Where Love Meets Evil

'Please stop the wedding, Dad.'

"Do you, Miss Laurel Ivanda – "

My tone was high, my throat dry and itchy from the many days I cried out to him.

"Take Mr. Ivan Briggs – "

But hoping for my voice to be heard ended up a wishful thinking.

"To be your lawfully wedded husband – "

'It is your responsibility!' he had told me.

"To love and to cherish – "

But those were all lies. I was merely a tool used to save his company from going under.

"In sickness and in health – "

To save himself from failing, I was to be sacrificed, given off over a mere signature on papers I wished I could lay my hands on.

"Until death do you part?"

So I could burn them. But unfortunately, both parties had a mutual agreement. The question is 'why?'

"Miss Laurel?"

Why did HE agree to marry me?

"Miss Laurel."

The name-calling finally clicks in my head and I am called back to the wedding ceremony where indistinct murmurs now swirl around me.

Standing before me is Ivan Briggs, the most ruthless C.E.O. in the world of conglomerates, and unfortunately my groom. To onlookers, he may look serene but to me, those sharp hazel eyes of his are almost fiery, like a predator silently observing its prey.

"Do you?" I look over to my caller – an advanced man in a priest's robe with a few grey strands lining his mustache.

"Do I what?" I mumble, giving the mic to my confused expression to echo.

"Do you take Mr. Ivan to be your husband?" he asks and at the mention of his name, my eyes reunite with his.

Wrong. The word is 'buyer' and not 'husband.' This is a trade fair and not a wedding. I am being given off for chump change that runs into several billions of U.S. dollars, in the guise of a wedding. And yes, compared to me, sextillions would still be 'chump change.'

"Ye-yes. Yes, I do," I force out when the murmurs around me grow.

"With the power bestowed on me – " The rest sounds gibberish until he gets to the "Husband and wife" part that makes my stomach turn. A loud cheer pours in from the crowd and I am far from being excited. I turn to the crowd, and for a second I sincerely wish I could smile as half of the way they are. My wedding is finally here but it's nothing like I ever wished for.

He takes my hand gently, bringing his Icy fingers to touch mine, the chills making goosebumps march around my skin for a second. He tugs me to the point where our bosoms almost touch and slides one hand down my back while the other wraps my neck, our eyes never parting. Then he tilts his head to the crowd as he pulls me in for a kiss but suddenly stops midway, close enough to make anyone watching believe we're kissing. Instead, he straightens, landing those lips on my forehead instead, leaving me no time to think about why he did that.

Another cheery applause erupts when he pulls me in for a hug. He snuggles me closer and it is meant to be an affectionate hug – coming from 'your man' on 'your wedding' – but it's just stuffy and mechanical for me, no feelings attached. I am left empty and wishing it is 'him' instead.

Steeping his head lower, he whispers into my ears, "The smile doesn't have to be genuine. But you don't have to look like you're at a funeral either. This is YOUR wedding."

Like a switched-on robot, my hands move to round his back while my lips twitch difficultly to form a smile even when I know no one's seeing it. 'YOUR wedding' rings in my ears, its growing emphasis has my heart sinking.

Water pools around my eyes and I pucker my lips like a forsaken child. I mumble softly, "Why do you care?"

Seconds morph into minutes, minutes into hours, until a lot of those pass by, bringing the evening to us – 8:30 pm precisely.

I am now in a red dinner gown, my petite hand in Ivan's as we walk down the hallway together. We're on the twentieth floor in one of the most luxurious five-star hotels in Washington, alongside six of his lackeys whose footfalls trail continuously behind us, our heel-clacking protecting the space from absolute tranquility.

I look over my shoulder to the men all po-faced, making it impossible to read their expressions. My gaze shifts to Ivan who has eyes fixed ahead, and then down at my poor hand firmly in his. He had told me he'd be hosting an after-wedding feast right here at this time. But c'mon this is his hotel. What if he plans to do something bad to me up here? He'll be more than able to hide any traces.

Was that why he agreed to marry me?

Does he want something from me?

'RELAX, Laurel. What do you have to offer?'

We get to an automated door where Ivan scans his access card, granting us access. The door leads to another passageway, void of any doors on both sides except double-panel doors on the far end.

