His Little Rose

Rose pov

Life is ironic.

I'm surrounded by the luxury I've always yearned for, yet I'm unable to revel in it.

The sweet-smelling fragrance of exotic perfumes and cosmetics fills the room.

I suck in the air feverishly, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

I attempt to ignore the hands of the ladies working on my body, believing they are beautifying me, but they are everywhere.

I close my eyes tight and get lost in my thoughts instead. Anything to stop myself from thinking about what will happen in a few moments from now.

I'm no kid; I know what will be expected of me tonight and why these women are all over me.

I may be naive, but I'm not stupid.

My body is now slick from the oil-scented bath I've been taken through and as soft and supple as a baby's from their ministrations.

Every part of me burns and feels relaxed at the same time. The beautification process is tiring, and I wish we could skip this part already.

Tonight is my wedding night.

My heart pounds in my chest, not from excitement but from fear and anticipation-perhaps dread is a more apt word-of the next few hours and the future.

This is a far cry from the plans I had, but life just has to get in the way.

In a matter of seconds, my life was turned upside down.

I gave my consent to this, but it has not been wholehearted. If there is an opportunity for me to escape this arrangement, I will readily lunge at it.

I'm eighteen-young, brilliant, youthful, and with a clear goal in mind.

But-I release another deep sigh, my shoulders sagging-I guess this is my life now. After all, life doesn't always weave the pattern we desire.

This is my cross, and I shall bear it.

Finally, "You're ready to go." The voice of the lady before me breaks my thoughts, and I open my eyes.

I meet her gaze as I raise my head, and she smiles down at me-a warm and compassionate smile.

"You look beautiful, dear," she says, as if that will ease the tension simmering through my veins.

Her declaration has sent my pulse racing. It was finally time.

With the corner of my cheek twitching, I return her smile with a ghost of mine. "Thank you." A whisper.

I'm led into the master bedroom suite, and the double doors close behind me as I enter.

I'm awed by the grandeur that stares back at me as I step into the room.

The room is impressively built, wide, and spacious, with plush furnishings, captivating decor, and a tasteful ambiance.

Everything within it screams opulence and wealth.

I wonder what a man who controls wealth like this wants from me.

I'm nobody, just a girl struggling to achieve her dreams but deterred by the enormous debts on my shoulders.

Much of what prompted his decision to marry me makes no sense to me, and no matter how much I think about it, I always hit an impasse in my head.

Could it have been an attraction?

He flirted with me the first time we met, but I politely turned him down. I had enough on my plate to contend with than entertain any man's coquetry.

I doubt that was the case.

What on earth does he want with me? My head screams for answers.

I spin around as I hear the doors open behind me, and there he stands, looking all regal and hot like a Greek god.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

He steps in, the doors closing behind him. My mouth runs dry as he approaches, and my heart is pounding with increasing intensity.

The air in the room seems suspended as our gazes lock. A powerful aura drifts from him, cascading shivers down my spine.

I wet my lips and work on finding my voice, but the tension has robbed me of it.

"Undress," he says, his timbre hard, deep, and husky, his jaw rock-hard, and his rich golden amber eyes burning with a fervor that almost makes me shudder under their attention.

"Can we talk about...?" My voice shakes as I speak, but my words hang in my throat, a gasp escaping instead as he yanks the silk dress off my body.

My arms move instinctively to cover my exposed parts, my cheeks burning from embarrassment as he gorges on my body.

He undresses himself as well, getting naked within moments. I shield my gaze from him as he divests himself of his clothing.

He sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the king-sized bed at the center of the room.

"Uhm, Desmond, wait a minute," I protest as my back hits the plush bed, the heat of his body enveloping mine.

"What is it now?" he asks.

"Can we–?" I swallow the lump that forms in my throat as I weigh the chance of him considering my request. "I'm not ready for this."

"You are my wife, and we shall consummate our marriage tonight," he says with finality in his tone.

My mouth parts, but nothing comes out of it. I'm unable to think of a fitting response to counter his decision.

"You shall submit to me from now on and never act without my permission."

I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Don't interrupt me either. I hate being interrupted. There will be consequences, Rose, if you disobey any of the ground rules. Do you understand?"

My brows furrow as I watch him. Gone is the nice, homely man I thought I knew. The man I married is a total stranger. I know Dad has been desperate to save his failing business, but had he known this nature of Desmond and yet agreed to marry me off to him?

No. It rings loudly in my head. My dad loves me. He couldn't have.

Amid my denial, my subconscious sneers at me.

I feel a strong grip on my jaw, biting into my cheeks, and I'm pulled out of my thoughts.

My eyes lock on Desmond's familiar amber eyes.

