“I’m Park Jimin.” He was looking at me with the coldest expression I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a lot.

I hissed as the pain shot up my arm and tried to free my hand from his grasp but his hold got firmer and he spoke in a low voice, “You didn’t even know what I looked like? That made things a lot more fun than I expected them to be.”

I was consciously listening to him as I struggled to let loose my hand. “You think you could run away? No, sweetie. You’re going home,” she sneered.

But all I could gasp was, “You were so gentlemanly before when you told him not to manhandle me.”
He raised an eyebrow, for that was supposedly not what he expected me to say. Gaining composure, he smirked, “I said, in public. I don’t give a rat’s about your wellbeing.”

I stared at him appalled. “Then why won’t you let me go?”

He laughed like a maniac. “Oh, this?” He held my hand up. “Couples should hold hands, right?” And I was sure my hand won’t have feeling soon.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You think I want you? It’s just... I need you.”

And I stopped struggling altogether. What was this stranger saying? Did he know me? No, that can’t be right.

He laughed again. Colder. “I mean, I need your money,” he said.

By then I was all numb. He wants my money too. But why marry me?

“Oh, don’t make that face,” he cajoled. “Your lover didn’t want you without your money so you should be able to do the math by now. How could I love you? I just need your money and for that, I have to marry you, how ever distasteful that is,” he explained.

It was too much for me to take in. It was stupid of me to think he loved me. The person who was supposed to love me,