I look behind, and the fact entry into this place is limited beginning to wrap my nerves in bundles.

I get so hung up on the ghosts following us behind that I don't realize how much distance we travel until the gigantic doors are in my face, shielding whatever lies in store on the other side, from me. Only for a few seconds. I clench my dress, waiting for when he'll twist the doorknob and usher us in. But he doesn't budge. It's like we're paused in time, and the silence around us gains volume.

He turns at his feet to me, and with his side to the door, he makes me face him. Then gently, he fingertips my chin up, bringing our eyes to meet. It's the first time I'm taking a thorough look at him and God, he's beautiful. As much as I hate to admit.

"Raise your chin, Laurel," he says, his deep voice booming through the atmosphere. "Rest assured, I won't hurt you. And no one will ever be able to as long as I am here. So don't be scared or intimidated."

It would've sounded reassuring if we were lovebirds who just walked down the aisle after dating for years. But coming from him, the words are left floating like feathers. They don't even get to me, let alone sink in. If he cares so much, why then did he agree to this wedding?

I simply swirl my eyes away without a word. From both sides, hands stretch to get the door for us. The doors creak open and I steal a glance at him before we walk in, hands locked.

It's a large hall with giant crystal chandeliers providing white lighting over the large dining table made for not less than twenty people. It's just five people in here, of which I recognize four to be his mother and sisters – Louisiana, Mia, and Lauretta – thanks to my prior research. They're all seated around the table which only has decorative tissue boxes on it, yet to be flooded with food and drinks. The aura here is stuffy with ten eyes now preying on us, especially on me and it's one of the rarest moments I shrink to the size of a mustard grain beneath people's gazes. But at least it's nothing like it was when we passed the lobby downstairs, greeted by his colleagues and contemporaries I knew nothing of.

There's one more lady I don't recognize though. She sits at the head of the table, arms crossed, and relaxes like she owns the place. She's making herself too comfortable if you ask me. The air around here is damp with spite, the silence both confusing and heavy as Ivan remains unmoving, and is now glaring at the strange figure sitting in his seat, I presume. I mean it's the 'head' and he's the head here clearly.

He turns to one of his secretaries standing closest to him and asks, "Who let her in?" His tone is different, dismal. It's no rocket science figuring he's asking about the only lady in red. The rest are family after all.

"The – " he's about to respond before Ivan cuts him off.

"Fire the security. Every single one of them," he orders. The said man snaps his fingers three times at three of his colleagues and they all get moving.

He lets go, and only then do I realize how much warmth his hand gave mine. "What are you doing here, Alicia?" he asks, strolling toward the table.

"I invited her over," his mom sitting by her left, responds.

Ivan says nothing, letting the clacking of his shoes as he approaches Alicia keep everyone on hold. We're all watching him, waiting eagerly to see what he wants to do. I am NO different.

He stops right beside Alicia who tilts her head upward to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asks again in a tone void of the tiniest atom of humor. He's looking down at her like she's a trash bag kept on his seat.

"You heard your mother," she answers cockily, tipping her head to the advanced woman.

"This is a family gathering, Alicia. Strangers are not allowed in here."

"Stranger?" his mum cuts in defensively. "She's just as allowed in here as Laurel is."

'Laurel?' My brows crease when I hear my name. What has this got to do with me?

"Before I do something I KNOW I won't regret, get yourself out of here and out of this building entirely," Ivan warns.

"She goes nowhere, Ivan," his mom counters, and Alicia crosses her arms again, facing forward like Ivan is an insignificant bug creating a nuisance.

Not another word slips when he grabs the back of her head and slams her face on the table. It happens in a flash, one second perhaps, and the aftermath switches the mood in the room to 'chaos.'

Each of them springs from their respective seats, all screaming "Ivan!" wide-eyed. He shows no shred of remorse. Instead, he picks her head back up and with a slap across her cheek, displaces her off the chair.

"Ivan!" his mom yells while my legs impulsively jerk forward but I am stopped from taking another step when the creamy-haired dude who's been stuck to me the entire evening steps in my way. I shoot him a hard glare to move aside but as expected, it's ineffective. He doesn't even flinch.

"What are you doing?!" she scolds while two of his sisters rush to the wailing figure on the floor. The last one beside his mom who looks to me like the youngest already has a pool around her eyes ready to overflow any moment. She looks too innocent to be in a toxic space like this one.