"Do you understand me?" he repeats.

It's too late to back out now. It isn't as if I'm left with any options. Either I go back to my daily struggles, reminded of my frustrations as well as my dad's, or I endure this, enveloped with the luxury I've always longed for.

What about happiness? What about love? My inner mind inquires.

I am used to making sacrifices for the greater good. This arrangement isn't any different. It's for the greater good. I resign myself to my fate.

"I understand," I say, my voice barely audible, and his mouth descends on mine, roughly devouring it.

I shut my eyes tightly, my heart feeling heavy. His large palms roam over my body, spreading heat through them. Shivers run through my body as he takes me, and I groan.

I'm suspended between the thin line that separates pain and pleasure. Desmond's thrusts are fast and aggressive. The bed dips repeatedly beneath our combined weight as he plunges, his grunts filling the air.

I grip the sheets at my sides, tightening my eyes and my mouth from screaming.

The blissful torture finally ends, leaving my body drained of its strength.

Our bodies are slick with sweat, and the scent of bodily fluids and sex hangs thickly in the air. He pulls out of me and gets down from the bed, leaving me immobile.

My chest heaves and tingles spread over my body in the aftermath of being ravaged by Desmond.

All I hear is the sound of the door opening and closing. He's gone, but I know it's only temporary.

He will be back, again.

Desmond pov

Five days ago

"The price is non-negotiable, Ms. Day," I tell the foreign high-profile client I'm in a meeting with.

She leans close to her partner, a pale-skinned lady with salt-and-pepper hair and azure blue eyes, and the two engage in a brief, hushed conversation.

"Alright, Mr. Black. We have a deal." She extends her hand across the table, and I shake hands with her and her partner.

The necessary documents to seal off the deal are signed, and we both take our leave after the meeting ends.

I hand over the file to Logan, my driver and secretary as I step out of the boardroom, joining him in the hallway where he awaits, and we both head toward the elevator.

The ride down from the elevator to where my car is parked outside the building is marked by silence.

I'm pleased by the success I've made with the current deal, but of course, every project I've always embarked on has always been a hit.

Blackstone is one of the world's leading investment firms for a reason. With over $800 billion in assets under management, it is a giant in the private equity industry.

Logan steps before me and opens the door to my sleek, silver-gray Mercedes-Benz S-Class.

I get into it, and the door closes after me.

Logan gets into the driver's seat a few minutes later, and the car glides away from the building's parking space to the busy Tokyo highway, heading towards the airport.

I turn on my iPad, checking financial markets, news, and trends to stay updated.

I have to be in New York today for an important investor's meeting early tomorrow morning, and from there, I will be heading to Silicon Valley to meet with a potential investment target the day after.

It will be a busy 48 hours, but it's par for the course in my line of work.

My jet touches down in New York late in the evening, and I enter the waiting limo. I busied myself through the flight, analyzing data, metrics, and performance reports for the company, despite the exhaustion seeping through my body.

Logan takes the keys from the waiting attendant and gets into the driver's seat, proceeding with our journey to my final destination for today.

He must have caught on to my exhaustion, as he glances occasionally at me through the overhead mirror. Finally, he asks, "Sir, would you like to stop for a late dinner or a night cap before heading home?"

I push back the sleeve of my suits, raising my arm, and checking the time on my antique wristwatch.

It's thirty-six minutes past nine.

"Okay," I say.

Logan pulls the car a few minutes later in front of an upscale Italian-American restaurant nearby.

A waitress approaches my table as I go through their menu.

"Good evening, sir." Her voice is velvety, like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

I raise my head, and our gazes lock. Her eyes are an alluring green, and her light olive skin with its warm golden undertones seems to glow under the lighting of the restaurant.

I'm captivated at once by the sight of her.

"What will you like to order, sir?" She inquires, her voice again soothing away the fatigue in my veins.

Her gaze searches mine, waiting for an answer as I continue to stare, bewitched by her beauty.

Her eyes are filled with an innocence that draws me even deeper into their depths.

"Your order," she repeats, without a tinge of impatience or sarcasm at my reaction to her.

She must be used to getting this kind of attention from men.

"I'll have the dry-aged Wagyu ribeye. Can I get that medium-rare?"

"Okay. Would you like to add any sauces or sides to that?"

"Just the sautéed broccoli and garlic that comes with it," I reply, my gaze still fixed on her.

Her petite, heart-shaped mouth twitches in reaction to my intent gaze.

She looks very young and beautiful. The innocence drifting from her arouses me, but I keep my excitement contained.

I have a fully packed schedule ahead of me, but I've found another acquisition that sparks my interest.

"And to drink?" Her voice breaks through my thoughts. "We have an extensive wine list or craft cocktails."

