Bryan's POV
I clenched my fists, barely containing my frustration. Gosh, this woman is relentless.
I thought switching off my phone would keep her at bay, but no—here she was, standing in my house uninvited.
"Come on, Bryan, there's no need to ask how I found your address," my mother said, her tone too cheerful for my liking.
"The important thing is that we're here now, right, Fiona?"
She nudged the woman standing beside her—the same irritating, overly made-up woman she was pushing as my so-called future wife.
Fiona smiled coyly, and I suppressed a groan.
Of all the women in the world, my mother had to choose this one. Her persistence was grating, but I wasn't about to let her win.
"Listen, I don't—"
"Later, son," my mother interrupted, waving dismissively.
"Why don't you two spend some time together? I'll just be outside admiring my son's beautiful mansion."
With that, she nudged Fiona toward me and left the room, clearly satisfied with herself.
I scowled after her retreating figure, then turned my icy gaze to the woman still standing awkwardly in front of me.
"Hi, Bryan," she began, her voice annoyingly chipper.
"I'm Fiona. We've met before, but we didn't really introduce ourselves back then." She offered a wide smile, clearly trying to charm me.
I scoffed loudly. "Met before? Or have you just been stalking me?" I asked coldly, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her.
Her smile faltered, and she began stepping back. "O-of course, Bryan. We've met—"
I cut her off, cornering her against the wall. My face was inches from hers, my glare unrelenting.
"Listen carefully. I don't care what business you and my mother are cooking up. The fact is, I hate clinging, desperate women. Let me save you some time: I hate you. I hate everything about you."
Her eyes widened as tears began to spill down her heavily made-up cheeks.
"And do you know why?" I continued, my tone dripping with disdain.
"Because you're ugly, skinny, and pathetic. I have standards, Fiona, and you don't even come close to meeting them."
Her lips trembled as she wiped at her tears. "You're blind, Bryan. Blind to not see what's right in front of you. I'll wait for you—I'll make you see why I should be your wife. That's a promise."
She stormed out of the room, her words still echoing in the silence.
I smirked to myself.
"Good luck with that, Fiona. In your wildest dreams…"
I'm glad I'm done with her. She could go rant about it to my Mom.
I don't give a fuck!
Mrs. Johnson Chapman's POV
I strolled through the mansion's expansive hallways, admiring the intricate paintings adorning the walls.
Each piece was a testament to Bryan's success, though his cold demeanor always made me wonder if it came at a cost.
As I moved, a faint sound reached my ears—a soft, heart-wrenching sob. I froze, straining to identify its source.
A woman's voice.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I followed the sound to a room almost at the end of the hallway.
My heart raced as I carefully pushed the door open, revealing a scene that made me gasp in horror.
A young woman lay on the bed, blood pooling beneath her. Shards of glass were embedded in her skin, and her back was covered in deep gashes.
Her weak sobs tore at my heart.
"Oh my God!" I rushed to her side, careful to avoid the glass. "Are you okay? What happened?"
Her lips moved, barely forming the words, "Please… help me, ma'am…" before she passed out completely.
Panic surged through me. I had to act quickly. I ran to find help, spotting two guards down the hallway.
"Come with me! A woman is badly injured!" I demanded.
They hesitated, glancing at each other nervously. "Ma'am, we can't—"
"Don't argue with me! She's dying!" I snapped, and they finally followed me back to the room.
The guards carefully lifted the woman, her blood staining their uniforms as they carried her out.
Just as we stepped into the hallway, Bryan appeared, his face a mask of cold anger.
"What's going on here? And where do you think you're taking her without my permission?" he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel.
The guards froze, their expressions shifting to fear.
"Bryan, can't you see she's bleeding to death?" I retorted, furious at his lack of compassion.
He narrowed his eyes on me. "I make the rules here, Mom. You don't do anything in my house without consulting me first."
His tone was icy, and for a moment, I hardly recognized him.
The boy I had raised was long gone, replaced by this cold, ruthless man.
"Bryan, she's unconscious! If you don't help her now, she'll die!" I pleaded, my voice shaking.
He hesitated, his frown deepening. I pressed on. "If she dies in your house, you'll face the consequences. Please, Bryan. Do something."
Finally, he sighed, pulling out his phone. He barked an order into the receiver, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Take her back to her room," he instructed the guards.
"My personal doctor will attend to her. In the meantime, have Philip use the first-aid kit to stop the bleeding."
I watched as the guards carried her back, relief washing over me.
"Mom," Bryan called, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turned to face him, noting the familiar coldness in his eyes.
"You need to leave now," he said, his hands tucked into his pockets.
I ignored his words.
"Who is that woman, Bryan?" I pressed, unwilling to let him brush me off.
"That's not why you're here," he said coldly. "And as for the reason you are here, let me make myself clear—I don't like Fiona, and I never will."
"She's outside waiting for you," he added, his tone dismissive. "Let me see you out."
I frowned but followed him toward the exit, my thoughts swirling.
"Bryan, what's wrong with Fiona? She's beautiful, well-mannered, and comes from a good family. Isn't that what you want in a wife?"
He stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression unreadable.
"She's clingy. Desperate. And I don't want her, Mom. That's all you need to know."
"Then what's your plan? How will you take over the company without a wife by your side?" I asked, my frustration rising.
"Don't worry about that," he said, his tone firm. "I'll handle it. Now, goodbye, Mom."
He opened the car door for me, signaling the conversation was over.
Fiona stood a few feet away, looking hopeful. Bryan didn't even glance at her.
"Bryan—" she began, but he turned away and walked back into the mansion, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Fiona burst into tears, her sobs muffled as she buried her face in my shoulder. I wrapped an arm around her, feeling a pang of guilt.
"Don't cry, Fiona. We'll figure something out," I said softly, though I wasn't sure I believed it myself.
The drive back to my house was somber.
Fiona cried quietly the whole way, and I found myself questioning if pushing Bryan so hard was the right decision to make.