Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

Vivian hugged Vilem and sobbed, “Please, Vilem, don’t get into a conflict with him over me. He really will kill you.”

“I’m not afraid,” Vilem said through clenched teeth.

“I am,” Vivian’s long lashes were wet with tears, “I’m very afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid,” Vilem’s voice lowered as he assured her, “Just as father said, I will stay with you, Vivian, I will protect you. Please believe me.”

Vivian believed Vilem, but she couldn’t control her own fear. Her father had given her to Alajos, and she was about to lose her freedom completely.

…

Vivian quickly composed herself and returned to the banquet with Vilem.

With Alajos’s intervention, few knew that Vivian had fainted from hunger, which somewhat relieved her. Bryson’s complexion finally improved as well.

Tasneem, behind Bryson’s back, gave her a discreet hug. Vivian hugged her mother back with force, feeling the urge to cry again.

Simpson approached with a glass in hand, offering her champagne, “Should I start calling you ‘sister-in-law’ now?”

Vivian didn’t take the champagne, “You already know.”

“Soon everyone will know,” Simpson said, “Not drinking?”

“No,” Vivian replied. She rarely drank alcohol; it made her drunk.

“That’s a pity,” Simpson drank the champagne himself. He loosened his tie and looked across the banquet where Alajos was consoling his aunt, and his cousins gathered around, some whispering, some silently drinking.

The entire banquet was permeated with a sense of heaviness and sorrow.

Simpson took another sip of his drink, his complexion no better than before.

“Have you been to bed with a man?” Simpson leaned closer to Vivian, eyeing her up and down, “To put it another way, are you still a virgin?”

Vivian’s hand trembled in shock, she stepped quickly backward, looking around, “What are you talking about?”

Her beautiful face flushed with embarrassment: “That is not a question you should be asking.”

“I apologize for my forwardness,” Simpson said without a hint of regret, even smiling mischievously, “So, are you?”

“Shut up, Simpson,” Vivian said angrily, her face redder still, “I am the woman who is to be engaged to Alajos.”

“Your father has given you to Alajos to maintain the interests of the Jones family. Alajos has given his word to your father, and so Hargrave must ensure what we receive is indeed a treasure,” Simpson set down his glass, “You are a beautiful girl, Vivian, and I like you.”

“What does that matter when my father will only marry me off to Alajos, which is what he desires in this alliance?” Vivian turned her head away; she didn’t want Simpson to see her tears.

“A man who refers to a girl as a ‘treasure’ does not truly like the girl,” Vivian said, “I don’t like such descriptions, Simpson.”

“Alright, I apologize,” Simpson whispered close to her ear, his breath brushing her face, “Then it’s up to my brother to verify.”

Vivian’s face felt as though it was on fire, and she glared at Simpson furiously, wishing she could bite a piece of flesh from him.

Simpson wasn’t intimidated by her gaze; instead, he found her harmless ferocity utterly adorable and couldn’t help but laugh out loud, pulling away before others noticed their commotion.

Vivian felt mocked and belittled. She wanted to flee this place, return to Los Angeles, never to come back to Houston.

But that was just wishful thinking.

…

The engagement cocktail party was set for a week later. Bryson started to strictly forbid Vivian from going out, even from leaving her room. Tasneem and Vilem watched over her constantly, making Vivian feel as though she was in prison.

She cried every day, her tears of protest doing nothing to change her father’s mind; he was too stubborn.

“Vivian, put on your dress and make yourself look pretty, don’t disgrace the Jones family,” Bryson selected a light purple figure-hugging dress for her, instructing Tasneem to ensure her makeup was sufficiently exquisite and glamorous, “Enjoy your date.”

It was a family dinner before the engagement, located at the estate of Alajos’s aunt-Madame Yazmin, a manor far in the countryside surrounded by fences with vast rose gardens.

Madame Yazmin had prepared a small round table under the apple trees for them, laid out with her freshly baked cookies and hot tea steaming. Vivian sat across from Alajos, her demeanor reserved.

“Don’t be nervous, Vivian,” Alajos pushed a small plate of cookies toward her, signaling she could help herself, “This is just a simple meeting before our engagement, so we can get to know each other a bit better.”

“Must it be me, Mr. Hargrave?” Vivian took a sip of the tea, trying to calm her nerves. It didn’t help much; her palms were already sweating.

“I’m quite certain Bryson only has one daughter,” Alajos answered cleverly, subtly rejecting Vivian’s rebellion-what he was marrying was not Vivian the person, but Vivian Jones, the daughter of Bryson.

What saddened Vivian was precisely this. Whether it was her father, Joseph, or Alajos, they were all interested in the title of Bryson’s daughter for an alliance with the Hargrave family, not her, a living, breathing individual.

She was a gift with the “Bryson’s daughter” halo, to be given by her father to anyone.

“I’m not beautiful, nor am I virtuous,” Vivian held the tea cup with both hands, the warmth from her palms giving her courage again, “I can’t make delicious cheese, burgers, or sausages, I won’t be able to prepare a tasty dinner for you when you come home from work. I also can’t iron clothes, your shirts will end up wrinkled… I’m also quite boring, I won’t be able to tell you jokes to cheer you up when you’re feeling down…”

“I think you are under some misunderstanding, Vivian,” Alajos laughed heartily, “I am not poor, I have plenty of wealth, I will hire cooks and servants, I don’t need my wife to toil over dinners or iron shirts. My work keeps me quite busy, actually I don’t have much time for leisure. Even if I did, I own bars, clubs, and various entertainments for banquets, I don’t need you to tell jokes. You are to be my wife, not a mistress for my amusement.”

Vivian looked at Alajos, his eyes a light brown, deep and bright, with a glass-like clarity. She felt she could see sincerity in his eyes, which gradually calmed her restless heart.

The breeze gently brushed her face, carrying the scent of roses.

In her villa in Los Angeles, Vivian also had such a red rose garden, but alas, she would never see it again.

“I…” Vivian began to speak, but before she could finish, a sob escaped her, and tears fell into her tea. She wiped her face with her hand and said, “I’m glad to hear you speak so of your future wife, Mr. Hargrave. You are different from many in the mafia.”Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Oh?” Alajos didn’t smile, “That’s not necessarily a compliment, Miss Vivian.”