“Asshole,” Dustin Reed muttered, his eyes glued to his phone, frustration evident on his face.
Klein lifted his gaze, curiosity piqued. “What is it?”
Dustin gritted his teeth, irritation creeping into his voice. “Stop drinking. Lena is downstairs flirting with male models. And Carter’s fiancée is there too. Lena is finished.”
Klein’s expression darkened, a storm brewing behind his eyes. For a brief moment, he thought he had misheard. “Who did you say?”
Dustin explained, “You know, the unwanted Moore girl from the Moore residence. The one supposed to marry Carter at the end of the month-“
Before Dustin could finish his thought, Klein was already vaulting over the balcony railing, heading straight down to the first floor.
‘Holy,’ Dustin wondered, his mind racing.
Whitney had simply pointed, her finger moving almost aimlessly, yet the instant her gaze settled on the boy’s slender frame standing next to the chiseled model, he appeared comically out of place. It was as if the universe had conspired to juxtapose innocence against raw masculinity.
Lena was taken aback. She had never envisioned Whitney gravitating toward such a soft, sweet, puppy-like boy. “Alright then, both of you stay,” she declared, her tone light yet commanding.
The boy clad in a crisp white T-shirt, his cheeks a soft shade of pink, shyly slid into the booth beside Whitney. “Miss, let me pour you some wine,” he offered, his voice ringing with a fresh, effervescent quality, reminiscent of a bubbling spring on a warm day.
Whitney’s gaze lingered on his clear, youthful face, and in that moment, she felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her, transporting her back to her college days.
Back in high school, Carter had been just like this boy-always in white shirts, impeccably clean and neat. The mere sight of him would send girls into fits of excitement. Whitney had never been one to scream, but deep down, she had felt that same rush; Carter had been undeniably handsome, a vision that lingered in her memory.
As they transitioned into college, Carter had transformed. He had embraced fitness, his figure filling out, but with the change came a retreat into silence. He spoke less and less, his once vibrant personality dimmed.
“Miss? Miss?” The boy’s innocent face twisted in uncertainty as he bit his lower lip, calling to her softly, pulling her from her reverie.
Whitney blinked, her focus snapping back to the present. “How old are you?” she inquired, curiosity piqued.
“Just turned nineteen,” he replied, his timidity evident.
‘Only nineteen? At that age, I was still chasing after Carter,’ Whitney mused inwardly, a pang of irony striking her.
The boy, still sounding a bit hesitant, ventured, “Miss, do you want to order another bottle?”
“Just get the cheapest one. I haven’t finished my mission tonight,” he added, a hint of determination in his voice.
Whitney was about to agree when suddenly, a powerful arm-muscles taut, veins subtly visible-seized the collar of the boy’s white T-shirt and unceremoniously tossed him out of the booth.
The cold, imposing figure of Klein loomed over Whitney, who had just taken a hearty gulp of her drink and let out an unintentional burp. “Whitney, didn’t I tell you to pace yourself with the drinks? You never listen, do you?” he admonished, his tone a mix of irritation and concern.
Startled, Whitney lifted her gaze, her eyes widening as she recognized him standing there, a tempest of authority. “Mr. Harris?” she exclaimed, disbelief coloring her voice.
Lena, too, was struck by Whitney’s slip of the tongue, her hand still resting on the model’s sculpted abs, frozen in place as Klein’s deep, icy voice rumbled in her ear, “Lena, where exactly do you think you’re touching?”
If looks could pierce, Lena would have been skewered a thousand times by the frost emanating from Klein’s eyes.
Dustin, his jaw clenched tight, shot a glare at the frozen woman. “Klein, I’m taking her home. Now.”
Without waiting for any form of agreement, Klein hoisted Lena over his shoulder, storming out with an aura of icy anger trailing behind him.
Klein, with a nonchalant air, slid one hand into his pocket and turned his gaze lazily toward Whitney’s lips. “And you? Are you capable of walking on your own, or should I carry you too?”
Whitney felt a genuine wave of fear wash over her. “I-I’ll walk,” she stammered, her mind racing. ‘Oh my God, the first time I ever booked a male model, and I get caught by my ex’s uncle. What kind of cursed luck is this?’
