen was finally starting to feel like mine again.
And finally, it was paying off.
One of the city’s largest malls had accepted my clothing line for distribution. The launch was scheduled next month. My team was growing. Every design, every detail had a piece of my healing heart sewn into it. It wasn’t just a collection–it was a rebirth.
In between meetings, however, came the inevitable: my mother’s meddling.
“This is the perfect time,” she said over lunch, sipping her tea with that calm but calculating gleam in her eye. “He’s arriving this evening. The one I arranged years ago for you.”
I blinked. “Wait–the arranged fiancé?”
“Yes, Cassandra. You almost married him, if not for Johansen,” she replied, as if I had simply
missed a brunch date.
I sighed, pushing my plate away. “This is just for business, Mom. Let’s be clear–I’m not here to fall in love again.”
“I know,” she nodded. “But he’s… different. He’s kind. Smart. Been raised well. I’ve always wanted you to meet, but you were–you know–all over Johansen.”
I groaned, sinking back into the chair. “Don’t remind me. I regret every bit of it.”
Her hand reached for mine gently. “Then this is your fresh start. So tonight, wear your best dress and show him who Cassandra is now.”
Later that afternoon, I stood in front of the mirror, debating what to wear. Silks, satins, structured gowns all options. But my eyes landed on the dress.
The one from him.
The mysterious man who spilled coffee on me. Who sent me the stunning navy silk dress. Who wrote only “S.” on his note.
I hadn’t replied. I didn’t want to give hope to something that felt… impossible. Not when my life was being rerouted by marriage contracts and legacy deals.
But the dress–it called to me.
I slipped it on. It fit perfectly, hugging my figure like it was made for me. I applied soft makeup and pinned my hair in loose waves. Somewhere between nerves and indifference, I told myself this was nothing.
Just business.
The restaurant was upscale, adorned in glass chandeliers and velvet drapes. The kind of place where billionaires made deals over wine. I stood near the hostess station, glancing at my phone,
when-
Thud.
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3:57 pm
M
A warm hand gripped my arm before I stumbled.
“I swear, we need to stop meeting like this.”
I looked up–and froze.
Coffee guy.
Again.
t
His dark hair was tousled in that charming way, and he had this easy grin that made people forget bad days. He stared at me like I’d just stepped out of a dream.
“You,” I said in disbelief.
“You,” he echoed, eyes drifting to my dress. “And… you’re wearing it.”
I laughed softly. “Yeah, well… it matched the evening.”
“You’re here to meet someone?”
I nodded. “Arranged fiancé. A long overdue business dinner.”
His smile faltered. “Wow. That’s–funny. Because I’m here to meet someone too.”
I tilted my head. “Let me guess. An arranged bride?”
“Bingo.” He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “And here I thought tonight couldn’t get any
weirder.”
“Well,” I said, smiling as we both turned toward the hallway. “Shall we?”
We walked side by side, escorted into a private dining room.
And stopped.
At the same table.
We both stared at the single nameplate that read: Reserved for Mr. Scott Andrel & Ms.
Cassandra Ruiz.
He turned to me, wide–eyed, then burst into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh too. “So… you’re Scott.”
‘And you’re Cassandra. I thought it was just a coincidence since there’s a lot of Cassandra.” He shook his head. “Wow. Two bumps, a ruined blouse, a dress, and now this? If this isn’t the universe screaming at us, I don’t know what is.”
We took our seats, still amused and slightly stunned.
Dinner was unexpectedly light, even joyful. We joked about our awkward run–ins, the ridiculous coincidence, and somehow ended up talking about childhood dreams, the stress of expectations, and the odd ways life rewrites itself.
He was witty, a little cocky, but never arrogant. I liked that. He listened. And when he smiled- genuinely smiled–it wasn’t like Johansen’s practiced charm. It was real.
‘So,” he leaned in over dessert, “about this arranged marriage.”
| blinked. “Yeah… that.”
‘I’m assuming you’re not dying to be a wife right now,” he said.
I smiled tightly. “I’m not really the ‘happily ever after‘ type anymore.”
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3:57 pm MMM.
“Good,” he replied. “Because I had zero intention of being anyone’s prince charming.”
We both chuckled.
“So… business arrangement?” he asked.
I sipped my wine. “Business. Legacy. Company merger. Just long enough to make both families happy.”
He nodded. “A few years?”
“Two,” I said. “Max. Then we file for divorce.”
“Sounds efficient.”
“One more condition though,” I added.
He arched a brow. “Shoot.”
“We don’t fall in love. Ever.”
He smirked, offering his hand like it was a pact. “Agreed. No love. Just a marriage of
convenience.”
I shook his hand.
But something in me hesitated–just for a second.
Because deep down, in the quiet part of my chest I didn’t want to admit still existed… I wasn’t sure if I could keep that promise.
Not with someone who made me laugh again. Not with someone who sent a dress just to see me smile.
But I smiled anyway.
“Then let’s give them the show of a lifetime,” I said.
He winked. “And one hell of a contract.”
We clinked glasses, two strangers bound by circumstance.
And perhaps… fate.
