I was awakened from my drowsy state by the feeling of a large hand encircling my waist. My eyes widened in surprise, and a gasp caught in my throat.

The moment I attempted to swat at the hand, a low, growly voice spoke up from behind me. 

"Why are you fidgeting so much?" he demanded. "I told you I'd be home later than yesterday. Are you impatient for another round of our intimate fun?"

I shot him a look filled with frustration. "Why do you always insist on not using protection? I've made it clear that I'm not taking birth control."

He just chuckled, his nonchalance only adding fuel to my irritation. 

"Come on, babe, you’re overreacting," he said, trying to play it off. "It's really not a big deal."

I sighed, frustration coloring my words. "Rafayel, I'm serious. We don't know each other very well, and this matter shouldn't be taken lightly."

He chuckled nonchalantly, seemingly unbothered by my concern. "Ah, I know you're worried about getting pregnant. Are you in your fertile window right now? If you’re not, then the risk of pregnancy is pretty low. It's simple, really."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his suggestion. "That's absurd," I grumbled, my irritation mounting.

But his tone then softened. "Whoa, hold on… Let's not make any rash decisions here. Maybe it would be best if I met your parents."

“Are you insane? Why would you want to meet my parents after fucked their daughter? Don’t you think they’ll be furious with you?” I grumbled in annoyance.

"But we're already married, Leslie," Rafayel whispered, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

I sighed deeply. This contract marriage had been so sudden and pressure-filled that I still felt unaccustomed to it.

"What's a little responsibility compared to a lifetime together, darling? Your parents will see reason. After all, wouldn't they want their precious daughter settled, especially in such... delicate circumstances?"

The words slithered from his lips, dripping with false charm and hidden venom. I felt my stomach twist, a sickening cocktail of revulsion and fear churning inside me. How had I ended up here, trapped in this nightmare of manipulation and deceit?

His eyes gleamed with a predatory light, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, plotting and scheming. Every fiber of my being screamed to run, to escape this suffocating web he was weaving around me.

"You don't know me," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay strong. "And you never will."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. "This isn't some game you can manipulate."

"Oh, Leslie," he said, his voice dropping to a silky purr. "Why so defensive? I'm only trying to get to know your family better. After all, if we're to have a future together, shouldn't I make an effort to impress your mother? Perhaps with a thoughtful gift? What does she enjoy?"

"My mom's obsessed with luxury brands," I mumbled, "It's kind of confusing, you know? We've always been pretty broke, but she knows more about those brands than I do."

Rafayel let out a mocking chuckle and mumbled, "Oh, that's just because you're always hanging around with Terrell, isn't it?"

"Ugh, stop it. Don't even mention that insufferable jerk," I groaned, my voice laced with disgust at the mere mention of Terrell's name.

Rafayel nodded, a playful glint in his eyes as he ruffled my hair. "Alright, alright, go get changed. We're heading to my favorite boutique. I've got some fancy dresses picked out for your mom – she's going to look absolutely stunning."

My retort died on my lips as Xavier burst through the door, a whine escaping him. 

"It's eleven already!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with panic. "I'm late for tutoring, dad!” 

Rafayel just sighed and patted Xavier's shoulder. "Alright, sweetie, just give me a few minutes. I'll drive you to your tutoring session myself."

"But Daaaad, it's already eleven o'clock! Mr. Chuck is gonna be so mad!" Xavier whined, his voice a little shaky, and his bottom lip trembling. "He's gonna give me extra homework, I know it!"

"Now, now, Xavier, don't worry. I'm sure we can work something out with your tutor," I said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Let's just get you settled in first." I turned and started looking for my bathrobe.

Steam curled from the bathroom mirror as I finished getting ready.  The familiar scent of lavender shampoo lingered in the air.  We piled into the car, Xavier bouncing in the backseat, his backpack overflowing with textbooks.  

The drive was a blur of brick buildings and manicured lawns, the Boston skyline looming in the distance.  We pulled up to a grand, ivy-covered building, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass.  

Xavier, ever the eager student, practically leaped out of the car, a wave of goodbye barely audible over the hum of the engine.  We watched him disappear through the imposing oak doors, then turned the car towards the city center.  

The streets were alive with a symphony of honking horns and bustling crowds.  

Soon, we were pulling up to a sleek, modern storefront, the name "The Boston Collection" etched in gold lettering above the door.

"Why are you bringing me to this boutique? Why didn't you just have them deliver everything to the house like you did with Raymond?" I asked, tilting my head in confusion. 

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around the brightly lit store, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of clothes and accessories.

Rafayel grinned, his eyes twinkling. "I want to introduce you to the owner of this amazing boutique.” 

The his hand gently guiding me towards the boutique.

Rafayel led me through a maze of shimmering gowns, his hand resting lightly on my back. The air buzzed with hushed whispers and the rustle of silk as we passed by rows of impeccably dressed saleswomen.  They all bowed their heads respectfully to him, offering up trays of dazzling jewels and exquisite handbags. Rafayel waved them away with a dismissive flick of his wrist, his eyes fixed on a frosted glass door at the end of the hallway.  He knocked sharply, his knuckles rapping against the cool surface.

A stunning woman in her late 40s, radiating style and confidence, flung open the door with a dazzling smile. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in Rafayel, her hand flying up to her chest in a gesture of welcome. "Rafayel! You're here!"

Rafayel nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Right. I'm here to check on those dresses I ordered. And, uh, thought I'd introduce you to my wife."

The middle-aged woman gasped, her eyes widening as she stared at me.  "You're serious?  A wife?  You're not just messing with me, are you?" 

“Leslie, this is Lovato. She was my late wife’s regular.” Rafayel introduced us gently but with a weight that lingered in the air. “Lovato, this is Leslie, my new wife.”

I extended my hand to Lovato, who looked at me with an expression that combined warmth and sadness. Her dark eyes held stories that I could only imagine. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said softly, hoping to bridge our shared connection to Rafayel.

He cleared his throat, a nervous habit that had lingered from his days as a shy boy, then asked, "So how are the fancy dresses I ordered, Lovato? Are you finished yet? I was planning on going to see my in-laws tonight."

Lovato looked up from the sewing machine, her face partially hidden by a pair of oversized glasses and strands of dark hair that fell into her eyes. She was entirely engrossed in her work—a vibrant dress made from shimmering fabric that reflected specks of sunlight filtering through the window. Her hands danced nimbly over the material as she stitched carefully.

"Almost done! Just need to finish the hem," she replied with a warm smile that always reminded Rafayel of the comfort found in home-cooked meals after long days at work.

"I appreciate your hard work, truly," Rafayel added softly.

“You can wait for me to sew the rest of the dresses in the waiting room,” Lovato said, all cheerful and distracted by her sewing machine. 

I barely had a chance to respond before she ushered me into the boutique’s waiting area, which was surprisingly cozy, filled with pastel-colored chairs and a plethora of magazines on every table.

But then, just as we settled in with some questionable gossip rags, I spotted them through the glass door like a nightmare coming to life — Grandma and Irene. 

Ugh. The only two people on this planet who could turn my day upside down with their judgmental glances and snide comments.

“Seriously? Now?” I muttered under my breath, half-tempted to duck behind a potted plant. But they’d already seen me. Irene’s smirk was like a dart aimed straight at my self-esteem.

"What happened?" Rafayel mumbled and looking around.