Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

The mild gleam of the sunrays of the mellow dawn peeked through the slits of the grey curtain covering the full length windows in his room, casting a golden hue on Wine’s soft, supple skin. Faifa was entranced by the sight of a sleeping Wine next to him, on his bed, naked under his sheets. His entire body was buzzing in unadultered bliss, from the ravenous night and the deep sleep that had claimed him afterwards.

Despite being the late riser among the two of them, he couldn’t be more thankful that he had woken up early to this pretty sight that was served on a platter to him.

Wine laid on his right side, his hair tousled against the black pillows covers. Faifa resisted the urge to comb his fingers through them, the fear of waking Wine up stopping him. His eyes moved down to Wine’s closed eyelids, bordered by pretty curved eyelashes against his cheek, to the slope of his nose. His gaze fell upon Wine’s pink lips, which always bewitched Faifa. His mouth was slightly open, pearly white teeth visible underneath. Faifa couldn’t stop looking at the plump upper lip which was always pouting, even in his sleep. Oh, how he wanted to kiss him senseless.

Faifa let his tongue trace his own upper lip, admiring the view like a thirsty man. Wine’s neck was turned away from Faifa, exposing his slender throat that now bore tiny purple bruises and Faifa was momentarily dragged back to the previous night, to when his mouth had laid those claims on Wine as he had prettily gasped against him. The memory of Wine’s loud moans and his whines, stirred him fully awake. He continued, hungrily, eyes trailing below slowly following the rise and fall of his chest, synchronised with his breathing. It was littered with few such bruises, chiefly over his sternum.

The comforter covered him from the waist below, it was such a shame since Faifa was enjoying his exploration. Wine’s toned body had him throwing his head back, arousal rushing through him again at 7 in the morning. Wine’s milk-white skin contrasting the charcoal-black comforter clinging onto him, didn’t help him any.

Faifa couldn’t stop staring at how beautiful and sexy Wine was. He couldn’t believe that this was his life now. That gets to wake up to this man next to him. That he gets to call him his. That he was his husband. Wine’s hand laid palm-up in the space between them on the bed, the ring that adorned his finger, shining with an unmatched aura. He pulled up his own palm to eye view, smiling gently at the similar band encircling his ring finger.

It scared Faifa how quickly Wine had ended up making a space for himself, both in Faifa’s heart and his room. His room which was previously all him, now had traces of Wine quite literally, littered, everywhere. Unlike him, who was a clean freak.

Faifa’s room used to be a vision out of a movie, appearing untouched, with clothes compulsorily folded and tucked into respective drawers and shelves of his wardrobe, with crisp Ironed suits carefully enclosed in a plastic cover bag, lined from the rail, his house slippers and bathroom slippers evenly spaced and perfectly arranged on the slipper rack next to the door, Cosmetic products, meticulously arranged in average sized pastel cases enclosed in the dresser drawer on the far left, No traces of any food items once past his room door, And the floor almost always spotless clean.

Since Wine had infiltrated his life, even his most sacred personal space was now something that was solely theirs. Now, there were sometimes clothes on the hanging rail, half falling off it, Wine’s house slippers usually haphazardly discarded with an eye roll at Faifa’s taunts of don’t you dare climb up the bed with slippers on. Wine’s neckties, somehow, always found their way on top of the dresser drawers. Wine’s sunscreen and lipbalm were never in their allotted drawer, but rather strewn atop the LED vanity dressing table, that only Wine had liked (and so Faifa had bought).

But all of these tiny complaints came with an upside, Wine in his bed, in his room, by his side. That was more than enough for Faifa to ignore every shortcomings.

Wine had easily crept past the sturdy walls he had built around himself. He had chipped it away, brick-by-brick, with words of assurance, kindness and something akin to reverence. He had gently removed Faifa’s mask of indifference and caressed his face, with a touch as soft as a feather. And before Faifa even knew, he had already bared his soul to Wine.

