Sofia sat crossed-legged on her bed. Her hands were busy counting fingers and jotting down a list of valuable things she owned—things that could bring her some money by selling them off. On a different sheet, she'd already summed up what little she had in her bank account and personal savings at the bottom of her wardrobe.

"These are like a mosquito before an elephant!"

She threw the pen away, feeling dejected and thoroughly defeated.

The clock ticked away leisurely on the wall outside her bedroom door, the house was eerily quiet in the middle of the night making the unwanted noise of time float towards her with ease. Overpowering the incessant ticking, her little, broken sigh came out like a scream of despair.

The marriage proposal had probably come out of Robert Wilder's kind heart that felt like compassion bordering dangerously close to pity towards her family. It was certain the man would want to help, considering that her grandfather was his mentor. She could also understand how stressed Robert might be feeling about his son going away from him again, she knew how much Robert missed Max by the way he kept talking about him and his achievements over the years while eating in her diner.

The idea of this marriage might have seemed a perfect, common solution to both the senior men of their families.

But they were still not, and perhaps, would never be aware of the poisoned blood and annihilating fire between Max and her dwelling staunchly over the years. He detested her more than probably a crawling worm in the soil.

And so, despite her consent, Sofia was still trying to find a backdoor—a way out of the upcoming wedding.

But even after so many countless hours, she still had only herself to sell.

Flashes of what a lifetime with Max might look like swarmed her mind. And to say honestly, it did not look promising at all.

Sofia thought about Max's phone calls after dinner—phone calls that she didn't have the guts or wish to pick up. Not yet, at least.

She was way too suffocated by everyone's excitement over the news of her upcoming wedding to one of the wealthiest families in the city. The wealthiest family part was especially aunt Marla's review. The woman was sparkling, Sofia suspected, in the relief of her current living arrangement being saved and the greed of some future benefits out of this marriage.

Grampa was all about making plans with Skyler and Sam. He looked somewhat skeptical and Sofia had found him staring at her on various occasions, but otherwise, she couldn't find a sign that he was thinking about backing off from the marriage madness.

A number of times Sofia had wondered throughout the day... how was it possible that they were so much blinded by joy and relief to overlook the silent cries of her soul, or was it her acting skills that were worthy of a grand salute. Or it could be the fact that they thought of this as a victory. Paying off a monstrous debt, connecting to an opulent name in the higher upper class, and finally getting rid of her were done with God's grace all at once.

There comes the point when a person gets exhausted trying to seek only good in people around.

Sofia had probably reached that point now, not that she had a reason not to.

Or else why would no one bother to properly ask if she had signed in to this wedding only for the sake of that demonic debt? Indeed she'd agreed, and indeed she'd voiced how certain she was about this. But could no one really see behind the strong facade how absolutely scared and hopeless she felt?

What about her happiness?

However, some questions are better left unuttered, for there is no easy way to ask them. And even if asked, there's a risk they will spread darkness that can never be removed again.

Angry and agonizing sobs bubbled a burning path up her throat no matter how much she tried to restrain them. She quieted the noises of grief that escaped her mouth, pressing her face into the pillow.

She stood at a hopeless point at the moment, but she was determined not to surrender in a full sense yet.

She might have consented to the alliance but decided she would not yet give up on her attempts to avoid the wedding.

It was her race against time and a cruel fate to gather a million dollars.

--

"Christopher Mevil called some fifteen minutes ago," Simmy said, rushing towards Sofia.

Sofia looked up, her hands busy keeping her bag aside on the desk and dragging out the chair. "That's good. Is he going to send a check or pay in cash?"

Simmy clucked her tongue and made a face. "He's apparently asked you to go meet him this evening and collect the payment," after a short, dramatic pause, she added, "at The Krugs' over lunch. I'm highly suspicious that he's tricking you into a date."

Highly suspicious, indeed.

The Krugs' is the best tropical culture-inspired hotel and restaurant downtown, also the number one choice for the city's affluent people's—lovers' and cheaters'—secret rendezvouses. The place also had a casino in it, making it a gamblers' paradise.

