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.