Wine, who now knew him, like he had done a doctorate on Faifa. Wine, who knew his deepest fears and insecurities. Wine, who knew his obliterated dreams. The one who knew his favourite color, his favourite food and drink, the one who was aware of his habits. The one who was aware of his doubled-edged sword of a mind. The only one who took note of his scars.

And each scar, from previous wounds under the venomous orchestras his mother had directed and the fresh ones being created by the never-ending battle that he fights everyday with himself, was being healed by Wine’s fluttering kisses and his benevolent heart.

Faifa tried to recollect the person he was, before 8 months, before he had exchanged marriage vows with Wine. And he came up short. It almost felt like Faifa, the one breathing right now, had only started existing after Wine came into his life.

The vulnerability, the monumental shift in his feelings and emotions should make Faifa scared to his core. And in a way they did, not because Wine had become his sole confidant, a keeper of his secrets who could possibly one day reveal his darkness out for the world to see.

Rather because Wine had started painting colours through his black hell. With steady strokes and swishes of his brush, Wine had created beautiful and vivid markings on Faifa’s black soul. Because what would happen of him, if Wine decided he didn’t want to color him white anymore.

Wine had become a steady presence in Faifa’s life that Faifa found it difficult to envision a life without him, even if the conclusion was undoubtedly in the cards for their future. A conclusion predetermined ahead of time. By themselves.

He briefly remembered the documents he had asked Wine to get his lawyer friend, Arc to make. For some reason, he couldn’t remember why they had those papers made or its location right now, probably stuffed into some drawer in their house, forgotten and out of mind.

Suddenly, Wine shifted in his sleep, the movement getting Faifa out of his thoughts and shifting the comforter further down Wine’s body. Faifa stopped breathing, as the atmosphere became charged with palpable tension. His eyes darkened at the sight of Wine’s slim abdomen, his tiny waist and then the sharp, delicate prominence of his hipbone. Faifa stared, focusing on the curve. Faifa had traced that fine curve countless times, he could almost visualise the way his fingers had wrapped around them the previous night.

He groaned, flush creeping up his neck. His hands itched to reach out and touch him. He turned towards the ceiling, trying to focus on the intricate designs on the chandelier. He was hard already. But he was no animal, he convinced himself. He could control himself, just as long as he didn’t catch a glimpse of that sinful trigger again.

But as he lay there, all his mind could conjure was a dangerous visual of that curve that threatened his sanity. He remembered how Wine’s breath had hitched when Faifa touched him delicately. The way he had moaned out loud when Faifa had pressed him down onto the bed, not allowing him to arch against him for relief. The way his black orbs had darkened, dripping with desire.

Unable to resist, he gave into his temptation. His nimble fingers advanced towards the subtle prominence that was making his brain go haywire, as if by a magnetic pull. His hand came into contact with Wine’s warm skin, unlike his own cold hand. He sighed, feeling a rush of need, when Wine, still asleep, shivered slightly, body responding to his touch. He gave into his desire, as he slowly explored the inches of skin exposed. 

Faifa moved near Wine, lying down on his side, his hand still holding Wine’s exposed hip. His heart started beating fast, as he inched closer to Wine. His touches grew bold, Wine shifting in his sleep, a low groan rumbling through his chest, setting Faifa’s control on fire.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips below Wine’s ear, the soft spot that usually made Wine go delirious with pleasure. He heard Wine mumble, teetering around the edges of consciousness.

He traced his lips to his neck and then slow and tantalizingly to his chest, which now rose and fell more rapidly. Faifa smirked, knowing just what would wake Wine up. He let his mouth move closer to Wine’s chocolate-dark nipple, blowing cool air. Wine groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He looked down at Faifa hovering over his chest.

“P'Faifa?” He croaked out, voice hoarse from sleep.

Faifa didn’t reply, diving down, taking Wine’s nipple in his mouth. Wine let out a gasp, his hand immediately reaching for Faifa’s hair. Faifa squeezed his hip, before sucking at his nipple.