Confused, Sofia's head shot up. "Huh? He's a nuisance, Simmy. We've been calling him endlessly to have him pay the bill for the insane amount of food he'd ordered home freaking two months ago. What does he want now? Me to chase him in person and him to laugh at my face as he tricks me into silly dates? I can't even do a lot to get the money. Mevil's filthy rich and has got his agents everywhere to save him from the consequences of his shitty ways."

Reasons why Sofia didn't prefer to deal with wealthy customers a lot.

"Take me with you, Sofia. Then I'll be able to hook out his guts if he dares to pull a stunt," Simmy bit out, smoke almost coming out of her nostrils.

"Leave it, Simmy," Cupping a hand on her forehead Sofia closed her eyes for a moment. It was not the first time, after all, that she had had to deal with scumbag customers.

Building a career is double the labor and stress for a woman.

"I should probably go and see if I can get the money now," she said.

After all, she needed to collect as much money as she could to get rid of her debt, and fast.

Simmy looked reluctant, though. "I refuse to believe that he just wants to talk."

Sofia quickly interjected. "Don't worry, Simmy. I'll handle it just fine. It would be highly controversial if I have my head chef now beating people around for me in the guise of a ruffian."

There was a moment of silence before Simmy broke out into a chuckle.

Sofia looked on with a soft smile. It felt liberating to see someone laugh so freely like that. She enjoyed these small moments.

Distracting moments can deliver relief, true. But they're as temporary as fast floating clouds in the sky.

Sofia's phone rang, and her smile swiftly evaporated.

She watched with brows furrowed as Max's name flashed on the screen again. And along with the phone, her ears began ringing as well. With fumbling fingers, she hurriedly cut the call.

It was an inevitable tsunami she was trying to stall.

"Someone harassing you?"

"Huh?" Simmy's dubious tone made Sofia snap her face up. She realized she had zoned out for a second back there. "No. Don't worry about it. Just go back to work."

"It's just always 'don't worry. Everything's alright for you. Even the strongest have a limit to their strength, Sofia. One day you're so going to find this out," Simmy muttered, stomping away.

Sofia sighed. What she didn't say out loud was that she felt like she was already on the brink, almost there to find out what it was like being drained out of all strength.

And so, when the next time, and then, continuously, her phone kept ringing—with a defeated sigh, she finally picked it up.

Her stomach dropped as Max spoke, more like barked. "You know you can't avoid this talk forever."

Sofia kept mum, imagining him on the other side of the phone—raking his hand through his hair, disheveling the dark strands with long fingers, shaking in a fury.

"How could you?" hissed his frustrated voice.

Did he loathe her that much?

Like she already didn't know.

"Answer me, damn it," Max yelled.

A shaky breath left her mouth. "I guess your father hasn't told you everything yet. Or were you that much aghast at the penance of having to marry me, out of all women, that you forgot to gather the essential details?"

"Details be damned," Max retorted. "As much I've gathered is that my father won't back down, and you've given your consent quite easily while I'm dying here to put a stop to this madness of a wedding. I would like to know, Sofia, what is your bloody agenda here?"

Sofia knew that he didn't have a very high opinion of her. But, right at this moment, hearing him announcing her giving consent to this marriage as an agenda really hurt.

But it was an agenda, literally, wasn't it? An agenda of quickly earning a million dollars.

 "It can't be that much different hearing the reasons from dad or you," he added, sarcasm in his tone. "Because I know for a fact what I will get from him is only the fables you've fed him. You seem to have done the same to Neil, after all, haven't you?"  

Sofia stilled for a second.

It hurt in a place she didn't know was capable of feeling hurt anymore. But Max was all about catching her by surprise.

She let out a heavy breath of glum inaudibly. Because there was no point in letting him hear it, he was seeing in her just what he craved to see.

"Listen, Max. I'm swamped right now." She really needed to set out for her 'meeting' with Mevil. Traffic was going to be mad at this hour, and if she wished to reach The Krugs' on time, she needed to get going now.