"She spends another second in here and you're fired!" He points commandingly at the last one of his men and gets him sprinting in less than a millisecond.

"Don't you dare, Ivan!" his mom opposes, fuming. "If Laurel is allowed to be here, why isn't she?"

"Laurel is my WIFE, Ma!" Ivan snaps.

"Laurel is my WIFE, Ma!" he declares and my eyes pop out. What's with the energy? "And she has every right to be here."

"You will pay for this, Ivan! I promise you," Alicia whines uncontrollably, but her voice is muffled by her palm clasping unto her nose as blood seeps through her fingers. Stretching her hand over the table, Louisiana pulls out a handful of paper sheets from a tissue box within her reach and wedges it against Alicia's bloody knuckles. Mia also following suit, mumbles some words under her breath. Judging from her face, it's nothing good. And of course, Ivan's henchman trails directly behind them to make sure she leaves. He wouldn't want to lose his job after all.

Alicia keeps groaning, raising her head, and pressing the tissues while the other girls console her as they walk away. Their voices are barely audible now, and I can't help but wonder why his sisters wouldn't dare to raise their voices at him.

"Ivan, if she leaves, I leave," his mom threatens now they've covered most distance from the exit.

"Suit yourself," Ivan retorts and I'm too frozen to feel any other emotion such as shock. At this point, if he orders her to get out, I wouldn't be surprised.

"I invited her over. Respect that and stop her from leaving," his mom argues when she senses the first approach was ineffective. Her tone is a little shaky with anger as she's pointing in their direction while the door is held open for her to leave. The room goes still, the door creaks close, and seconds fly by before Ivan moves a muscle. He's rebelling, putting her in her place, and showing her who the real boss is here.

He draws out a seat for himself and gets too comfortable while his mom is physically releasing fumes from her eyes that could turn him into dust. "And I own this place," he replies in a civil tone. 'I don't need to yell to drive the point home.' "I get to decide who stays and who leaves. And Alicia? I swear to God, if I see her anywhere around here again, I will not be this nice," he warns, the calm look on his face a sharp contrast to the dangerous aura he's pushing forth.

"We shall see." She picks up her bag aggressively and storms out in a fury.

It's just me, Ivan, and the crybaby left now. He glares at her who in turn seeks my eyes out pleadingly. She's fiddling with her fingers, teary trails lining her both cheeks. The look in her eyes is that of a naïve little girl who just wants peace and unity to reign in her family. She looks up to Ivan, I can tell. And she wants him to treat her as his baby sister but sadly, all of those feelings are going to live and die within her. Poor thing.

"Lauretta," Ivan calls solemnly, and she shuts her eyes, increasing the flow rate of her tears. "Should I ask the security to see you out?" He just FIRED them.

"I'll leave," she whimpers, and a sting of pity visits my heart. I want to cradle her. Hold her and wipe her tears. But unfortunately, I cannot intercede on her behalf. My tongue is tied. Besides, only happy brides could try that hard.

The girl eventually leaves, and Ivan still goes ahead to order meal service. It's meant to be a family dinner but oh well.

He's now acting like we just walked into a five-star restaurant on a chilly Valentine's evening, fitting his bib around his collar.

The server rounds up and the moment she begins to roll her rollable tray out, my heart oddly skips a beat because once she steps out the door, it's going to be just me and Ivan left. In this room. Together. Alone. What on earth am I supposed to say or talk about?

'Nothing, Laurel. You don't have to say anything.'

I don't. But I want to lash at him. I have fumes building up inside of me and it's toxic to bottle them up.

The door creaks open, and the few seconds before it slams shut gobbles my focus. I even note the soft clicking sound of the wheels as they roll against the tiled floor, and their precise movements fail to escape my notice.

Finally, the dreaded moment comes. We're together. Alone. Right now, I wouldn't mind having my tailgater from earlier, around.

I heave a deep sigh of annoyance, staring down at the palatable dish set before me as I pick up my cutleries. I call it palatable because it is – grilled chicken lying beside a scrumptious-looking salad swamped with assorted vegetables. But my mood's sour and it affects how I see the dish that I can't look at it with anything but disgust. And eating at the same table as Ivan?