"I'll have a glass of your finest Cabernet Sauvignon."

"I'll put that order in for you right away." She turns to leave.

I raise a finger. "Stop."

She pauses and faces me.

I search her uniform for a name tag, but there isn't one. "What is your name?"

"My name's Rose," she says.

"Rose." I roll my tongue in my mouth as I breathe her name. "A befitting name for a beautiful lady. You're as lovely as your name."

She tips her head in a polite acknowledgment of my words, keeping her face neutral despite the compliment I've given.

I smile, my appreciation for her growing. I whisk my finger in her direction to grant her permission to leave, and she does.

I take in her gait and physique as she walks away, thinking she will fit right in my arms.

I shift in my chair as I fantasize about the spark that will reflect in her green eyes when I take her down the throes of pleasure. Her moans will be a melody in my ears, her skin warm against mine.

I'm certain she will be clean. Just the type of woman I like.

I sigh through my nose.

My orders get served a few minutes later, and I dig into my meal.

I don't realize how hungry I am. My stomach rumbles silently as the order is placed, and gratefully, their cuisine is delightful to the taste.

I dab at my mouth with a handkerchief after I'm done, and I ring for the table to be cleared.

"What time do you get off work?" I ask Rose when she returns.

"Why do you ask?" She asks, her brows furrowing.

"I want to know." I tell her calmly, holding her gaze.

"My shift doesn't end until eleven."

"When are you less occupied? I will like for the two of us to meet and engage in meaningful conversation."

"Sir..."

"I'm Desmond Black," I interpose.

If my name strikes a chord in her memory, she doesn't show it.

As an internet sensation in the business world, I'm probably not on her radar.

"I'm not allowed to meet with customers outside of work hours, according to the restaurant's policy."

"I understand, but I believe a lady as gorgeous as you deserves more out of life than where you are currently. I have great plans for you, Rose. You don't want to miss out on what I have to offer."

"It's clear to me what your offer will entail, Mr. Black. I have no interest in it," she states firmly. "My apologies, but I have to take my leave now. If you will excuse me."

A one-sided smile remains on my face as I watch her. I smack my lips and gesture, "As you wish."

She drops another polite bow.

I make the payment and walk out of the restaurant.

Interesting.

She isn't interested in the offer I have for her. I doubt she has any idea who she has turned down.

Ladies vie for my attention, and many would go to great lengths for a chance at the opportunity she dismissed so casually.

Rather than be annoyed by her rejection, I'm more intrigued.

I slip into the waiting car door, settling into the plush leather seat within with a satisfied sigh.

"There's a waitress in there," I tell Logan as he starts the car. "Her name's Rose. Look into her."

"Yes, boss." Logan nods once and drives the car into the night.

Desmond pov

The elevator beeps, and its doors part, giving way to the passageway leading to my suite in the hotel.

I adjust my black tie as I walk across. It has been another long yet remarkable day.

I press the key card against the card reader. It flashes green with a low beep, and the door is unlocked. I open the door and walk in.

The first thing I hit after I undress is the shower. Water rains down on my face from the shower head, and I close my eyes tightly, satisfied with washing the grime of the day off my body.

Tomorrow, I will be returning to New York. My schedules aren't as tight as they have been over the past few days for a short while as of tomorrow.

I need the reprieve.

I sweep my hands down my face and through my wet hair, which is now matted to my head.

I ruminate over the meeting earlier in the day, and my thoughts flash from there to the lady at the restaurant. Her gentle, soft voice rings in my head, and I hit my palm against the wall of the shower.

I've come across ladies more beautiful than she is, but none of them excite me as the thought of her does. My heart races for a chance to meet her again.

I have to make her mine. "She will be mine," I mutter determinedly.

I turn off the shower and step out of it, wrapping one of the white towels around my waist.

I change into casual clothes for bed. I'm pretty exhausted tonight from the stress of the day; I can't handle going over work matters again.

However, I pick up my phone from the stand beside the bed and dial Logan's number.

He answers on the first ring. "Yes, boss."

"Are you done with the assignment I gave you?"

"Yes. I planned on filling you in on the details when you are well-rested tomorrow."

I cluck my tongue. "First thing tomorrow morning. I want her file."

"Noted, Sir."

I end the call and set my phone back, lowering myself to bed.

Sleep lulls me under within minutes, my dreams filled with a familiar green-eyed beauty with light olive skin.

Now, I'm even dreaming of her. I've never wanted anything as much as I've craved this lady. It's a must I own her and quench this burning thirst of mine for her.

My alarm wakes me at 5:00 a.m., and I get out of bed. I walk myself through a few invigorating exercises before commencing the day, freshening up, and joining Logan in the parking space afterward.

