Chapter Text
You wake up the morning after your birthday feeling like a truck had hit you. Thanks to a certain someone, you are now walking evidence of the events of last night.
Rafayel’s side of the bed was cold, but the smell of toast and coffee drifted through the air.
You lazily rolled out of bed and grabbed whatever oversized t-shirt was laying around, slipping it on yourself, before making your way to the kitchen downstairs.
“Morning, cutie.” Rafayel said in a carefree manner as he flipped the egg in the pan. “How are you feelin’?”
“Sore.” You grumbled. “I can barely walk!”
“Sorry…” Rafayel turned off the stove. “Does breakfast make up for it?”
“It better be good.”
Rafayel scoffed. “Puh-lease. When have my culinary skills ever failed you?”
You took a sip of his coffee sitting beside the stove, and grimaced at the unfamiliar taste. “Why’s it salty?”
“Salty?” He took the cup from your hands and tried it himself, taking a couple sips as if to confirm that his taste buds hadn’t deceived him. “I think I added salt instead of sugar.”
“I can tell.”
“I made you a cup over there.” Rafayel signaled to the mug sitting on the counter, as he poured his cup into the sink. “I didn’t add anything to it yet.”
Your stomach growled. “I want my sandwich.”
“Coming up, cutie…but before that,” he lifted you up on the counter. “I need to make sure you’re okay.”
“Wha-“ you realize what he’s doing when he began to part your legs. “Hey!” You scrambled to cover yourself, but he quickly grabbed your wrist.
“I am a responsible person—if I have inflicted pain upon my beloved girlfriend, I must take responsibility.” He stared intently between your legs, as if to examine every vein beneath your skin. “It is a bit swollen…” He admitted.
“I wonder why…” you muttered, not looking at him.
“But I’ll make sure you’ll be a-okay before you know it.” He slid the t-shirt back down, smiling innocently. “If you can’t walk, I’ll be your legs for as long as until you need.”
“Mmm…okay. I’ll take your word for it.” You swung your arms over his shoulders. “Chair.”
“I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.” He chuckled lightheartedly, placing you down on a chair by the counter, before placing a sandwich in front of you.
Rafayel parked his car outside your apartment complex before bridal-carrying you inside (you stubbornly insisted he live up to his word, to which he didn’t object).
“Wait, let me get the mail first.” You pointed at the column of mail boxes down the hall.
“Oh.” He obediently walked down the hall as you dug inside your purse for the keys.
There were a few envelopes inside—bills, junk mail, credit card statements—but one in particular stood out from the rest. It was worn out, almost like it had been sitting somewhere, forgotten, for a long time.
Rafayel set you down on your sofa before bidding farewell.
“Drive home safe!” You called after.
As the door closed, you ripped open the aged envelope.
Sutherland Marriage Contract
Your heart skipped.
You stared at the title for several seconds, convinced there had to be some mistake.
Then you began to read.
The contract had been drafted years ago, long before you had any say in the matter, and according to its terms, you were to marry into the Sutherland family exactly two months after your twenty-sixth birthday.
This has to be some cruel joke, right?
Your eyes flickered to the bottom of the page, and there lies the signature of none other than your late adoptive grandmother.
No. This has to be some cruel joke.
You flipped the page over, as if there might be some explanation hidden on the back. There wasn’t.
Although you’ve only had a brief encounter with Mr. Sutherland during a mission with Rafayel, you knew damn that he had ties with EVER and to get involved with him was the last thing you’d want to do.
Your gaze fell on the return address on the envelope, and without thinking twice, you took out your phone and called a taxi.
If this isn’t some sick joke, you needed answers. You had to get to the bottom of this.