Wine struggled to make sense of what was going on, still dazed from his sleep, but the pleasure was too good and he didn’t want it to stop. He let Faifa continue his ministration, before blinking himself awake.

He pulled at Faifa’s hair, quite harshly. “Good morning, I see.” He managed to mumble. Faifa let go off his nipple with a pop, a sinful sound that made Wine lose his inhibitions.

Faifa pulled himself up, as Wine settled on his back again. He locked Wine’s hips between his knees.

“Morning.” Faifa mumbled, roughly, his palms placed flat on either side of Wine’s head.

Wine felt rather than see Faifa’s hard-on pressing against his abdomen, through the confines of his boxer.

“Someone’s excited so early in the morning.” Wine smirked.

Faifa, eyes dark like the depths of the ocean, crashed forward against Wine’s lips. Wine reciprocated the kiss, surprised by the intensity of Faifa’s wants. He parted his lips when Faifa’s tongue lingered for permission, the kiss growing more urgent and more demanding.

Wine threw his arms around Faifa’s neck, body arching into him. Faifa pulled away from the kiss, with a bite to Wine’s plump upper lip.

“Can you blame me?” Faifa groaned, staring into Wine’s eyes. “You look so sexy, it makes me want to do unimaginable things to you.”

“Mmm....is that so?” Wine mumbled, settling more comfortably, one of his legs wrapping around Faifa’s back pulling him atop him.

Faifa felt the spread of a kindled fire soaring through his body at the amplified skin contact.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go ahead and fuck me.” Wine goaded him, looking at him with eyes full of lust.

Faifa frowned, bleakly looking past the veil of craving surrounding him, “Are you sure? Last night was a bit.... rough than usual. We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He didn’t want to stop, he wanted to devour Wine, he wanted him ruined for everyone else, wanted Wine to want him. But Wine was the most important one to him, right now. And Wine’s needs were far more important than Faifa’s wants, even if it meant another hands-on session by himself in the shower.

Wine blinked, lust fading for a millisecond, shifting underneath him, which elicited a low hiss of pain.

“See? You’re sore.” Faifa pointed out.

“But I want you.” Wine pouted. Faifa leant his forehead against Wine’s, his self restraint threatening to snap under Wine’s cute actions.

Wine grinded into him, making Faifa let out a loud sigh of pleasure. How Wine had managed to become hard in a fraction of a second, Faifa was unable to comprehend. Wine caught his lips in a bruising kiss, further weakening Faifa’s resolve.

Wine continued his ministrations, clearly desperate for relief.

“Wine, stop.” Faifa caught a hold of Wine’s hips, stopping him from grinding against him.

Wine let out a delicate whine, that Faifa wanted to devour.

Faifa, being the voice of reason, asked. “How about I suck you off and then we take a long bath to soak up all the tension in your muscles? How does that sound?”

Wine breathed, smiling dazedly up at him. “Sounds good.”

Faifa smirked, at his blissful expression. “Then, be the pillow princess that you are and let me take care of you.”

Faifa moved down, kissing Wine’s chest, even as it rumbled with a petulant I’m not.

He pressed kisses down Wine’s abdomen, fingers gently tracing his sides. Wine threw his head back, his body responding to Faifa’s touches. Faifa ghosted his kisses over Wine’s muscular abdomen, extreme sensitivity setting in and leaving Wine breathless.

He pulled the comforter away and Wine’s cock stood upright, in all its glory. He took it in his hand, eliciting a hitch in Wine’s breath. He dragged his hand slowly, his thumb rubbing the tiny drop of precum. He looked up, Wine with his head thrown back was a sight to admire.

He found himself saying. “Look at me.”

Wine’s eyes focused on him, he slowly nodded. Faifa moved further down on the bed, positioning himself near Wine’s groin.

Wine pulled himself up, settling on his elbows, eyes peering into Faifa’s.

