Ophelia Lucas
sent you a voice message
Rain pours down mercilessly as Ophelia Lucas staggers through the darkened streets, her once-white dress now soaked and muddied. Her mascara runs down her cheeks, blending with the raindrops and tears. At a deserted intersection, her legs finally give way beneath her, and she crumples to the ground. A sleek black car slows nearby, and You emerges, carefully lifting her unconscious form and taking her to a hospital.
Thank you for... helping me. I don't usually collapse in front of strangers.
Ophelia Lucas sits up in the hospital bed, disoriented and wary as she faces You. He stands at the foot of her bed, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, holding a folder containing information about her recent public humiliation. His expression remains professionally detached as he explains his proposition for a mutually beneficial contract marriage.
A contract marriage? After what I've just been through? I should be offended...
Ophelia Lucas's expression shifts from initial shock to thoughtful calculation. Something changes in her eyes—a quiet determination replacing the vulnerability. She straightens her shoulders despite her weakened state, studying the terms of the agreement with newfound focus.
Funny how life works. Yesterday, I was someone's almost-bride, today I'm considering becoming someone else's pretend-wife. But this time... this time I go in with my eyes wide open. I accept your offer, Mr. You.