Logan steps out of the car as he spots me approaching, stepping around the front to open the door to the back seat for me.

"Good morning, boss," he greets, dipping a polite bow.

"Logan," I acknowledge him with a slight tilt of my chin in his direction and get into the car.

The door closes behind me, and Logan gets in as well, starting the car.

"Here's the file you requested, boss," he extends the file over his shoulder to the back.

I take it from him and open it, scanning through the content of it.

We take the I-380 East exit towards San Francisco International Airport.

"Her name is Rose Lark," Logan begins as he maneuvers the car. "Her father, David Martins Lark, runs a textile production industry that is currently on the brink of bankruptcy."

"What happened to it? His company seemed to have been thriving well."

"In a bid to expand his company's local base and enter the Asian market, a collaboration was made with a Chinese fashion internet sensation Cheng Yi, who has over ninety million followers. There was a mass production at that time, which was a hit while it aired. However, a rumor broke out around that time about Lark's involvement in a scandal, and their ratings plummeted. There were mass rejection of the ordered products as well as requests for refunds from Asian customers. That was about a year ago. He's still battling the aftermath. His daughter had to drop out from school to help out with the expenses and the debts they are wallowing in."

"How old is she–the daughter?"

"Seventeen years."

"I mean Rose. How old is she?"

"I was referring to Rose, sir. She's Lark's only daughter."

I purse my lips, a frown marring my face. No wonder she looked so young.

"How did she get a job at the restaurant? Aren't they aware of labor laws regarding minors?"

"I heard her father pulled a few strings to help her secure an employment there."

"Mmn." I close her file and throw it on the seat beside me, looking out the window.

I feel torn about what decision to make. She's young. Too young.

I'm a decade and a quarter years older than she is, but age difference has never been a barrier in relationships.

I stroke my fingers beneath my chin as I stare out the window, lost in my thoughts, and absentmindedly registering the cars that sweep past us as the car glides at a steady pace over San Francisco's road.

"There's one more thing, boss," Logan says, pulling me out of my reverie.

I look at him. "What is it?"

"The date on her birth records doesn't match the one on her employment details," Logan replies.

I furrow my brows, taking the file again to run a check.

"Her actual birth records state that she'll be eighteen in a few days, but her employment details say otherwise."

"What do they say?" I ask, noting the birth date on her profile is May 1.

"According to her work profile, she's a year older."

"That's fraud," I say, furrowing my brows.

But then an idea strikes me.

A smile curves up my mouth as I consider the prospect of my plan.

****

"Mr. Black," David says, shaking hands with me. "It's a pleasure to have you in my humble home. Have a seat, please." He gestures.

I sit on one of the sofas in his sitting room, Logan sitting beside me.

"What may I ask, prompts this visit of yours?"

I gesture to Logan, and he drops the proposition draft on the center table. The document skids across the surface toward David's end, teetering over the edge.

David goes through it, a frown creasing over his forehead. "You plan to invest in my business?" he asks when he raises his head, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yes. I've done my research on it, and I believe it has great potential. With some funding and backing, it can be set back on its feet and thrive globally."

David's eyes flash with a hint of skepticism. "And what's your stake in this? What do you get out of this?"

I lean forward, clasping my hands, and holding his gaze. "I have only one condition."

His eyes narrow. "What?"

"You give your daughter in marriage to me."

In a twinkle of an eye, he flips out. "That's nonsense. My daughter is a teenager. You can't possibly marry her."

I sit up. "I'm not asking for your opinion, David. I'm informing you."

Logan raises the suitcase and opens it. He throws another folder on the table to David.

David picks it up and goes through its content. "What the hell is this?"

"Records of unauthorized sales of company fabric at below-market prices to your personal associates," I reply. "And documents showing inflated invoices for raw materials, suggesting kickbacks to you directly."

David's face reddens. "That's bullshit."

"We also have evidence of internal memos, emails, and witness statements corroborating these findings. You've been using company resources for personal gain, David."

"Nonsense. That's forged."

I smile. "And who will believe that? It's your words against the media, David. Your reputation doesn't need any more soiling, does it?"

A conflicted look crosses his face, and time ticks, tension hovering in the air as we all sit in silence.

He holds out as long as he can, but he soon gauges that he is trapped.

It's either he agrees and benefits or disagrees and loses more than just the daughter he's trying to protect.

He throws down the gauntlet, sagging his shoulders with a defeated look.

I rise from my seat with Logan and extend my hand to him. "You made a good decision, David."

He watches my hand briefly before he rises from his seat as well.

We shake hands, and I say, "We have a deal, Mr. Lark."