Arranged Marriage To The Infamous Billionaire Playboy

HERMIONE

I stormed out of my mom's office in annoyance the previous day. However, I still looked up the details of the second son she had chosen for me. His reports were just as egregious as the prospect of getting married to his father - a reckless playboy with a lackadaisical attitude toward his duties. I wondered what my mom was thinking, trying to matchmake me with a man like him.

She was concocting another of her manipulative plans, deliberately choosing the less ambitious Mendes brother to gain the upper hand in our marriage. I cringed at the thought of my life with him, being played like a puppet at my mom's disposal.

When I recalled his thoughts about me, which I had overheard at the restaurant, I couldn't help but tut. Our paths crossing had been an unexpected turn of events. I hadn't realized he was sitting behind me until he mentioned my name. I'm not the type to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, but the restaurant's setting wasn't conducive to subtlety.

I had almost choked on my food at the abrupt mention of my name. A stinging sensation speared through my chest, and I rubbed the center of it, trying to process my emotions.

The shock written on his face when he realized the object of his gossip was sitting right behind him was gratifying.

Aiden Mendes is an attractive man, I have to admit. With his blonde hair and blue-green eyes, he's quite handsome. However, from his physical appearance to his personality, he's a far cry from my ideal type of man.

I slow down my pace on the treadmill and get off, reaching for the towel and water bottle nearby. After wiping the sweat off my face and drinking a huge amount of water, I return the bottle cap to its place. My breathing is uneven from the exercise. I head to the shower to wash off the smell of sweat, brush my teeth, and change into my nightdress.

As I plop down on the settee, my phone rings. I reach for it, noticing Dad's name on the screen.

"Hello, Snugglebug," his calm voice says, and I stifle an eye-roll, biting down on a smile. Dad never ceases to taunt me with the moniker, which contrasts sharply with my personality now.

"Dad made my childhood bearable," I think, recalling how he's always been calm and easygoing, perhaps too calm, as Mom often dominates his authority. I try to see him as a supportive partner, but it irks me how Mom overrides him.

"I heard about your argument with your Mom," he says, bringing me back to the present.

"Yeah." I nibble on my middle finger, staring at the walls far away. I'm sure Mom must have told him all the details.

"The decision is yours to make, Hermie," he says, using his typical phrase.

I sigh, feeling frustrated. It seems like Dad's always sitting on the fence when there's a disagreement between me and Mom.

I love my dad, but I wish he would take a stand sometimes, especially when it comes to Mom's overbearing behavior.

"You are an adult now, Hermione. Your life is in your hands. However, whatever actions you take, remember to think the consequences through."

His advice isn't particularly helpful, as I'm still at a crossroads with Mom's decree hanging over my head.

"Alright, Dad. Thanks for calling," I say drily. I blow a kiss over the phone, signaling him to end the call.

"Won't you be visiting at all? Don't you miss us?"

"I miss you," I confess.

"Just me?" Dad teases, his tone filled with mirth.

We both know the answer to that. Since I went to medical school, I never moved back into my parents' house. My residency at the hospital was automatic – I didn't have to worry about placements.

But I had been eager to get away from my mom's presence that when the opportunity occurred, I vowed to maintain the distance between us as much as I could.

If only Dad lived apart from her...

However, I couldn't wish for my parents' marriage to have issues because I couldn't stand my mom's controlling nature.

"Is that Hermione?" I hear Mom's icy voice in the background, and I murmur a quick goodbye to Dad.

However, Mom beats me to it before either of us could end the call. She must have yanked Dad's phone out of his hands.

She had ordered me out of her office following her ominous laughter, but I know she's seething within, contemplating how best to make me succumb to her will.

"I have arranged for you to meet with the Chairman's second son tomorrow," my mother states, her authoritative voice cutting through the speakerphone.

I flatten my mouth, feeling a surge of frustration.

"We already met," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral.

There is a hint of skepticism and suspicion in her words. "You have?"

"Yes," I affirm. "And I'm still firm on my stance that I don't want him as a partner. It's not a decision to be taken lightly, Mom."

"I never asked for your opinion," she retorts, her voice firm but laced with a hint of annoyance. "My instructions are clear, and you will abide by them."

"Mom, the man doesn't like me," I explain, trying to reason with her. "He hates the idea of marriage with me. Our feelings are mutual. Why are you forcing this?"

"Did he say it to your face that he didn't like you?" she asks, her tone dripping with doubt.

"I'm not every man's cup of tea, nor is he mine," I reply, trying to convey my point without being confrontational.

Why am I even discussing this with her? I frown, feeling a sense of exasperation.

"If this is about a business arrangement, we can find a way to make it work rather than forcing a union on..." My mother hisses, interrupting me.

"You are marrying him," she declares, her voice firm and unyielding. "He's a suitable partner for you. You are at a marriageable age, after all."

"But I'm not ready to settle down," I complain, a sense of desperation creeping in.

"He will be your partner," she reiterates, her tone brooking no argument.

I hold my tongue from arguing further, knowing it's futile. There's no point arguing with my mother when she's made up her mind.

"I don't like him," I murmur beneath my breath, resignation washing over me.

"You don't have to like him," my mother replies, her voice devoid of emotion. "Marriage out of love is a mere fantasy for girls with no ambitions. Love is an ephemeral feeling. You need to think ahead. I didn't raise you to be sentimental."

I feel a sting from her words, knowing she's implying that my father wasn't a suitable match for her.

"Why did you marry Dad, then?" The question slips from my mouth before I can help myself.

My father clears his throat in the background, and I sense a flicker of tension in the air.

"This is why I'm emphasizing that you should marry into a good home and not be impulsive as I was during my youth," my mother responds, her tone dismissive.

The insinuation rings clear to both of us, but my mother is unperturbed by it. She continues speaking as though she hasn't indirectly ridiculed her marriage with my father.

"And don't you dare argue with me about this," she warns, her threat firm. "You know you don't want to face my wrath."

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat, feeling a sense of trepidation. I know I'm trapped, and my mother has the influence and resources to keep me in line.

My mother doesn't wait for my response or bid me goodbye before ending the call. I lower the phone from my ear and sag back in my chair, feeling defeated.

I huff in exasperation, putting my phone down on the table. I pick up the remote and turn on the TV, flipping through channels until I find a show that catches my attention.

A sigh escapes me, and I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. I know I need to think clearly and make a decision soon, but for now, I just want to relax and forget about my troubles.