'Just hold it in, Laurel.'

"I'm not going to ask why you just manhandled a lady but your mom? Why would you do that?" I blurt and regret almost immediately. Would've just stayed quiet after all.

'Why do you care?!'

Trust me, I don't. I'm just ... pissed.

"Would you rather I let the woman she wanted me to marry, stay?" he returns, driving the knife down the meat, the diamond head of his wristwatch glinting with his hand movement.

My lips and eyes flutter, and to MY surprise, I have no response for that. I want to tell him I couldn't care less if his mom wants him to take a hundred more wives, but my tongue is somehow glued to the roof of my mouth.

But I cannot let the argument slide so I think of something else and the perfect idea rushes to my lips.

"Why did you even marry me?" I blurt out of the blue. "Why did you agree to this when you could have any one of your choice?"

"Like Alicia?" he cuts in before stuffing his mouth with another chunk of meat. He's chewing at me with a hint of a smile playing around his lips. He's teasing me, relishing my irritation.

"Don't change the topic," I deadpan. "You know exactly what I mean when I say you can have any woman of your choice." He's got the looks, money, and fame. So ... "Why me? Just how on earth was this deal important that I had to be sacrificed for it?" My voice almost cracks now as tears begin to build up behind my eyes. My eyebrows twitch and my expression is depressing.

"You're channeling your anger wrongly, beautiful. I didn't give you off to myself and you know it. So if you want answers, call your dad and find out why."

"Don't call me beautiful," I murmur to his hearing.

"What? Does 'ugly' sound better?" he asks casually, placing his forearms by his plate.

"Laurel," I correct. Just in case he's forgotten. "That's my name and I want you to address me as that."

"Well, no." He picks a face napkin and begins to wipe his mouth. He's barely even touched the food. "I choose beautiful because it fits you perfectly."

I am trying to be a pain in the ass. Trying to annoy him. To make him snap so that he'll slam my head against the table, make me bleed, and give me a valid reason to file an assault case. Or better still file for a divorce. He just hit a woman so what's his deal? He should just do so and offer me an escape from this hellhole called 'marriage.'

Annoyed, I dropped my cutleries, letting the metal clink emphasize my peeve instead.

"I want to go home," I hiss.

"Sure, I'll take you."

Not that home! The tears warming up all along creep in to cloud my vision. "My home, Ivan," I whimper softly. "I don't wanna be here anymore." He's not that nice to bundle me back to my parents simply because I'm asking for it, I know. But I just feel helpless. His family obviously do not want me here and I don't want to be here either. The thought alone pumps more liquid into my eyes, causing them to roll down because there isn't enough room.

He tilts his face to me, holding my stare silently. I'm being impossible, he must be thinking but again, I don't care. This is just me voicing what I truly desire.

He rises to his feet while I follow him all the way up as he walks to me. Then he turns my chair for my knees to face him before bending at his waist, bringing our faces way too close for my liking. He cups my cheeks delicately, and both thumbs glide across my undereyes to blot out the water.

Wiping my tears, he says, "Well I'm sorry, beautiful. There's only one 'home' I can take you to."

His home.

My eyelids shut for a second to speed up the flow rate of my tears.

His eyes fall to my lips, staring like he's about to consume them. And because I am already under his spell, I shut my eyes waiting for his lips to crash into mine. But they don't. And I recall what happened at the wedding.

'He's teasing you again.'

I immediately snap my eyes open to indeed find a teasing smile keeping his lips company. Vexed, I fling my eyes away.

I no longer have wild thoughts but my heartbeat goes wild instead when a soft pair of lips hijack mine. My poor eyes grow into the size of a watermelon when he unexpectedly captures me in a deep kiss.

The kiss is static, yet deep. It's like my spirit, body, and soul are all trapped inside his mouth as I cannot think of or feel any other thing except his mushy lips against mine.

He snaps contact with finesse – creating a hunger for his warmth – giving room for my breath to flood in in a mild shaky gasp.

"Feel better?" he asks sultrily, wafting his hot breath through my nostrils.

"Wh-wh-wh-why why wou-wou-" I attempt to protest but my brain is pretty much a mesh of nonsense right now, pushing the words through my lips as a load of twaddle. "You – "

"C'mon, beautiful. The night's pretty short." It feels like a trailer-load of magma is pumped onto my cheeks when his hazel eyes pierce into mine, dark and seductive. His last words do the magic, passing a ton of evil signals through these orbs and leaving me at the mercy of my imagination that's running amuck already.