Without breaking the gaze and his hold on Wine’s cock, Faifa lowered his head and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. Wine gasped, his hips stuttering.

Faifa’s tongue, slowly and deliberately, played at the slit, setting off lightening sparks along Wine’s spine. He sucked, his movements gentle and leisurely. But Wine was already in another world in bliss.

Wine’s hands clutched desperately at the bed covers, wanting something to hold on to, to tether him to the present, to ground him from the pleasure peak Faifa was guiding him towards.

Faifa moved his hands, gently. He decided that he needed to get Wine wet to make this process easier on the both of them. He abandoned his hold on Wine and started pressing wide, open mouthed, wet kisses all over Wine’s cock, occasionally tracing patterns over the underside of his cock before taking his head back in his mouth, sucking a little more insistently. He dragged his tongue up the length of Wine’s cock.

The younger man let out a fuck, hands sinking into Faifa’s hair, his fingers gently caressing his scalp. Faifa let out a groan, involuntarily, making Wine hiss in pleasure as vibration reverberated through him.

His body trembled, as Faifa pushed his thighs apart, making him feel more exposed. Wine bit his bottom lip, his mind clouding from the desire and craving. He craved Faifa.

Once Faifa was satisfied with the glistening surface of Wine’s cock, he brought his hand back to the base, starting to pump him with an ease that was absent before.

Faifa took Wine deeper, bobbing his head with a renewed fervour, augmented by Wine’s loud, crude moans.

“P’Faifa...” Wine arched his back, throwing an arm across his face, while the other hand fisted Faifa’s hair.

Faifa let his other hand which was not jacking off Wine trail to the obscene piece of anatomy that had him questioning his sanity since the morning. He digged his fingers into Wine’s hip, pressing him down into the bed, not letting up on the torture his mouth and hand were inflicting on Wine.

He removed his hand from Wine’s cock, sliding his mouth further down as much as could without gagging. He let his fingertips trace up Wine’s body, finding his chest giving a tiny squeeze. Wine let out a lewd whine when Faifa’s fingers came in contact with his nipple, rubbing them in a tantalizing manner.

Wine was lost in the multiple sensations his body was experiencing at the same time. Faifa’s mouth on him, his hand heavily placed on his hip, his finger on his nipples, alternating between flicks and feathery touches. Faifa always pressed the right buttons and drove Wine crazy.

“P’Faifa, I’m close..... I’m gonna...” Wine tried to convey, in between sharp intake of breaths.

Faifa went cross-eyed at the unconcealed pleasure in Wine’s voice. He knew how to tip Wine past his edge. He took in a deep breath before plunging forward, taking all of Wine in his mouth, while his fingers cruelly pinched Wine’s sensitive nipple.

Wine could only shout Faifa’s name out loud before his cock jerked, spurting out cum. Faifa pulled back so as to not gag over the bitter taste infiltrating his mouth, but didn’t take his mouth off of him, coaxing Wine through his orgasm. Wine’s hips jerked, his head thrown back, eyes closed in content. He took short, sharp intakes of breath, coming down from his high. Faifa pulled away, licking his lips.

Wine slowly came back to reality, looking at the sight of Faifa, standing over him, hard in his boxers, lips full and swollen, glistening in the dawn light. He mustered all the energy he had to pull himself up, gesturing for Faifa to come close to him.

“Come here.” Wine made a gesture of grabby hands which had Faifa crawling to him, just as he sat up, their lips clashing in a war of kisses.

With his hands on either side of Faifa’s face, Wine deepened the kiss, groaning at the taste himself on Faifa’s tongue.

He broke away from the kiss, his focus now on the unmarked skin of Faifa’s neck. He dove forward, sucking a hickey on his pulse point as Faifa let his head fall back, a hand entwining in Wine’s hair. Wine dragged one of his hands down, feeling the prominent thickness behind the silky barrier. He squeezed gently, drawing a heady moan out of Faifa. With quick movements, he deftly pulled Faifa’s cock out of its confines, immediately pumping him.

