Chapter 2
"And you, Nikola, need a husband," Cyrille said.
"We're both getting what we want. Sounds fair enough."
As the car blended into the flow of traffic, my heart was all over the place.
'Was this really a fair trade?' I, Nikola, couldn't help but wonder.
I honestly had no idea.
My mom called me while I was on my way home.
"Did you bring him home, Nikki?" she asked gently.
I looked at Cyrille, who was driving beside me, and tightened my grip on our marriage license.
"Don't worry, Mom, I brought him home," I replied.
When we got home, my mom was so stunned when she saw Cyrille, she couldn't take her eyes off him.
She dragged me into the kitchen, lowered her voice, and asked, "Wait, isn't this the guy from your first blind date? What happened? Where's Yverson?"
I quickly filled her in on what happened at city hall.
My mom was fuming, so angry she grabbed a spatula.
"That Yverson is unbelievable! I'm going to teach him a lesson!" she snapped.
"Mom," I said, holding her back. "Let it go. It's all in the past."
Yes, it was behind me now.
The moment I decided to text Cyrille, things between Yverson and me were completely over.
My mom looked at my calm face and sighed.
"Well, at least Cyrille seems way more dependable than Yverson," she muttered.
"He's good-looking, treats you right—just stick with him and make a nice life together."
I nodded, but deep down, I felt completely lost.
'A nice life?' I wondered. 'How am I supposed to pull that off with Cyrille?'
'How am I supposed to make this work with Cyrille?' I, Nikola, thought, feeling lost.
For dinner, my mom made a huge spread and kept piling food onto Cyrille's plate.
Cyrille never lost his polite smile, graciously accepting every dish she offered.
After dinner, my mom shoved me straight into my room, then practically dragged Cyrille in right behind me.
"You two lovebirds go have a nice chat. I'll handle the dishes," she said, and before I could react—
*she slammed the door shut with a loud bang.*
Now it was just me and Cyrille in the room, and the awkwardness was through the roof.
My room was tiny—just a bed, a closet, and a desk.
With Cyrille standing there, it made the room feel even smaller.
"Do you... want some water?" I, Nikola, blurted out, just trying to fill the silence.
"No, thanks," Cyrille replied, walking over to my desk and picking up a photo frame.
It was a picture of me and Yverson Guerin.
We took it last month when we went to the movies—my smile was sweet and carefree.
'My chest tightened,' I, Nikola, thought, instinctively reaching out to take it back.
"It's all in the past," Cyrille spoke up first, putting the frame down and turning to face me.
"Nikola, from now on, you're my wife," he said, his voice steady.
"I don't want my wife with another man still on her mind," he added, his tone firm.
I bit my lip, but I didn't say a word.
He stepped closer, his tall figure towering over me, making the room feel even smaller.
"Erase everything about him," Cyrille said, his voice low and commanding.
"Can you do that?" he pressed, eyes locked onto mine.
I was forced to look up at him, and in his gaze, I saw a possessiveness that sent a chill through me.
My heart gave a jolt, and I nodded instinctively.
He seemed satisfied with my answer, reaching out to gently ruffle my hair.
His touch was light, but it made me tense up all over.
"Good girl," he said softly.
That night, Cyrille slept on the couch in the living room.
I lay in bed all night, wide awake.
The next morning, when I woke up, Cyrille had breakfast ready.
Nothing fancy—just sandwiches and hot milk.
Mom saw it and started gushing all over again.
"Nikki, you really hit the jackpot with this one," she said, beaming.
I watched Cyrille busy in the kitchen, and honestly, I had no idea how to feel. My emotions were a mess—was I supposed to be happy, grateful, or just... lost?
Before heading out, Cyrille handed me a bank card.
"The PIN's your birthday. Just buy whatever you want," he said.
"We're married now—my money's yours too," he added, like it was no big deal.
I didn't take it.
"Cyrille, this is just a marriage of convenience," I said, my voice steady.
"I'm not going to spend your money," I added, making it clear.
He looked at me and pressed the card into my hand.
"Nikola, this isn't just a contract marriage for me," Cyrille said, his voice steady. "I'm serious about us."
"I'm serious," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
I was stunned.
'Is he actually serious?' I, Nikola, wondered, feeling completely thrown off.
'What's that supposed to mean?' I thought, totally lost.
He just left it at that and said, "Come on, I'll take you to work."
On the way to work, Yverson called again, this time from an unfamiliar number.
I hit decline without hesitation.
Almost instantly, a text popped up.
"Nikola, you actually went and married someone else? Just to spite me, you'd do something like this? Just you wait!"
The message was full of threats and incredulity.
I looked at the words and couldn't help but find them absurd.
'Who does he think he is, thinking I went through all this just to spite him?' I, Nikola, thought, shaking my head.
'He's way too full of himself,' I scoffed inwardly.
I deleted the message and blocked the number.
When we pulled up to my office building, I got ready to get out.