Not knowing what else to do, I stormed out of the room and dialed my lawyer before I'd even reached the front door. I was in my car by the time he answered.
"Can my parents withhold the company from me unless I get married?"
"That's awfully dramatic," he snorted, perfectly accustomed to me cutting straight to the point.
"Well, can they?"
"They hold the majority shares. And if the board backs them, yes- it's possible."
Shit.
Looks like I do need to find a wife.
3- Evania
If I had to die doing anything, I decided it would be on my couch, wrapped in my favorite blanket, staring at a screen while two impossibly beautiful people hovered a breath apart.
Twelve episodes.
Twelve.
That was how long it had taken for them to finally stop orbiting each other like emotionally constipated planets and lean in. The music swelled. The lighting softened. Her lips trembled. His jaw tightened like the fate of the world depended on his self-control. They both leaned in.
And then my phone rang.
“Elena,” I muttered, glaring at my sister’s name flashing across the screen. “You have exactly five seconds before I disown you.”
I let it ring twice longer out of spite before answering. “This better be something that couldn’t be said over text,” I said flatly, not even pretending to be pleasant.
“Eva,” Elena breathed dramatically into the phone, like she’d been running for her life. “I need you.”
“You always need me,” I said, eyes flicking back to the paused screen where the almost-kiss hung frozen in time. “Unfortunately for you, I’m busy.”
“With what?” she demanded.
“With art,” I snapped. “Twelve episodes of emotional torture. They’re about to kiss.”
There was a pause. Then a scoff. “Are you watching another K-drama. It’s just a show.”
“It is not just a show,” I said. “It’s character development. It’s yearning. It’s—”
“Eva,” she cut in, ignoring my very valid points, “I need you to come to this party with me.”
I blinked. She could not be serious. “Absolutely not.”
“I haven’t even told you what kind of party it is yet.”
“You said party. That’s already a no.”
“Eva,” she whined, dragging out my name in that way she’d perfected sometime around age twelve. “Please.”
“No.”
“It’s important.”
“So is this kiss. Dare I say it’s more important. It’s nine hours of my life, suspended in time.”
“Eva—”