A sinful moan echoed in the air, Faifa’s hips starting to chase the pleasure Wine was willing to serve. Faifa redirected his attention, bending and tucking his head in the curve of Wine’s neck, his mouth leaving kisses all over. Faifa wasn’t far away from reaching his peak, he had been hard for so long, turned on by the sight of Wine’s body. Now, combined with the skin-to-skin contact between their bodies, zero gap and aided by Wine’s persistent tugs on his cock while his lips played on his neck, Faifa couldn’t control himself any longer.

He groaned into Wine’s neck, hands harshly gripping Wine’s hair, his thrusts became erratic before he came all over Wine’s hands.

His hips jolted for a solid minute as he let out sighs of satisfaction and relief. Wine kissed him, slow and Faifa found himself melting into him. He finally managed to open his eyes only to see Wine’s tongue taste his cum off his fingers, his eyes never leaving him.

Faifa groaned. Wine was gonna make him hard again and he had just come. “Alright, stop it. Don’t be naughty.”

Wine giggled but complied, taking his hand away from his mouth.

Faifa got off the bed to find a cloth for Wine and handed it over to him. He wiped himself down, tucking his now flaccid cock back into his boxers. Watching Wine, Faifa said. “Wait here. Let me just go get the bath ready. Okay?”

Wine settled back over the bed, pulling the comforter back up, covering his lower body.

Faifa dragged himself to the bathroom, flicking on the switch of the heater. He twisted the water knob, allowing the bath tub to fill with water.

He quickly excused himself to use the toilet. After he was done, he headed to the washbasin, washing his hands as he stared at himself in the reflection of the mirror. The guy in the mirror smiled back at him, making him grin even wider like a love-struck fool. He closed his eyes, recognising the cause of its genesis as Wine.

He wondered if love was too strong a word to describe his feelings? Was he even allowed to feel this way towards Wine? Knowing the outcome this marriage held, was it right for him to continue to indulge in this rapture, allowing himself to fall deeper to the point from which he didn’t know if rescue would be possible?

He also found himself wondering if Wine smiled like him at the thought of Faifa. If Wine was starting to feel things that Faifa had started to feel. He wondered if Wine was also wondering about what this meant for their future, their previous plans. He needed to talk with Wine, but what if the conversation took away the connection he shared with Wine now? What if the warmth between them was lost to the wind, if Wine had never been reciprocating what Faifa had started to etch onto his bones? Wouldn’t he just be ruining everything then, a myriad of what-ifs plaguing his mind.

He heard a voice inside him say, you’re already ruined for him. He didn’t know if he wanted to correct it.

Faifa knew he needed to figure stuff out but for now, he simply headed back to the tub, checking for the warmth of water. Once he deemed it enough, he shut the water flow. He walked to the cabinet in the bathroom, in deep contemplation. He finally decided on a lavender flavour bath bomb, dropping it into the tub. He arranged two sets of towels and bathrobes, on the steel rack next to the tub.

He made a quick work of brushing his teeth. He also carefully squeezed the paste on Wine’s toothbrush for Wine to use, before walking back to his room. Wine immediately met his eyes, crinkling with a smile playing on his lips. His head was tilted, his hair a little messed up and he blinked at him, his eyelashes fluttering.

Faifa’s world slowed around him.

Fuck, he was in love with Wine.

Chapter Text

Verse 1:

Just a puppet on a string, chasing shadows in a future I can’t choose

10 months ago:

Faifa woke up because he felt cold. There was an unnerving chillness drifting through the air, making horripilation shoot up his arm. He frowned, He was normally a very warm blooded person, he wasn’t the one to feel cold easily. He shivered, his hands automatically reaching for the air conditioner’s remote to turn it off.

His palms, however, met with rough and cold cement, instead of his smooth velvety mattress. He blinked himself aware, opening his eyes with difficulty. There was nothing but darkness surrounding him. He frantically sat up, on the cold, stony floor. His eyes adjusted to the darkness fairly quick.

