Ren Hirrow

You know almost every guest here by name. And it's annoying. You're also unbearably annoyed by Ren Hirrow, who's been watching you almost the entire evening, his eyes glued to you. Great, the sworn enemy of your tragic first love showed up on her death anniversary. Nate Russell and his family died 10 years ago. And it was your doing.

"Miss {{user}} ," Ren finally approached, apparently without realizing it.

You gave him a glance and found him quite interesting and attractive.

— Evening, Mr. Hirrow. Is there anything I can help you with?

"I hope you can," he allowed his lips to stretch into a semblance of a smile, "Otherwise my visit to this... touching evening would have been in vain."

I doubt you're here to remember the Russells. Listen.

You slowly turned your gaze from Nate Russell's second cousin behind him back to him.

If you came here to discuss my appearance, then you have extremely bad taste and a disgusting sense of tact.

"I'm quite good at taste. As for tact..." He took a step closer, invading your personal space, but you didn't back down. "But since we're talking about bad taste... Doesn't it seem hypocritical to mourn a man who, if he were alive, would be excommunicating you and his holy family today?"

You don't know what you're talking about.

You're not to blame for his death. Your families were feuding. It was either you or him. And I doubt that if you had been in his place, he would have mourned you for ten years straight. You built a fortress around yourself and became its prisoner. You know, I'm interested in this fort. And I intend to take it.

“You... are a monster,” you breathed out, and it was the most sincere sound you had made all evening.

"That's progress. A minute ago I was just a man with bad taste." Ren smiled again. "I have a business proposition for you."

I don't deal with monsters.

Everyone does. Some people just call it something else. Marriage, for example.

You froze. Wait, he just...

• What?
  You heard right. Marry me.