I swing my eyes away. If I should stand a chance at catching my breath at least, I need to stay clear of his eyes. But I am not even two paces closer to it when he grabs my right hand, spiking my pulse through unhealthy levels. The first few steps I take as he begins to lead us away are certainly robotic. I only manage a fraction of control when I almost trip on my heels. Our movements are mismatched because while he's trotting toward the door, I'm 'unknowingly' lurching, producing hasty and irregular clacks as a result.

We get to the elevator and it's almost as if I can hardly breathe being in such an enclosed space alone with him. It is now a conscious effort as I have to knowingly pause and 'heave' my lungs to take in air.

He takes out his phone and dials a number – which is the least of my concerns – before pasting the speaker to his ears. "The video quality was good, yeah?" he asks and goes mute, waiting for a response perhaps. "Have Levi wrap things up neatly. We'll be in my suite." He hangs up and his hand falls back down. I flinch an inch in response, ON EDGE.

The blinking arrow on the elevator screen gets to '30' and the doors slide open, paving the way to a lonely tranquil hallway. Until our footfalls ruin everything.

We get to the other end where an 'L-turn' awaits us, followed by another hallway and two ladies in maidservant outfits who emerge to greet us.

"Is my room ready?" Ivan questions somberly, walking past them who line up by the side with their heads buried as they trot actively to keep up.

"Yes, Sir." One holds out a metallic tray with a black access card on it which he picks up.

"You may leave" is all he says and they scram out of sight.

We get to another black automatic door where he uses the card to gain access through. Beyond it are two wooden gigantic double doors I want to believe are the LAST. He tilts the doorknob open, and the creak that follows is thick with suspense. This scene could easily serve as a cliffhanger in suspenseful movies.

We walk through to the other side where I'm ushered into a living room screaming glamor in my face. The roof is high, hanging three flashy crystal chandeliers over our heads. My jaw sags and I am in awe of just how much sits in his account. Whatever amount it is, it sure is bloating because what the actual hell? It feels like this room alone is enough to give this hotel a five-star rating. And going on to the other numerous rooms in this building, a ten-star rating is sure to be introduced into the system.

"Are we spending the night here?" I ask. There's a silent 'alone?' that's left hopping around the tip of my tongue. But it doesn't see the light of day.

"Nah," he responds and the next second, I feel his sturdy presence directly against my back. "There's a bedroom over there." He extends his hand past my face, pointing at a door. He's clearly teasing me because I already know a conglomerate owner cannot have a suite as jaw-dropping as this without actual bedrooms. The thought of sleeping together just has dread churning deep in my stomach. He's being too comfortable and it's beginning to creep me out.

Though my brain is divided. One part is enjoying all of this, while the other keeps it logical, sending warning signals through to me.

"I told you to loosen up, beautiful." My squeal overshadows his deep voice when my legs suddenly float off the ground, and now I'm suspended in his arms. I pinch his right shoulder to regain my balance, roving my eyes away abashedly.

He leads me through the 'mystery' door, into the bedroom. It's almost as spacious as the living room and doesn't lag in elegance. The king-sized bed is perfectly dressed with a black duvet cover that matches the vibe of the crafted design on the headboard. Even the pattern etched on the wood blares elegance.

The view is replaced with that of white back pillows on a sofa across from me while he places me frailly on another. My butt sinks in, agreeing with its refined quality.

Ivan sits on the center table in front of me and unexpectedly bends, hands charging toward my foot.

"What are you doing?" I ask with burning cheeks. He pulls my leg back in place when I try to jolt it away and holds it still. He unties the strap and it feels like my leg can finally breathe as the muscles around it relax. He picks up my feet so delicately and uses his thumb to massage the sole. His fingertips are icy, soothing to my sore foot. He looks nothing like the rumors I've heard and I cannot help but wonder if this is how it feels to be married to the love of your life.

But I don't love him. And from the best of my knowledge, he doesn't either. I mean, we're only meeting each other for the first time today.

Or is it love at first sight?

'As if.'