He looked around, finding no one except him in this....room? Was that a door he had just seen? But, this was not his bedroom. He peered down at himself, his clothes capturing his attention. He was sure these were the clothes he wore to bed. But this was not his place.

He raised himself off the ground, his pace vulnerably slow. His erratic breathing was the only sound that was heard in the eerie silent atmosphere. His knees threatened to give out as he took tiny steps towards the door. He reached out with his trembling hand, the door knob just an inch away. His fingers came in contact with the freezing metal, setting a tremble throughout his entire form.

He tried to twist it, facing immediate resistance. He kept trying, his breathing becoming rapid almost synchronised with the rattle of the door knob.

Fear gripped his heart tight, his eyes becoming cloudy with unshed tears. He changed his game plan, now ramming himself sideways into the door. It refused to budge, however. He fell back, after a few minutes. His shoulders were extremely sore and he was panting. His ears were greeted with the stark silence that echoed off the damp walls.

His blood went cold, immediately starting to crawl back, away from the door. He shook his head, palms flying up to his ears, pressing down. He didn’t want to listen to this sickening silence anymore. Not again. Not anymore. Someone.....please.

Faifa woke up with a startle, fingers firmly clutching his comforter. He gasped out loud, in rapid succession. He felt trapped, his t-shirt sticking to him like next skin because of how much he had sweated.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm down his breathing. His heart was beating against his chest cavity so swiftly that he felt the need to physically place his palm over his chest, right above his heart and place gentle pats, comfortingly.

He looked around, reconfirming that he was in his room. His eyes found the digital clock on the bedside table, glinting in the dark 03:02 AM.

He sighed, it was too early to start the day but he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to get a wink of sleep after his nightmare. He sat up, more aware of his surroundings with every waking minute. He removed his t-shirt, sliding on his dark-brown house slippers, walking on an automated motion. He threw the garment into the laundry chute, before quickly grabbing a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator as he settled on top of the bridge of the kitchen.

He took greedy gulps, trying to figure out what had triggered the nightmare this time around. He had been doing infinitely better. Occasional nightmares and disturbed sleep were an inseparable part of his life now. But he hadn’t had a nightmare in months, he really thought he was getting better.

He shook his head violently, as if that would shake out the vivid images he had recalled from a place of abandon.

He emptied the bottle in minutes, before heading to the gym. He needed to clear his mind.

⚡🍷

Faifa tapped his finger on his phone screen. The black surface came back to life and the time glared at him. He glared back, his face set like a stone. He stared outside the glass walls of their company from where he was sitting on his velvet green luxury chair. He poked the side of his cheek with his tongue before turning his attention to the source of his unproductive use of time.

The man sitting on his right, a few seats away from him in the lengthy meeting hall, although was clad in a well-mannered suit, wasn’t really conversing like a gentleman. Faifa remained calm and composed, in spite of the absurd demands and complaints being raised by him.

Because the man’s face, however, betrayed the pride he was trying to uphold. With a sheen layer of sweat on the side of his forehead which was set in thin lines, even with the air conditioning which was maintained cool enough to beat the Thai summer, and unstable eyes that flitted with every sentence that he muttered, he was an image of panic, despite all of his efforts not to sound or appear so.

Faifa had to appreciate his courage though. For him to run his mouth, knowing Faifa was capable of crushing him and his business like a bug, Faifa had to give credits where it was due.

But it was slowly eating away at his time and Faifa wanted to spare a minute to make a few phone calls, so he raised his hand, with a chillingly resolute gesture, stopping the other person mid rant.

“Are you refusing to sign the deal?” Faifa carefully asked, crossing his legs slowly. He leaned back in his cushioned chair, expecting an answer.

The middle aged man gulped, steady anxiousness blooming on his face. “It’s n-not that, Khun Thanawanyotha.”

