THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance

nervous kind of energy in the air that made it feel like if there were enough complaints this wouldn’t happen.
They’d be wrong. 
That nervous energy was only going to make everyone else uncomfortable. Not me.

When I walk into rooms, people get quiet, and I fuel the rumors with my detachment and repellant personality.
I want people to run away.
I want to be feared.
I only want one person to stay, and I ensured that she would with my endless bank account and the stupid contract in my hand.
My parents, the flashy and imprudent, stood there with grins on their faces like I was fulfilling some kind of fucking prophecy. I mean, I was following the rules, but I didn’t give a damn about the rules.
This wasn’t famine; it was abundance. 
Not bothering to greet her mom and stepdad, I headed for the conference room. All contracts were supposed to be signed there, but my fellow horsemen had all decided to break this rule and just about every other one that are supposed to protect us.
“Let's get this over with.” Pushing open the heavy glass door, I glanced over the shiny lights of LA that looked even brighter tonight. Throwing down the contracts, hers and mine, I took the seat at the head of the table where I belonged.
No one was more built for the torment of this job like me.
Her parents timidly took a side of the table, but only after her stepdad deemed it so by sitting down and tossing his jacket to her mom.
He was a typical kind of controlling douchebag you could find on every corner of LA. I wasn’t dissing it, hell, I’m a douchebag too, but I also preferred to not have it reflected back to me.
My dad’s hand squeezed my shoulder as he walked behind me and took the further seats, only he pulled out my mom’s chair and poured her water first.
My dad was crude, a showoff, enjoyed the finer things in life, and believed everything was for sale. Even my mom’s love, who was half his age and had an affinity for Versace.
It was hard to clearly distinguish the good and evil among everyone in the room; it was up for debate.
Everyone but me, that is. 
My mom, Cecelia, was smiling so much I didn’t recognize her as she spoke to the woman who was supposed to be Eve’s mom, but the plastic surgery and refinement to her appearance wasn’t something I remembered. She was frail like Eve, eyes not as bright, and her outgoing sensibility that made being a mom second seemed like a distant memory.
This imposter was something else entirely.
What the fuck is in the water in Denmark?
When Eve’s mom wasn’t given permission to speak, she turned all her focus on Eve. With a sympathetic smile, she reached for her hand across the table, showing something in her eyes that looked a lot like guilt.
Eve was more excited to see my mom than to be reunited with her own. My mom was practically hers too growing up, there for her through every moment, even when she got her first period.
Ignoring her whiplash of emotions, I opened the folder with our contracts. Slicing right through the small talk that hit a brick wall, Eve’s mom simply smiled pretty. It made it clear that whatever ate away at the real Eve had also sunk its fangs into her mom.
“Let’s begin. I assume everyone has a copy of the contract in question,” my voice was dull and devoid of any real excitement. I only use the emotions that serve me, and that one? Waste of time.
Eve sat to my right, in the seat before her parents, as I glanced over her contract that was completely unmarked. She had no issues with anything that was going to guide our marriage and that pissed me off more than her hard nipples in that tight fucking dress that barely covered the tops of her thighs.
“Line five, second paragraph, point three—strike stock.” I paused, waiting for the lawyer my dad brought to respond while he tried to stay neutral between our two parties.
Eve’s sad excuse for parents had to accept the complaint before I could move on. If they hated me before then I’m sure they hated me more right now. My lips flattened into a line as I waited impatiently for them to agree to strike calling their daughter stock.


I was already annoyed with having to take turns when I decided to pick up the pace and make them chase after me the way I did when flexing my Clave muscles. Business was a language I spoke fluently, and I expected anyone who wanted to do business with me to have the same skill set.
Stealing a glance to my right, I watched Eve examine everyone slowly, looking for clues as to why I’m so awful in my parent’s unwrinkled faces. She wasn’t even interested in the conversation or complaints. She was so hyper focused on making me hers and solving the mystery of me rather than the fact that she was being treated like a handbag I was purchasing.
“Strike: monthly check-ins, blood oath, and split of wealth. Denmark is off the table, heir in one year is also off the table, the other bullshit titles where her birth name should be need to be removed, and anything that hinders my privacy.” Sitting back, I waited for a reaction like I was dehydrated, and their scowls were the only kind of solution for my cottonmouth.
My father sat up with a sheer look of panic when he spat out, “The blood oath is required, Bowen. It can’t be stricken from the contract.”
Twisting my gaze in his direction, I arrogantly responded, “I have an innovative idea for that. A tattoo. Mix the blood with the red ink, problem solved.”
Eve’s