Chapter 9: Dating

Her words hung in the air, freezing the moment for several seconds.

Henry looked at the black bank card she was offering, but didn't take it. Instead, the hint of amusement in his eyes deepened.

His voice was low, with a subtle rasp that made every word feel deliberate. "Responsible?"

Sylvia felt a prickling at the back of her neck under his gaze, but forced herself to nod. "Yes."

"Good." A small laugh rumbled from his chest—deep, rich, and unsettlingly pleasant. It made her pulse quicken for reasons she didn't want to examine.

He stepped closer, his height and presence closing in until she was wrapped once again in that crisp cedar scent that seemed to belong only to him.

Ignoring the card, his long fingers tilted her chin up, compelling her to meet his eyes.

"Money isn't what I want." His touch was warm, callused, brushing against her skin in a way that sent an involuntary shiver through her. "I want you."

Sylvia's mind spun. She thought he was mocking her, but there was no trace of contempt in those fathomless eyes—only steady, unflinching intent.

Absurd. Completely absurd.

Yet in that absurdity, Andrew's smug, deceitful face from last night flashed in her mind like a shard of ice driven straight into her chest.

A reckless impulse surged.

She couldn't change the fact she was being forced into a marriage. So why not, before that, take hold of something entirely different?

Meeting his gaze, she forced the word out between her teeth. "Fine."

Henry didn't look the least bit surprised.

He released her chin, a satisfied curve forming at the corner of his mouth, and walked toward the wardrobe.

Sylvia remained rooted to the spot, still reeling from the decision she'd just made.

Minutes later, Henry emerged dressed not in casual loungewear but a crisp white shirt and tailored dark trousers. The change sharpened every line of him, his presence commanding without effort.

He stopped in front of her and took her hand naturally. "Let's go."

"Where?" The question slipped out before she could think.

"City Hall opens at nine. If we leave now, we'll make it."

Sylvia stared at him in stunned silence.

She was half-convinced the hangover had scrambled her hearing. "Marriage license?"

"You said you'd take responsibility." His raised brow suggested it was the most logical thing in the world.

"But… we just met! I don't even know your full name!" Panic set in, her mind tripping over itself. "We should… get to know each other first."

He studied her rare fluster, cheeks flushed, eyes wide like a startled deer. The amusement returned to his eyes, and he chuckled softly, reaching out to pinch her puffed cheek. The texture was even better than he'd imagined.

"Relax." He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "I'm teasing."

Her body went rigid, heat flooding her ears.

Straightening, Henry's gaze lingered on the red tips of her ears. His tone shifted, becoming more grounded. "But we could start as boyfriend and girlfriend. That's reasonable enough, isn't it?"

Compared to the idea of a marriage license, it was almost easy to accept.

Sylvia's tension eased, and she nodded—perhaps to escape the moment more than anything.

"My name's Henry Smith." He finally offered it, then asked, "And you?"

"Sylvia Brooks." She said it quietly, then realized she was tasting the sound of his name on her tongue. A wry smile tugged at her lips. "Andrew. Henry. Seems I'm destined to cross paths with the Smith family."

Henry's eyes flickered, but he didn't press. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim wallet.

Sylvia assumed he was retrieving an ID, but instead he drew out a black card and slipped it into her hand.

"Password's your birthday." His tone left no room for refusal. "From now on, my salary goes into that account."

The card was warm from his touch, and it felt like holding something too hot. "I can't… This is too—"

"A girlfriend managing her boyfriend's money is perfectly natural." He cut her off, closing her fingers around the card and locking it in her palm. "Unless you're just saying the words and don't actually mean to own the title."

The pressure in his voice didn't feel oppressive—it was oddly calming, stripping away her instinct to resist.

She looked down at the card, then back at him.

From last night to now—barely ten hours—he'd saved her, become her boyfriend, and now handed her his finances.

The absolute trust, the unapologetic control… It was domineering, but after betrayal, it was the first time she'd felt utterly safe.

A dangerous thought whispered through her mind: maybe marrying Henry instead of Zachary Smith wouldn't be such a bad idea.

She shook her head quickly. She had to be out of her mind.

With their relationship defined, the air between them shifted. Henry seemed to enjoy the role of boyfriend. At noon, he didn't order takeout—he drove Sylvia out instead.

"What do you feel like eating?" he asked, glancing at her from behind the wheel.

"Anything." She was still lost in the whirl of her changing reality.

Seeing her distracted, he turned the car down a lively street and parked beside a bustling food market. "Then this."

He nodded toward a crowded corner barbecue stall.

The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat and spices, voices rising and falling in a constant hum.

Sylvia blinked in surprise. Henry was already out of the car, opening her door.

He moved with the ease of someone familiar with the place, ordering a few skewers and two bottles of soda before joining her at the stall to wait.

While they waited, he twisted open a bottle and handed it to her. "Head still hurting?"

She shook her head, sipping slowly, her gaze drawn to him.

Even in the noise and smoke, he stood tall, impossible to overlook. People stole glances at him, but he didn't seem to notice—his attention fixed on the grill.

This man…

Sylvia pressed her lips together. His background might be ordinary, his pay modest, but nothing about his bearing was.

Across the street, at the entrance to a café, a young woman dressed in sharp, fashionable clothes—Lyanna Patel—was about to step inside when something caught her eye. She froze mid-step.

"No way…" Lyanna rubbed her eyes, then pulled out her phone, zooming in.

On the screen, her notoriously aloof uncle Henry stood at a street stall beside a striking, cool-looking woman.

What shocked her wasn't just the woman—it was Henry taking the bottle Sylvia had been drinking from and tipping it back for a sip, completely at ease.

"My God," Lyanna exclaimed, snapping the photo in a rush.

She quickly opened a private Facebook group with only three members, uploaded the shots, and typed furiously.

Lyanna: [Breaking news! Henry has a girlfriend?! Broad daylight, street food, and he's drinking from her bottle!]