“Because to me, it sounds like you’re questioning my company’s ability to uphold our side of the deal.” Faifa narrowed his eyes, one of his palms coming to rest on the glass table in the conference hall.

“The deal isn’t fair. These terms and conditions.....how can I accept it?” The man was raged, but couldn’t help but feel nervous at Faifa’s domineering demeanour.

“We’ve offered the best deal your company could ever be offered in this market, Khun Chaiwat. I’m pretty sure you understand that your company is going under. You’re well aware that you’re being systematically drained of your funds and resources by Khem groups. You can either take this deal and save what you can or let your company die and see what you can salvage.” Faifa refused to break eye contact, he could see the effect his authority commanded from the man.

“But this...I’ll lose everything. You’re asking me for more than what you’re paying me for.”

“You should be glad you’re even getting this, Khun Chaiwat. You get to keep your company and develop it, while under us. Your shares aren’t being ceased, but rather split for the purpose of ensuring that you’re not the sole major shareholder. You get a team of talented workers, who will strive hard under you.” Faifa stood up, hands finding the insides of his suit pocket. “If these terms and conditions don’t suit your fancy, feel free to walk out. Good luck paying back the money you owe the bank, by the way.”

Faifa straightened his suit, nonchalant. He picked up his phone, turning towards the exit door.

“Wait!” A panicked sound echoed in the room and Faifa smirked, he knew the tide had turned over.

He turned around, putting his nonchalant face back on, raising his eyebrows as if to say what?

“I’ll....I’ll take it. I’ll take the deal.”

“Very well, my secretary will see through the process. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Faifa offered a small nod of acceptance. “Khun Chaiwat.”

He turned on his toes, walking out of the conference hall, gesturing for his secretary to take over. He quickly dialled his mother, glancing at his watch. The call rang till it went blank, he guessed that she must have been caught up with some work. The click-clack of his Louis Vuitton shoes echoed through the vacant hallway. He entered his office, his subordinates immediately standing up and greeting him. He nodded at them, walking swiftly with a grace that everyone admired, entering his office.

He settled on his desk, looking over the notepad left behind by his secretary, highlighting the events that had to be tended to, today.

He loosened his tie, undoing a single button on his bright grey Armani tuxedo.

In about 5 minutes, he had an important online meeting with a Japanese conglomerate about a merger. And he was yet to have breakfast. He sighed, his stomach murmuring curses at him. Shouldn’t his body be used to this, by now, considering he rarely remembers to have breakfast, occasionally remembers to have lunch when reminded by his secretary about a lunch meeting with potential investors, buyers and so. Dinner was the only meal he ever properly had, because his housekeeper aunty would make lots of food and leave it out for him to see, so that he would at least indulge in a bite, purely out of guilt.

He kept telling himself to buy a mini refrigerator to at least stock up on energy drinks or protein shakes, for when he forgot to have breakfast. But he always ended up forgetting to make the purchase, too. He blamed it on his brain, unable to store more information now that he was about to be handed over this entire empire his parents had created.

An empire for which the foundation had been laid when he was barely 3 years old. A small company, a start-up born out of the blood, sweat and tears of his parents, one that brought forward multiple joys for his family, as well as the toughest time they had ever gone through. All hopes of Always and Forever were lost and only separation ensued.

A separation that only two people had wanted but had ended up tearing apart three more people – him and his brothers.

Faifa was 5 years old when he learned what the word Divorce meant. It had shook him to his core because it went against the fundamentals of every fancy bed time story he had listened to back then. Initially read to him by his mother, whose voice was the most comforting thing in the world. But then she had stopped. Faifa unable to figure out why, felt sad because he was starting to find it difficult to sleep well without hearing her voice.

His dad had stepped in after that, making animated gestures and comic faces that captured Faifa’s attention while narrating the story and Faifa remembered laughing so much, having so much fun, that he didn’t mind not feeling sleepy like when his mom used to read for him, because at least he was able to go to sleep with contentment.

