Avah's pov
He said it so casually, like uprooting my life and moving into a new house was as simple as deciding what to have for lunch. I stared at him, trying to process what he just said.
"Two days," I repeated, my voice tinged with disbelief.
"Yes," he said, leaning back in his seat. "I don't see the point in delaying. The sooner we settle into this arrangement, the better."
I wanted to argue, to demand more time, but the way he spoke—so calm, so certain—left little room for negotiation. He wasn't asking; he was telling me like I had no other option than to listen to him. Unfortunately, I had no choice.
"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "But you don't need to send someone to help me. I can handle packing up my things on my own."
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Are you always this stubborn?"
"I prefer to call it independence," I shot back, unable to resist.
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. "Very well, little Moon. But at least allow me to send someone to handle the moving. I'd rather not have you lifting heavy boxes."
The nickname caught me off guard again, softening the sharp edges of the conversation. It felt... intimate, like a secret only we shared.
I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to win this argument. "Alright. But I decide what gets packed and what doesn't."
"Deal," he said, his smirk turning into a genuine smile.
As the car began to move, I found myself staring out the window, my mind racing. This was happening. I was about to move in with a man I barely knew, into a house I had chosen in minutes, and start a life that still felt like it belonged to someone else.
And yet, a small part of me, the part that had signed that contract, felt a strange sense of anticipation. Like maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be as bad as I had feared.
But as I glanced at Roman, who was now busy on his phone, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stepping into something far more complicated than I realized.
He dropped me off and waited until I was safely inside the house. We had spent almost the entire day at the law firm, and neither of us had eaten. When he suggested grabbing food, I politely declined, saying I wanted to eat at home alone and get started on my packing.
Inside, I threw together a quick meal and washed the dishes immediately after. But as I sat down to eat, curiosity gnawed at me, and I couldn't resist googling Roman Stone.
The search results were overwhelming. His face dominated the top of the page; sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and the kind of charisma that seemed unreal. Roman Stone, heir to the Rome International Empire, worth billions.
Their family's reach was unimaginable. They weren't just wealthy. They were powerful. Food production, electronics, pharmaceuticals, real estate. There wasn't a sector their Empire didn't touch. One article described them as "Modern Royalty," untouchable in influence and wealth.
Scrolling further, I found stories and photos that painted a picture of his life. Lavish galas, business deals that made headlines, charity events where he donated millions without blinking. His fashion sense was impeccable, his every suit tailored to perfection. Every detail of his life screamed sophistication and luxury.
Then there was his dating history. Only one name stood out: Selene. High school and college sweethearts, their love story was the stuff of tabloids until they reportedly broke up when they went abroad for further studies. She was stunning, the kind of beauty that turned heads; tall, elegant, and polished.
After Selene, there were photos of him escorting actresses, models, and socialites to functions, though none seemed to stay in his life long. Despite this, he was adored by netizens, hailed as the most eligible bachelor in the country. Every woman dreamed of being on his arm.
And here I was.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. What was I even doing?
How was I supposed to fit into his world? I had no memory of who I was, no career to speak of, no connections, and no idea how to navigate high society. The thought of standing next to him at one of those functions made my stomach churn. Would people laugh at me? Would they wonder what someone like him saw in someone like me?
My hand found its way to my forehead as I let out a groan. How could I have been so reckless? I should have done my research before signing anything. It was all making sense now; the extravagant divorce settlement, the emphasis on image and appearances. This wasn't a marriage; it was a business deal.
But only one question loomed in my mind like a dark cloud.
Was I truly ready to step into the life of Seoul's Prince? And even if I was, would I survive it?