Chapter 2 The Ruthless Groom

Naomi's POV "You're late." A cold clipped voice said as I stepped into the room. I froze, rooted to the spot by the nonchalant, dismissive tone. My gaze swept over the grand and imposing room before settling on source of the voice. Roman Blackwood He sat at the far end of the dining table with a tumbler of dark liquid in his hand. At first, he seemed more interested in the amber liquid whirling in his glass than in me. Although his other hand rested comfortably on the chair's arm, his presence in the room was nothing casual. II didn’t know what I’d been expecting, maybe someone polished, rehearsed, even a bit superficial. Instead, he had sharp edges and cold calculations. His posture was commanding and uncompromising, and his suit fit like armor. My breath caught when his black eyes finally came up to meet mine. As if they could see right into my soul, they were piercing. “Time, Miss Carter, is not a luxury you or your family can afford to waste,” he said, setting his glass down. With a dry throat, I swallowed hard. "I—" "Save the excuses” . he interrupted, rising from his seat with fluid precision. He was tall—too tall, it seemed, the room couldn’t contain him. Each step he took toward me was deliberate, calculated. I resisted the urge to step back. "I didn't realize this meeting had a specific time." I replied, my voice trailed slightly. His mouth curled, but it was something colder and crueler than a smile. “When I call for someone, I expect them to arrive immediately. That’s a lesson you’d do well to learn quickly.” The weight of his words was pushing down on me, causing my gut to knot. My father, seated a few seats away, was not looking at me when I turned to look at him. The tightness in my chestt only grew stronger because of his timidity. "This... arrangement.” I began, forcing myself to speak steadily, “was sprung on me less than an hour ago. Forgive me if punctuality wasn’t my top priority.” Roman chuckled, but the sound was devoid of amusement. "You're bold." He said, cocking his head slightly, “I wonder how long that will last.” As he moved closer, invading my personal space, my heart began to race. His eyes were cold, but I could feel the fire pouring from him. "Miss Carter, do you know why you're here?" His voice was low and almost menacing as he asked. I paused, my thoughts racing. "My father is the reason I'm here—" "Wrong," he interrupted, his tone piercing. “You’re here because you’re a means to an end. Your father’s failures are irrelevant to me. What matters is what you will do to rectify them.” His words stung like a smack, and I blinked. "I didn't agree to any of this." I tried to remain calm, but my voice shook as I replied. “You don’t have to agree,” he said smoothly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “This isn’t a negotiation. This is a solution.” I tightened my hands at my sides. His relentless stare made me feel like an animal in a cage. "What if I decline?" Then Roman laughed, a shudder running down my spine with its gloomy, humorless sound. "You won't," he stated plainly, as if the idea of my refusal was inconceivable.” My father cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing Roman’s attention for the briefest moment. “Perhaps we could take a moment to—” "Stay out of it," Roman yelled,without glancing at him. "You’ve already proven your incompetence. Avoid making things worse by talking out of turn.” I felt my chest tighten with rage. How dare he talk to my father that way? But, my father merely lowered his head, mute and defeated, when I looked at him, expecting him to push back. My stomach boiled with disgust. “You don’t get to talk to him like that,” I said, my voice rising. Roman's eyes jerked back to me, and I noticed a flicker of amusement for the first time. "Are you defending him?” In a contemptuous tone, he asked. "You don't know anything about me." I yelled with a trembling voice. “Don’t I?” he shot back, stepping closer. His scent filled the air between us, a combination of pricey cologne and something darker, almost addictive, and his presence was overwhelming. “You're in a desperate situation. Afraid. And clinging to the illusion that you have any control over what happens next.” I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came. He was right, and he knew it. Roman’s smirk widened slightly as he took a step back, finally giving me room to breathe. “This meeting is over,” he declared, turning toward the door. "What?" I blurted, perplexed. "But—" "You'll receive further instructions tomorrow,” He said, without turning around. "Be ready." "For what?" Panic swelling in my chest, I demanded. In the doorway, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. His cold confidence sent a shiver down my spine as his eyes met mine. His words were straightforward: "For your new reality." With that, he was gone, leaving the room in a deafening quiet. My hands shaking with a mixture of fear and rage, I turned to face my father. "How could you do this to me?" My voice broke as I asked. "Naomi, I—" "Don't!" With tears in my eyes, I yelled. "Don’t you dare try to justify this.” With a look of guilt on his face, my father turned away. At last, my mother, seated calmly at the far end of the table, spoke up. “We didn’t have a choice, Naomi. This was the only way.” "The only way for what?" I raised my voice and demanded. "To save yourselves?" "Enough." my father said sharply, his tone hardening. "Then tell me about it!" I yelled, my frustration boiling over. But he didn't respond. Without saying another word, he simply stood, his actions rigid and robotic, and walked out of the room. As I sat alone at the dining table, the weight of the evening pressing down on me. Roman's words kept repeating in my mind, each one a reminder of how little control I had over my own life. The door creaked open, and I looked up to see my mother hesitating in the doorway. "Naomi," she replied quietly, a mixture of sorrow and remorse in her voice. "You have to understand—" "No," I interrupted, suddenly getting to my feet. "I don’t have to understand anything. You and Dad made your choice. Now I have to live with it.” Tears filled her eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to comfort her. Not when I felt so utterly betrayed. "I'm going to bed." I said bluntly. I brushed past her and went to the stairs. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I ascended the stairs. I took it out with trembling hands and noticed an unidentified number flashing on the screen. After hesitating, I answered. "Hello?" “Miss Carter,” The voice on the other end said, in a silky and eerily familiar voice. I went cold. "Roman?" "Good," he responded in a calm but authoritative tone. "From now on, you'll call me Mr. Blackwood." "What do you want?" My question was hardly audible above a whisper. “To remind you,” he said, his words deliberate and menacing, “that your life is no longer your own. Sleep well, Miss Carter. Tomorrow, everything changes.” My quivering hands gripped the phone as the line went dead. What have I gotten myself into?