"Oh, you sure are." Max bit out, clearly disbelieving, full of mockery.

It was very tempting to tell him that despite not being as filthy rich or a kick-ass lawyer as him, she still had a small business that kept her busy. But she decided against it, considering how she was on the brink of being drained of strength and patience. She would rather save it for later. Never now.

"How about you meet me at The Krugs's and talk in person," Sofia offered.

And Max accepted, with a begrudging huff, after a long and tensed pause of pondering.

It's a universal truth that a lawyer is bound to think too much of everything and nothing. They're just trained to draw logic out of sentiment.

--

Sofia had always had this bad feeling about Christopher Mevil, and, no, it was not because of his gold tooth or the gold chains hanging from his neck, not even because of his usual shit-eating grins.

It might have something to do with the way he had stared at her when he was giving the wrecked order in her office. To say his gaze upon her was inappropriate would be an understatement. It felt downright slimy and disgusting.

By the time Sophia reached the hotel, she had begun having bouts of second thoughts.

Maybe it would have been safe and competent to bring Simmy the ruffian along after all.

Especially when she had another 'meeting' fixed with Max an hour later, and Sofia didn't know who she should be warier of—Mevil or Max?

It was pretty late, though, to ponder over that idea. So, Sofia strode to the hotel entrance steeling her spine and squeezing her canvas bag tight under her arm.

Shoulders squared, she approached the receptionist.

Sofia eyed the hustle inside the restaurant through the glass partition that separated it from the ground-floor lobby. Undoubtedly, the food here was of excellent quality and taste. Just thinking about the curry they make, Sofia's stomach growled in hunger.

Moving her eyes back to the reception counter quickly, she got straight to what she came for here, which was not the tropical food of the Krugs' but the terrible case named Mevil.

Sofia had her speech determined and everything planned out in collecting her money. Still, when asked for Mevil, she was taken aback by the instruction the plastic lady across the counter provided her.

"What do you mean by room number 125?" Sofia asked, narrowing her eyes. Her taut shoulders slumped.

The receptionist, however, was probably trained to keep a blind eye to people's expressions of different kinds. The oily smile on the woman's face was that professional and oblivious. "He'd instructed you to be directed there, ma'am."

And Sofia felt the need to pinch the woman to see if she winced, just a way to determine random robots. "But he was supposed to meet me at the restaurant."

"I'm afraid you'll have to discuss that with Mr. Mevil." The oiliness of the smile sparkled under the fluorescent light.

Teeth gritting, Sofia forced out the breath of anxiety she was holding in. After tapping a nail on the polished wood counter, she lifted her shoulders to an agitated square again and squeezed her canvas bag firmer.

Mevil would get a gust of pepper spray thrust inside his lungs and pasted properly on his eyeballs if he tried anything.

~

A/N:

I had to work a lot on creating the name Mevil. As you can see, it has evil in it. I hope it gives some negative vibes. ;) Also, I found myself searching in some baby names sites to see which name would go with Mevil. That's how I settled on Christopher. lol... I'm a proud mother! :D

But truly, writing a story for me is no less than raising a kid. Is this the same for everyone? Or am I just weird? idk

Now, did you enjoy this chapter?

I've had to rewrite most of the lines here. There were severe grammatical errors I located... phew...

There's a cliffhanger in the end, but I can't say I'm delighted with it. Because I wanted to make it rhymes, but it didn't happen. 

Please don't forget to Vote, Comment, Fan/Follow, Share, and Include in your public libraries! Also, go to my other social media sites if you want to connect with me there — I'm on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and links are on my Wattpad profile bio.

Thank you so much for choosing this story and for reading Bitterly Sweetly! 

SageHope, orion623, CarpeDiem_365, MayaTrivedi, Jia213, Nawallmran9 love you guys!

So, that's it for now.
I'll be back in two days,
Love and more love,
Lara.

P.S. If you locate any mistakes, pls feel free to tell me. If you don't feel comfortable telling me your discovery in public, then PM me. <3