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Oliver Brentwood

OLIVER's POV

Out of all the girls on planet Earth, I still couldn't fathom why my mother would bring that cheap woman into our home as my intended bride. The thought of marriage repelled me, especially after the disaster that was my last relationship.

Being the most powerful and wealthiest man in the city already weighs heavily on my shoulders. As if that wasn't enough, my family is also the most influential here. And now, my mother wishes to compound that burden by insisting I get married.

There are times when wielding power feels invigorating, but at others, having to constantly project strength just to live up to external expectations becomes exasperating. Oh, how I wish you were here, Melissa; with you, life seemed so much simpler. Now, I'm destined to spend my days with a gold digger.

I'm determined to make her regret this arrangement. Grabbing my car keys, I head for the club where a particular stripper provides me some solace. Oddly enough, she bears a striking resemblance to Melissa—or is it just wishful thinking? Watching her move, I'm reminded so strongly of the way you danced for me.

Oh, Melissa, how I miss you. If only I could turn back time to correct my wrongs and have you return to me.

Glancing at the clock, I see it's nearing the time for her performance. I press down on the accelerator, eager to reach the club. Taking my sports car—and several bodyguards out of necessity due to my family's many enemies—I never venture out without protection.

Arriving at the club, I'm shocked to find another performer on stage. Where is she? Why isn't she dancing tonight? Boos from the crowd fill the air as they watch the new dancer. I send one of my guards to fetch Mrs. Lucy while I wait impatiently in the VIP section. She knows I don't pay top dollar just to miss Valenchez's performance.

"Where is she?" I demand once Mrs. Lucy appears.

"Good evening, sir," she greets me nervously.

"That doesn't answer my question. Where is Valenchez?"

"I'm sorry, young master, but she no longer works here."

"And why is that?"

"She didn't say. She simply quit."

Is that the real issue, or did you fail to pay her appropriately, prompting her departure?

"Um... it's..."

"That's what I thought. Call her and tell her I'll give her thirty thousand dollars to be here tomorrow and perform. If she's absent again, you'll face my fury, and I will ensure this club closes its doors for good."

"I'll do as you say," she stammers.

"You'd better," I retort before leaving, consumed with disappointment. I had almost started to believe in reincarnation because of her resemblance to Melissa. Valenchez, please come back. You could have been mine if not for the gold digger my mother has chosen.

Just thinking about her infuriates me. I enter the palace with a scowl, hoping to avoid my mother, but she calls out to me the moment she sees me.

"Oliver? Come, join us for dinner."

"I'm not hungry, Mom."

"Oliver?"

"Fine, I'll be down shortly."

How can I stomach dining with that gold digger? I head upstairs to change before reluctantly joining them for dinner.

At the dining table, my mother insists I sit beside her.

"Mom? I can't possibly sit next to this woman," I silently protest. But not wishing to upset her, I feign compliance.

"Sure, Mom," I murmur, planting a kiss on her cheek and sitting down—stepping on her foot as I do so. She winces but stays quiet. Suffer in silence, that's right.

"Oliver, the reception is all arranged for tomorrow, and it promises to be unforgettable. Immediately after, you two will leave for a two-week honeymoon in Dubai," my mother announces cheerfully.

"What?" we both exclaim in unison.

"Why the surprise? Surely you didn't expect to stay here after your wedding?"

"But what about your health, Mom? Are you sure you're not overexerting yourself?"

"Don't fret, my dear. The maids are plenty, and my doctor visits daily. There's no need for concern."

"Mom, I..."

"No buts, Oliver. My decision is final."

Damn it! How did she charm my mother so effectively? As the unwelcome bride lowers her head to eat, I glare venomously at her. Part of me wishes she'd choke on her food.

Trust me, these will be the most excruciating two weeks of your existence.

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