The nineteen-year-old boy watched helplessly as his potential clients vanished in an instant, nearly tearing at his own hair in frustration. “Miss?” he called out, but his voice was swallowed by the chaos.
Whitney lowered her head, following Klein to the parking lot. Abruptly, he halted, and she collided with his solid back.
“Ouch,” she winced softly, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her.
Rubbing her forehead, she shot Klein a glare, half-hearted and more annoyed than angry.
Klein’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “Does it hurt? Good. Maybe that’ll serve as a reminder, so you don’t get too bold and think you can wander wherever you please.”
Whitney bristled at his words. “I’m an adult already. It’s not like bars are off-limits for me,” she retorted, her voice steady, though a hint of defiance flickered in her eyes.
“Huh?” Klein’s drawl was low, but the way it lifted at the end sent a shiver down her spine. “What did you say? Care to repeat that?”
Though he didn’t sound overtly angry, Whitney felt a chill creep over her, and she forced a laugh to ease the tension. “No, Mr. Harris. I was mistaken.”
“Get in the car,” Klein commanded, his tone brooking no argument.
He slid into the backseat, and Whitney followed suit, her heart racing.
“Marco, step out for a moment,” Klein ordered the driver, who complied without hesitation, leaving Whitney and Klein in the confined space of the vehicle.
“Whitney,” Klein began, his tone inscrutable, “do you find nineteen-year-old boys appealing?”
Whitney opened her mouth, ready to protest. “I don’t like them. I was just curious,” she defended, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“Curious about what?” Klein pressed, leaning in closer, his handsome face mere inches from hers. “You have five days left until your wedding.”
Whitney rolled her eyes internally. “I’ve already broken up with him,” she shot back, her voice steady, but her heart raced with anxiety.
Klein leaned back, his demeanor casual yet his gaze sharp. “Really? Then why is my dad still merrily picking out his suit for the wedding?”
Whitney’s brows knitted together in confusion. “They still haven’t told James? Seriously? They’re not taking this seriously at all,” she thought, frustration bubbling within her.
Her expression hardened. “Well, I’ve made it clear. I’m not showing up on the wedding day,” she stated firmly, her resolve unwavering.
Something flickered in Klein’s dark eyes-an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. His voice dropped to a low, husky tone. “You truly won’t go?”
“Yes. I won’t,” she affirmed, her tone resolute.
A faint smile tugged at Klein’s lips, a hint of approval. “Understood. I’ll take you home now. Let me handle the rest.”
“Oh, and just call me by my name,” he added casually, as if it were the most natural request in the world.
Whitney froze for a heartbeat, the weight of his words settling heavily on her.
Somehow, addressing him by name felt like an insurmountable task.
“Got it, Klein,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze brightened instantly, warmth flooding his eyes. “Yes. Good girl.”
*****
That night, Whitney lay in bed, her mind racing, unable to find solace in sleep. She stared at the text message from her father, squinting at the screen in disbelief.
What is he thinking? If he doesn’t cancel this, is he really planning to let the wedding day turn into a disaster? she pondered, anxiety gnawing at her.
The following morning, Whitney decided to take leave from work and headed straight to AetherTech, her heart pounding in her chest.
This time, the ascent to the upper floors was surprisingly smooth, devoid of the usual obstacles.
Samuel spotted his daughter and, to her astonishment, didn’t appear irritated. “You saw my message from yesterday, right? Good. Today, you and Carter will go try on your wedding outfits. After that, you can go get the marriage certificate,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Whitney stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Dad, I’ve told you countless times. We broke up. I’m not getting married,” she insisted, frustration bubbling to the surface.
Samuel took a leisurely sip of his coffee, unfazed. “And I remember my response. I don’t agree.”
“Whitney, if you agree to go through with the wedding with Carter, I’ll give you an additional five percent of AetherTech shares. With the five percent your grandmother already gifted you, that’ll total ten percent. Are you satisfied with that?” he added, his tone businesslike.
Whitney felt a wave of indignation wash over her. She didn’t care about AetherTech shares in the slightest.
Even if he offered her a hundred percent, she still wouldn’t marry Carter.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.