Eric’s lips curled into a smile. “This Saturday. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“Alright, I’ll wait for you.”
After the call ended, Eric leaned back in his chair, his mood as light as if he’d just had two glasses of fine whiskey. Time had never felt so slow; he wished the weekdays would fly by so Saturday could arrive sooner. Taking a deep breath, he reopened his laptop and felt a renewed sense of energy for his work.
—
On Saturday morning, a sleek black Maserati pulled up in front of Miranda’s apartment building earlier than planned.
Eric lowered the sun visor, carefully checking his hair in the mirror. Straightening his bow tie once more, he hoped to leave the best possible impression on Miranda.
Finally, Miranda arrived. She opened the car door on the passenger side and spoke gently, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s no problem, I just got here,” Eric replied with a warm smile.
As he looked at Miranda, she took his breath away all over again. Unlike the vibrant red dress she had worn to the auction, today she wore a simple white gown. Her makeup was light, and her entire presence exuded an elegant and graceful charm.
“My God, you look stunning. I almost wish you were really my girlfriend,” Eric said, his tone light but with a tinge of sincerity.
Miranda gave a faint smile but didn’t reply.
—
The Maserati glided to a stop in front of the Wilson family estate.
Miranda stepped out of the car gracefully, her eyes lifting to take in the opulent sight before her.
The estate was a grand European-style villa, its walls crafted from intricately carved, rare stone. Towering floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the warm golden glow of the sun. At the center of the meticulously manicured garden stood a Baroque-style fountain, spraying delicate streams of water.
With a designer’s eye, Miranda admired every detail of the villa, internally marveling at its owner’s impeccable taste.
As Eric joined her, he noticed her gaze and asked curiously, “What are you looking at, dear?”
“This building is stunning,” Miranda replied, her voice tinged with appreciation as her eyes remained on the architecture.
“If you like it, I could buy you one just like it,” Eric teased with a smile.
“Eric, that’s not funny at all!” Miranda shot him a glare.
“I’m serious,” Eric said, though his tone was playful.
“Enough! Let’s stop joking around,” Miranda said, rolling her eyes.
A hint of disappointment flickered in Eric’s gaze, but Miranda noticed it. She took the initiative, linking her arm with his.
Surprised, Eric hesitated and tried to pull away. “Miranda, we’re just pretending!”
Miranda held on, her tone light and playful. “Even if we’re pretending, we should act the part, right, darling?”
She winked at him mischievously. Eric smiled but said nothing.
Arm in arm, the two walked through the grand entrance.
—
The foyer was expansive and majestic. A towering crystal chandelier cast a soft, warm glow over the room. Already, the space was filled with well-dressed men and women, gathered in small groups, clinking champagne glasses, and chatting softly to the sound of elegant music.
As Miranda stood still for a moment, she saw Eric’s parents approaching them.
Her expression froze.
John was tall and composed, exuding a calm authority. Clemande, in a deep navy gown, moved with the refined grace of aristocracy.
Wait a minute. Clemande?
Miranda suddenly realized that the woman who had clashed with her at the styling studio was none other than Eric’s mother!
The world truly was small, Miranda thought to herself.
Oblivious to her internal shock, Eric, still basking in the joy of introducing his “girlfriend” to his parents, said enthusiastically, “This is my girlfriend, Miranda. Miranda, meet my father, John, and my mother, Clemande.”
Miranda offered a polite, composed smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.”
However, the two did not respond.
Clemande’s expression remained stern. “Eric, we need to talk to you.”
Eric looked confused but, seeing their serious expressions, nodded.
Before leaving, he leaned down and kissed Miranda gently on the forehead. “Wait for me, darling. I’ll be right back.”
John and Clemande exchanged displeased glances at this display, their disapproval clear.
Eric followed his parents into the study.
—
John sat down on the sofa, his tone grave. “Eric, close the door.”
Eric complied, then sat across from them. “Dad, Mom, what’s this about?”
John glanced at Clemande, who nodded for him to continue.
“Alright,” John began, turning back to Eric. “Eric, tell me, what is your girlfriend’s background?”
Eric immediately stood up, understanding their implication. They were unhappy with Miranda’s ordinary background, believing she wasn’t worthy of him.
His brows furrowed as he replied firmly, “I love her. Her background doesn’t matter.”
John slammed his hand on the table, his anger evident. “Eric, don’t forget-you are the heir to the Wilson family!”
Clemande chimed in, “Exactly. The Wilson family cannot accept an ordinary woman like Miranda into the family!”
Eric felt as though his chest was being crushed, suffocated by the weight of his family’s expectations. From his childhood, every aspect of his life had been dictated by his parents, from which prestigious school he attended to when he would take over the family business.
Shaking his head, he said, “No. Miranda is a good person.”
Clemande let out a derisive snort. “A good person? You’ve been fooled! Let me tell you, the woman who argued with me at the styling studio that day was her!”
Eric stared at his mother in shock. “There must be some misunderstanding. Miranda isn’t like that.”
John sighed deeply, his tone filled with reproach. “Eric, you’ve lost your head over love. Let me remind you-your marriage isn’t just a personal matter; it’s part of the Wilson family’s business strategy.”
He stood, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled open a drawer. Taking out a photograph, he placed it on the coffee table in front of Eric.
The photo showed a young woman in a graduation gown.
“This is Monica Kingston,” John said. “We’ve already chosen her to be your future wife.”
“But I don’t even know her!” Eric protested.
“We’ll arrange for you to meet,” John replied. “Eric, you need to understand-Monica is the right woman for you.”
“Sorry, but I can’t accept that,” Eric said firmly.
Ignoring their protests, he turned and walked out of the room.
—
In the ballroom, Miranda wandered aimlessly, bored. She picked up a champagne glass from a passing tray and sipped it gracefully, then made her way to the dessert table. Taking a small macaron, she nibbled on it as her gaze roamed the room.
Her attention was caught by the intricate carvings on a column. Drawn to the craftsmanship, she moved closer, studying it carefully and trying to identify the artist behind it.
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice a group of women approaching until they surrounded her.
Miranda looked up, her calm eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces. Her tone was steady. “Excuse me, could you let me through?”
One woman in a pink dress stepped forward, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jessica.”
Miranda’s expression remained impassive as she took in Jessica’s heavily made-up face and ostentatious outfit. The dazzling bracelet on her wrist made it clear she was the leader of the group.
“And who are you?” Jessica asked, her tone laced with hostility. “Why would Eric bring you to a family gathering?”