Arranged Marriage To The Infamous Billionaire Playboy

AIDEN

Soft music floats in the background, complementing the ambiance and décor of the restaurant I've chosen for this occasion. The menus are tantalizing, the tables set to perfection, and the setting evokes a flavorful blend of romance. The lighting dances across Katherine's olive skin, enhancing her radiance.

Katherine is a stunning woman. She looks queenly in her attire: a shimmering turquoise spaghetti dress that clings to her body like a second skin. She's the kind of woman men would go weak in the knees for. However, tonight's outcome is an irony to the venue I've picked.

I anticipate her reaction as the silence lingers after I drop the bombshell. Her expression falls slowly, her mouth thinning into a flat line, following my announcement. I watch her with alertness as she twirls her fork and knife expertly on either side of her plate. She assesses me with a grave look that makes me contemplate bolting.

Fear the silent ones, they say. For they are the most brutal. The silence stretches on, and the tension is starting to grate on my nerves. I wait out her reaction nonetheless, bracing myself for which act she will unleash – the silent killer or the crazy bawler.

Finally, Katie clears her throat, setting her cutlery down. "So...this is where it ends, huh?"

"Yeah," I reply, my eyes scanning her face to read behind the mask of neutrality. "I'm sorry we didn't work out."

I'm not sorry, though. I know our relationship is bound to hit the rocks. We both know I have no intention of making a long-term commitment.

Katie smacks her lips. "Alright." She grabs her shoulder bag and rises from her chair, balancing the bag's handle across one shoulder. "It was worth a try," she croaks, her words limning hurt and disappointment.

Her chair creaks behind her as she steps away from the table, her gaze fixed on me. I'm grateful she takes the breakup in easy stride. My last ex's reaction was no comfort. She caused quite a scene, and I regretted not breaking up with her over a text.

But my code of ethics is to jilt a woman face-to-face. I believe breaking up a relationship over a text is insouciant and cowardly. And I'm no coward.

"If you ever feel lonely, you know how to reach me," Katie says.

I tilt my chin in acknowledgment. "Sure. Goodbye, Katherine."

She arches her eyebrows. "See you around, Mendes," she says, addressing me by my last name, and walking away from our table.

I heave a sigh in relief after she's gone.

"This went well, at least," I murmur beneath a relieved sigh.

With the wealth of experience I've accumulated from past breakups, I'm convinced I've earned an honorary Ph.D. in Understanding Women – or at the very least, a professor emeritus title in Women's Psychology!

I wave the waiter over to take the bill. After receiving the receipt, I leave the restaurant, not bothering that most of our orders have been left uneaten.

I didn't want to break up with her on an empty stomach; my home training was still intact. Yet, the words had been itching to be released, and I didn't realize when I blurted them out halfway through our meal.

I start the car's engine as soon as I get in, put on my shades, and speed out of the restaurant's parking space.

I drive at top speed to my next destination, feeling exhilarated that today's task went smoothly. I had expected worse.

Fortunately, there are no traffic cops on the road. Otherwise, driving at this speed would likely get my license revoked if I were pulled over.

The engine purrs beneath me as I bring the car to a halt. I get out, humming softly, and tapping my fingers rhythmically. The car beeps as the security lock engages, and I walk into the swimming establishment.

"Whose heart did you break this time?" a familiar voice asks, echoing across the empty swimming area.

I turn toward the sound of approaching footsteps, holding back a smile. My best friend since childhood, Raymond Stilinski, steps into view, clad in his training gear. He's a swimming instructor, coach, and owner of this building.

I often visit when I need space to reflect, during quiet hours when I know I'll find tranquility.

He often trains kids for leisure and competitions. He reaches me, extending a hand in greeting. We share a coded brotherly hug, slapping each other warmly across the back.

"It's been a while," Raymond remarks, smiling.

"Sure, it is." I glance around, noticing the modifications made to the building since my last visit. I'm glad to see Raymond's business thriving.

Raymond comes from an average family. We grew up together in an average neighborhood, attending the same school, until my mom got sick and left me in the care of my real father, who had been absent throughout my childhood-Alvin Dale Mendes, the founder and Chairman of MD Group and Entertainment.

My life changed overnight. I went from a simple life to one of luxury and limelight.

"Business is going well, huh?" I ask Raymond, nodding at the new additions to his building. He grins.

"Yeah. You haven't answered my question, though."

"Do I only come here when I've broken someone's heart?"

Raymond raises an eyebrow. "It's either a breakup or something else."

"What else? Do I only visit when I've messed up? What if I miss my friend?"

Raymond snorts. "As if. You're not that sentimental."

He turns away, arranging life jackets. "How's Katie doing?" he asks over his shoulder.

"You're right," I sigh. "I only come here after a breakup."

Raymond whips around, surprise etched on his face. "You and Katie are over? I thought you two were cool. She's a great girl."

I run a hand through my hair. "Yeah, she is. That's why I had to let her go."

"Nonsense!" Raymond hisses, charging towards me to deliver another of his motivational speeches.

I duck sideways and sprint toward the changing room. I strip down to my briefs and head out to swim.

Raymond watches me in silence as I swim laps. He finishes cleaning and waits calmly for me to finish on one of the benches.

"What's my tab?" I ask when I step out of the pool, dripping wet.

Raymond tosses a towel at me, and I catch it mid-air before it hits my face. "Thanks, man." I quickly dry my hair and hang the towel over my shoulder.

Raymond's scrutinizing gaze prompts me to ask, "What?"

He considers sharing his concerns before shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. Are you done?" He asks, standing up from his bench.

"Yeah, I'm done," I reply, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Let's hit town then. It's been a long day," Raymond mutters under his breath.

I agree. "I'll be out in five," I say, heading to change, and we head out.

It's around 8 p.m. when I pull into my dad's driveway. Even after living with him for over 13 years, calling him "Dad" still feels off.

I scrunch my nose in disgust, turning off the engine. Ray and I had a blast drinking and catching up. To be precise, I tried to drink myself into exhaustion, but Ray, always the voice of reason, wouldn't let me. He reminded me I had to drive home. Nonetheless, I still had a great time letting loose and connecting with my friend.

Now, the fun's over. It's time to face reality.

When I moved to this mansion at 15, I was thrilled about living in luxury. But my excitement was short-lived. I soon realized that wealth isn't everything. Affluence doesn't equal happiness. There's a lot of drama that comes with wealthy living.

If I could turn back time, I'd go back to the good old days when it was just me and my mom. Our small house and quaint neighborhood were perfect. The simple life brought me more peace and happiness than I've ever known since moving here.

I step out of my car, locking the door. Another car pulls into the driveway as I get out. I lean against my car, waiting for the owner of the exotic black car to step out.

I know who it is – Beatrice Mendes, my stepmother. She exits her car with her usual flair, showcasing her wealth. Her expensive fur coat and arrogant demeanor make her look condescending.

Her driver opens the door, and she scowls at the sight of me. She sweeps away, dashing inside without acknowledging me. She'd rather I didn't exist. I'm an unwanted guest in her home. However, it's her loss.

Whether she likes it or not, I'm here to stay.