Running Away From Mr Arrogant (His Undying Obsession)

I paced up and down the room, back and forth, over and over again, for what felt like an eternity, but I still couldn't find a solution to my immense and overwhelming dilemma that was plaguing my mind right at that very moment. The weight of the situation was bearing down on me like a ton of bricks, and the urgency to escape the mess I had found myself in was growing stronger with each passing second. But alas, the question remained, how?

Feeling a surge of determination, I mustered up the strength to lift off the heavy fabric that concealed the door, revealing it once again in all its glory. I scrutinized it with zeal, hoping that perhaps a hidden passage or a secret exit would miraculously appear before my eyes. However, no such luck presented itself to me.

Summoning all the courage I had left within me, I cautiously turned the doorknob and gingerly ventured out into the unknown. And there they were, standing like stoic and unwavering statues, the bodyguards. Their presence felt utterly absurd at a wedding, of all places. Who in their right mind brings such formidable protectors to an event filled with love and celebration?

To add insult to injury, as if fate was mocking me, there wasn't a single window in the room that could offer me an escape route. Not even the sanctuary of the bathroom's window provided any solace. Desperation took hold of me, and I even attempted to scale the walls in a feeble attempt to reach the elusive window. Alas, the height proved hopeless, and even if I managed to reach it, squeezing through its narrow frame seemed like an impossible feat. And to think, I was trapped on the first floor, so close yet so far from my salvation.

As I stood there, my mind racing, it became painfully clear that I had exhausted all possible ideas. The weight of the world seemed to rest solely on my shoulders, and the realization of the dire consequences that awaited me if I didn't act swiftly threatened to consume me whole.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, I retreated back into the room, seeking solace on the familiar couch that had witnessed my moments of distress. I collapsed onto its cushions, allowing myself a brief respite from the chaos that surrounded me. Closing my eyes halfway, I desperately sought a glimmer of inspiration, a spark of creativity that could potentially lead me out of this labyrinth of despair. But alas, my mind betrayed me, and it felt as if my thoughts had evaporated into thin air at the very moment I needed them the most.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the room, breaking the silence and jolting me back to reality. The sound reverberated in my ears, but still, I refused to open my eyes. For in that fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe in a different reality, a reality where I could escape it all, leaving behind the shackles of my current predicament and never looking back. At that moment, I saw my freedom materialize before me, an ethereal vision that I desperately clung to, knowing deep within my being that it was too precious to relinquish.

"We are here for your make-up," a melodious voice reverberates through the spacious room, announcing their presence with a touch of elegance and allure.

However, I choose to disregard this call, for my current predicament does not warrant a session of beautification. No, what I truly yearn for is an escape from this place that suffocates my spirit. Yet, the persistent voice echoes once more, emphasizing their purpose - to adorn the bride with exquisite makeup. How unfortunate it is that there shall be no bride present in this very room.

Suddenly, a commanding voice pierces through the air, resonating with strength and masculinity.

"Miss Bowman."

Its power startles me, jolting me out of my tranquil sanctuary. It is her; the formidable bodyguard woman stationed by my door, a formidable presence that demands attention. Now that she has successfully captured my undivided focus, she proceeds to address me once again.

With a solemn tone, she elucidates their purpose - to beautify my appearance with bridal makeup. The word "bride" lingers in the air, casting a shadow of confusion over my consciousness. It is as though this term is foreign to me, as if its essence has never graced my ears before. Sensing my bewilderment, the bodyguard woman fixed her piercing gaze upon me, her electric blue eyes penetrating the depths of my memory.

Suddenly, a spark of recognition ignites within me, illuminating the recesses of my mind.

"Yes, of course," I stammered, my laughter betraying my nervousness.

The notion of a bride resurfaces from the depths of my subconscious, as if an ancient memory has been awakened from its slumber. The weight of this realization settles upon me, and I begin to comprehend the significance of their presence.

The words that escaped my lips were not just mere words, but rather a reflection of uncertainty and doubt, as if the speaker was seeking reassurance.

The air was heavy with anticipation as the make-up artist's gaze shifted from me to the boss lady, her face betraying no emotion. It was as if she was waiting for some kind of confirmation or validation.

“Shall we?” after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence, she finally mustered the courage to voice her question, her voice tinged with hesitation and a hint of anxiety.

The boss lady, with her commanding presence and no-nonsense attitude, responded with a growl, clearly indicating that time was of the essence. The sharpness in her tone made me flinch, a subtle reminder of the power dynamic at play. If the boss lady was this intimidating, I couldn't help but wonder what her boss would be like.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but I quickly diverted my attention to the mirror vanity, where I took a seat on the elegant stool. The make-up girl and her team wasted no time in springing into action, each one of them fulfilling their designated roles with the utmost precision and skill. One expertly styled my hair, another meticulously painted my nails, while their boss, a true artist in her own right, focused on enhancing my features with her make-up expertise.

As the boss lady made her exit, her final instructions lingered in the air, a reminder of the tightrope I was walking.

Now, with the room filled with others, the chance presenting itself, I knew I had to act swiftly if I wanted to change the course of my fate. The thought of being bound to a heartless man for the rest of my days filled me with dread, and I was determined to seize this opportunity for freedom and happiness.

Under the influence of emotional manipulation, I reluctantly gave my consent to the marriage, but at this moment, I find myself unable to sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of others. It seems that they did not consider my perspective in their pursuit of money, more money, and social connections.

As for my own life, it appears to hold no significance to them. I had anticipated such behavior from my father, but to my dismay, my mother was also complicit in their scheme. Today, they will shamelessly proceed with their plans, that is, if I am unable to execute my escape plan successfully. Lost in my contemplation, I failed to notice that the ladies had completed their task.

Suddenly, one of them calls out, "We're done, ma'am."

My gaze returns to the mirror, where I behold my own reflection, adorned in beauty and elegance. The urge to wipe away all the make-up in one swift motion and loudly express my frustration at their audacity overwhelms me. And at that moment, an ingenious idea took hold of me. I can only hope that this unconventional plan will succeed; otherwise, I will inevitably be addressed as Mrs. Black for the rest of my days.

Taking a tissue from the vanity, I meticulously select an eyeliner and inscribe a message on a piece of paper. I then pass it to the lady who is observing me.

In shock, she exclaims, "What! No, ma'am, I cannot fulfill that request."

After skillfully maneuvering the car into its designated parking spot, I reached out to my trusty phone, eager to glean a glimpse of the ever-moving hands of time. To my delight, the digital display showcased a few fleeting minutes past the hour of seven, signaling that I still possessed a little bit of precious time to engage in the necessary preparations for our evening meal. As per our customary routine, the appointed hour for our family dinner tended to hover around the time of seven thirty, a notion that, quite understandably, would not sit well with my fastidious father if I were to gracelessly waltz in tardily. However, on this particular day, my arrival would unavoidably be delayed, for I had found myself engaged within the warm embrace of my dear friend's abode, without noticing, allowing the sands of time to slip through our fingers as we indulged in the captivating discussion surrounding the latest trend and gossip that spread through our beloved city.

To be pe