Trevor's POV
“Yeah, exactly! Marrying into the Youngs is every man’s dream in this city. Who cares whose last name the kid takes?”
The room buzzed with whispers and laughter. The more they talked, the smugger Mr. Watts looked.
“You hear that?” he sneered. “You’re just some broke nobody with no power, no background, and you’re talking about dignity? What a joke.”
Even so, their mockery barely fazed me. In fact, it almost made me laugh.
Sure, the Youngs were one of the wealthiest families in the capital; no one could deny that. But when it came to legacy and influence, they were nothing compared to our family.
Money meant nothing when it was stacked against real power.
I leveled my gaze at him. “Mr. Watts, I’ll warn you one last time. Step aside. Now. Or deal with the consequences.”
Maybe it was the edge in my tone, or the energy that slipped through, but for a split second, his smirk faltered.
“You—you little punk! You dare threaten me?” He fumbled for his phone, then threatened, “Fine! I’ll call Miss right now!”
But I didn't feel anything. I simply shrugged, spreading my hands lazily. “Go ahead.”
A few minutes later, the dressing room door swung open with a loud bang.
A tall young woman then swept in, surrounded by bodyguards. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.
“Eric,” she snapped, her voice crisp and cold. “You can’t even handle something this simple? What am I paying you for?”
I turned toward her and asked, “So, you’re Felicity Young, my fiancée?”
I studied her carefully, and I'd admit, she was stunning. Nearly five-foot-seven, her white wedding gown hugged her curves perfectly. If not for that icy look in her eyes, she could’ve passed for a goddess.
“Miss Young,” I said politely, “since it’s our first time meeting, allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Trevor Dalton. I came from a military—”
“No need,” she cut me off mid-sentence, flicking her hand dismissively. “I have zero interest in who you are.”
I had planned to introduce my background, maybe give her a reason to drop that arrogance. But apparently, this woman wasn’t the type to listen.
The way she looked at me said it all. In her eyes, I was just another gold-digging man chasing her family’s fortune.
“Miss Young,” I said calmly, “I understand this marriage was arranged by our parents, and that we’ve never met before. But cutting me off before I can even finish a sentence? Don’t you think that’s a little disrespectful?”
Her face darkened instantly.
“Disrespectful?” she snorted. “Mr. Dalton, do yourself a favor and look in the mirror. Do you really think you deserve my respect?”
She then gave a derisive laugh and tossed her hair. “Let me make one thing clear. If it weren’t for my father forcing me to marry you, I wouldn’t even glance your way. You’re nothing but a useless freeloader who lives off women.”
By now, her voice had risen, and she turned to address everyone in the room, making sure they all heard.
“And one more thing, don’t even think that after the wedding you’ll be part of my family. Without my permission, you don’t get to touch me. Not even once!”
Her words were sharp enough to slice through the air.
But I met her glare without flinching, my tone flat and emotionless.
“If you hate marrying me that much,” I said quietly, “then why force yourself?”
Then, after a brief pause, I added, “Why don’t we just call off the wedding? It’d be better for both of us.”
I genuinely meant it, no hostility, no ego, just a clean break.
But she didn’t see it that way. To her, my calmness was an insult.
Her expression twisted with contempt as she snapped, “You arrogant nobody. Don’t play that ‘hard to get’ game with me. I see right through you.”
