Chapter 107
"You cannot be serious," Raphael said, shaking his head with a look of pure disdain.
"I don’t get paid to tell jokes, Mr. Dumas," Mila shot back crisply, her eyes meeting his with an unyielding sharpness that made him narrow his own dangerously.
"Do you even hear what’s coming out of your mouth?" he snapped, the sheer volume making Mila wince slightly. "Marriage? To whom? If your brain has forgotten, a wedding requires both a bride and a groom. Where exactly am I supposed to manifest a wife on twenty-four hours’ notice?"
"But you’re Raphael Dumas," Mila shrugged, a smug, dry expression crossing her face as she perfectly mimicked his earlier, arrogant tone. "Who could possibly refuse you?"
"Are you certain you want to play games with me right now, Miss Redwood?" Raphael’s voice dropped into a low, predatory frequency, a threatening rumble vibrating in his chest that made Mila swallow hard.
"Just hear me out before your hidden monster soul completely wakes up," Mila offered, maintaining her professional composure despite the heavy, suffocating aura filling the room.
"Speak," Raphael commanded, tossing himself back into his leather chair. His dark blue eyes burned with irritation, causing the human assistant, Larry, to sweat profusely in the corner.
"Look at the timeline," Mila began, pacing the rug. "You proposed to Miss Swann publicly. Every major entertainment grid and celebrity network covered it live. But the arrangement dissolved, and Miss Swann refused to wear your ring.
Fortunately, the public doesn’t know why she rejected you. If you announce a sudden, official marriage to someone else now, we spin the narrative. We tell the press the Swann proposal was a calculated publicity stunt—a red herring designed to protect the privacy of your true love interest. Your image is salvaged, the studio investors are pacified, and the scandal dies." She let out a soft breath, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.
Raphael let out a low chuckle, secretly mocking her sharp mind and cunning personality.
"I suppose hiring you wasn’t a complete mistake. Good strategy, Mila. But the logistical failure remains: we don’t have a woman willing to sign a binding contract on such short notice."
"As I said, your global fan base is obsessed. You could pick a bride out of a lineup by sunset," Mila suggested.
"Have you forgotten that the woman I actually wanted just discarded me like trash?" Raphael shot back, the raw sting of Fleur’s rejection bleeding into his scent. "How can I be certain whatever high-profile woman we choose won’t just turn around and humiliate me again?"
Mila paused, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face. "That... is a fair point," she whispered, tapping her chin as she tried to calculate a workaround.
Left in the sudden silence, Raphael’s gaze drifted over his PR manager, really looking at her for the first time. For years, he had been entirely blind to her presence, dismissing her as a strict, nagging employee.
But looking closely now, the sheer symmetry of her face caught him off guard. Her pale skin was entirely flawless, free of the heavy cosmetics the actresses on his sets slathered on. Her lips were a natural, soft pink, and her large, baby-blue eyes held an undeniable, captivating depth.
He couldn’t discern her true shape beneath the oversized, boxy suits she favored, and her perpetual scowl usually kept him at a distance. She was entirely unpretentious—her long blonde hair always scraped back into a severe bun. It amused his brain to realize that despite working alongside a global heartthrob, she had never once tried to dress provocatively, wear perfume, or catch his eye.
While models and starlets threw themselves at his feet, Mila had always remained in the shadows of the studio lots, entirely focused on his net worth.
Had he not personally vetted her employment profile, he never would have guessed she was only twenty-five. She carried herself with the cold maturity of an elder. She had joined his firm fresh out of college, entirely immune to his charms. Despite her maddeningly blunt behavior, she had successfully managed his public relations without ever making a demand on his time or affection.
A sudden, brilliant realization sparked in Raphael’s mind. Mila was entirely detached, hyper-professional, and thoroughly understood the stakes. She was the perfect candidate—a bride who wouldn’t try to claw her way into his heart or demand a real mate bond.
"Marry me," he blurted out before his conscious mind could stop him.
The room went dead silent. Larry’s jaw dropped, and Mila froze mid-stride, turning to Raphael with wide, utterly bewildered eyes.
"Excuse me? What did you just say?" Mila asked, her brow furrowing deeply. She genuinely wondered if the stress had caused her ears to play tricks on her.
"I said, marry me," Raphael repeated casually, leaning back and crossing his legs on the table as if he were discussing a minor script revision rather than a lifelong vow. "It solves every variable of the problem."
"Mr. Dumas, this is absolutely not the time for your narcissistic humor," Mila warned sternly, her professional veneer slipping into raw annoyance.
Raphael snorted. Only his PR manager would dare speak to a high-ranking celebrity with such blatant disrespect.
"Why so reluctant? Didn’t you just claim no female could possibly refuse a man of my stature?" he taunted, thoroughly amused by her resistance. He knew his value; his physique and features were practically carved from marble.
"I was referring to the millions of starstruck women globally, not myself," Mila snapped, her jaw tightening.
"Why? Are you implying you aren’t a woman?" he teased, a dark, handsome smirk stretching across his lips.
"Be quiet," she rebuked him sharply. "I am your employee, and a marriage between us is a conflict of interest."
Raphael’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous, calculating squint. Her fierce defiance was intoxicating, sparking a dark, possessive urge within him. If she actually signed the contract and became his wife, he would make absolutely certain she paid for every single insult she had ever hurled at him.