My logical side then retreats, letting me relish the relief I feel after he's been on the foot massage for seconds now. I flex my toes, wiggling the strap marks left around it. Feels good to finally be free.

"Your bath should be ready by now," he drawls, staring deep into my leg like he's searching for something. "I'm willing to spare you the night." Raising his eyes to mine, he winks with the same teasing look he's had on all along.

I toss my face away to hide my crimson cheeks but it's already busted. I hear a huff afterward but do not bother looking his way.

He does the same with the other leg and stands.

Is he leaving?

'You want him to stay?'

"I have some things to attend to. But if you need me, I'll be one call away." Coincidentally, my eyes stretch to the telephone by the bed, on a black wooden side stool. Do I have to dial his number with that? "You don't need to dial any number," he mentions, noting what has got my attention hooked. "Just press the red button on it and I'll come right away."

I don't say anything, intentionally avoiding direct eye contact. What was all that talk about the night being too short?

'You ARE smitten, Laurel.'

Who in my shoes WOULDN'T be?

"I figured I should just let you be for tonight. Or would you rather I stay and do the needful?" I pucker my lower lip in an immature protest. I certainly would not be feeling disappointed because he wants to leave if the spell he cast earlier wasn't a thing. I'll leave all the regret I am bound to feel for when I've broken free.

I subconsciously tilt my face back to him only to find him taking out his suit jacket. He places it above my bare knees and bends at his waist with his left palm clung to the backrest to support him, bringing our faces closer. "So you don't get too cold without me," he says in a husky tone, turning my heart into a jelly. I curl my toes inwardly. Peering this deeply into his eyes this time, I feel like wrapping my hands around his neck and kissing our night away. "Don't stay up late waiting," he concludes, lands a peck on my nose, turns around, and begins to walk away.

While my eyes stay glued to him, my inner voice calls out to tell him I wouldn't mind subjecting this beat body to his punishment, until his back disappears and its view is substituted with the wooden door's.

I heave a sigh, the loneliness that now dances around me packing a punch.

But what was that for? Was he a secret admirer who wasn't bold enough to approach me and decided to cut corners by using his money to get through to my dad? Did he always harbor feelings for me?

'It's the CEO of a conglomerate company we're talking about here. He's gone through scarier adversaries to be shaken by a near-insignificant being.'

Near-insignificant?

'COMPARED to him.'

Yeah, right. But still, isn't he being too nice?

The debates and pep-talks in my head as to why he WOULD and WOULDN'T show this much affection keep me company through my night's activities, shielding my head from peace until late into the night when I'm tucked in bed, ready to sleep.

Lying on my side with eyes on the door, I wonder where he could be and why he isn't back yet before I shut my eyelids.

The Next Morning ...

'Your expectations could grow taller than you at this rate.'

My lips shorten gradually until they revert to their original length and my smile fades. The image of Ivan's face towering over me while he says, 'Good morning, beautiful,' and serves me breakfast in bed shatters to nothing. He's neither here nor anywhere in this room.

Did he sleep out?

Guess not, I think, when I see the other end of the duvet is flipped over like someone just got off.

Gripping the duvet over my bosom tighter, I squeal inwardly at the thought that we shared a bed.

My phone buzzes. The excitement from the morning has the majority of my focus ensnarled while the insignificant other accompanies my hand as it glides backward across the bed to fish my handset lying on the side stool by my bedside. On feeling something hard and flat within my grip, I raise the phone to my face.

On turning the screen on, an ODDLY FAMILIAR image pops up, washing away the relaxed look on my face with untainted horror.

Seconds onward, the door creaks. Whipping my face in its direction, Ivan surfaces from behind the door with his phone to his ears.

'Told you, Laurel. He isn't to be trusted.'

'The video quality was good, yeah?' his voice when he said that resounds in my head, surging a fresh wave of infuriation laced with disgust through my nerves.

'Is this what you meant?' I let my appalled expression ask, squeezing my brows to its limit.

"I'll call you back," he says, narrowing his eyes on me.

I spring out of bed and stomp on my bedroom slippers in fury as I march to him. Before the veil is lifted off my senses so I can think of any other 'logical' reaction, on closing our distance, my hand leaps from its place and lands my palm on his cheek, tugging along a heavy smack that echoes through the space.

"You devil."