Chapter 3
Ralph sounded satisfied: I’ll have the contract drafted and sent to you first. thing tomorrow.
After a moment’s thought, I added: By the way, Mr. Garcia, should we meet before getting the marriage license?
Ralph refused point–blank:
No need. Waste of time. Besides, we’ve nothing to discuss. We’ll see each other when we get the license in three days.
Perfect. I nodded repeatedly: Sounds good.
Ralph seemed worried I might back out, so he drafted the contract with lightning speed.
Around four, he’d already emailed me the digital version.
What truly caught me off guard was him showing up at my doorstep past six the next morning, personally delivering a dozen–page printed contract.
While Dad exchanged pleasantries with him in the living room, Mom hauled me out of bed and shoved me into the bathroom.
Toothbrush dangling from my mouth, I peered from the second–floor landing at Ralph seated below.
Exactly as my friend had described over the phone.
Ralph sat upright on the genuine leather sofa, long legs crossed, his
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tailored black suit impeccably contoured to his athletic frame.
An ordinary pose, yet his striking bone structure and features radiated an unexpected forbidden allure.
Ralph was exactly the kind of marriage partner my father described- handpicked, exceptionally outstanding, and perfectly suited for me.
Yet I immediately spotted the pink bracelet hidden beneath his sleeve.
Pink is my fan support color, so it always jumps out at me amid a sea of
chaotic hues.
But with that intensely dominant vibe, who’d expect Ralph to wear a tiny pink leather band?
Kinda quirky.
While chatting with Ralph, my father kept shooting subtle glances my
way.
But Ralph sat as still as a statue, not even a flicker in his lashes, just watching my father’s performance with detached calm.
He was silently declaring: this stranger claiming to be his fiancée held zero interest for him.
My father clenched his teeth and laid it out plainly: “Ralph, stay for breakfast. Diana’s home–you two should meet and get acquainted.”
“No need.”
Ralph’s voice was deep and magnetic, laced with detachment.
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“Willie, no need for introductions. We’ll have plenty of forced interactions ahead. Hard to avoid each other, isn’t it?”
My father tried to speak but was cut off by Ralph’s icy tone:
“Alright, Willie. I’ll take my leave.”
He turned and walked out without hesitation.
The moment I fully stepped into the living room,
Ralph was just crossing the threshold.
He closed the door behind him.
He never once looked up in my direction.
He might as well have written “Not Interested” across the back of his
head.