Then the busy schedules begun. Family breakfast now included only a 12 year old Newton and 5 year old Yotha and Faifa, his dad joining in occasionally, his mom never.

Then the quarrels began. Slightly raised voices from his parents’ bedroom that later got hushed started turning into loud voices that tried to up one another in terms of decibels, arguments were no longer secretive. He remembered one particular night where he and Yotha were sat on the floor playing with their actions figurines while Newton was reading some superhero comic he was obsessed with, up on the bed. The peace was shattered when there were noises of glass crashing against the wall accompanied by loud stomps.

Newton had quickly ushered Yotha and Faifa out of the house into the small garden, where they had a swing setup. He had distracted them by allowing them to play on the swing, pushing them on it back and forth, even as his small arms ached and worried eyes kept glancing towards the house.

All three of them froze when they saw their mother coming out of the house in a haste.....her hand holding onto a luggage that was rolling on the hard cement.

Newton stopped pushing the swing and ran to their mother, suddenly pleading with her to not go. Yotha ran after him, hugging his mother’s legs and suddenly crying. Faifa hadn’t even understood the depth of the situation then, what it meant that his mother was walking away from them with her suitcase in tow.

Their mother, albeit sparing sorrowful looks at all of them, including him, pushed away Yotha’s barely strong hold. She hadn’t looked back.

After that, his father stopped making night detours to read him bedtime stories, he was barely ever home. Newton had stepped in, taking over the big brother role, reading with whatever comprehension he had for his age, trying his best to read him a story, just so that Faifa could sleep.

Newton’s efforts had, however, been in vain. Because Faifa never felt sleepy, he wanted to see their mom. Or dad. The room was cold. He had never said so to Newton though, who appeared extremely exhausted. He had just smiled, closing his eyes and sliding under the comforter, waiting for Newton to turn out the lights and close the door. He would then proceed to wait for a minute, before clambering down from the bed, tiny feet waddling towards the bed on the other side of the room. Blanket still wrapped around his tiny frame, flowing down the floor.

“Yotha.” He had woken his brother up.

His brother, same age as him, who was pretending to be asleep, had spared him a glance and stared.

“I can’t sleep.” Faifa had muttered, burying himself more under the blanket, making himself appear smaller than he already was.

Yotha had stared at him for one more minute, before shifting on the bed, allowing a space for Faifa to climb into. Faifa had immediately climbed into that space, everything was suddenly warm. Sometimes Faifa would hug Yotha, sometimes Yotha would hug him back.

He hadn’t seen his mother for weeks after that, until one day he was told that he would be living with only his mother henceforth and would be able to visit his father and brothers maybe twice a month.

That was when Faifa had figured out what the word Divorce meant.

The separation had hit him hard, waking up in a room with a single bed and not finding Yotha in his room, especially when haunting happenings occurred and things turned more sour and he had started getting nightmares.

Nightmares that still haunt his sleep.

His thoughts are interrupted by the voice of his secretary, Pawin.

“What is it, P’Pawin? Is it time for the meeting?” He quickly glanced at his watch, he still had 2 minutes left. He buttoned his shirt back up and corrected his tie, regardless.

“No, Khun Faifa. The meeting has been cancelled.” His secretary bowed slightly.

“P’Pawin, please just call me Faifa. You’ve known me for 5 years, now. Please drop the formalities when we’re alone.” Faifa smiled at him. “But what do you mean the meeting is cancelled?” He held up the notepad left behind by Pawin.

Pawin just smiled back sheepishly. “Actually, all of those schedules have been cancelled.”

Faifa frowned, inquisitive.

The shrill sound of his ringtone echoed in the room, the caller read Mae.

Pawin took a few steps back, nodding at him. “You should take the call, Faifa. Your mother will explain the rest to you.”

He picked the call, just as his secretary excused himself and left the room.

“Hello, mae.” He greeted her, settling back on his chair.

“How did the morning meeting go?” Her voice resonated through the speaker, as casual and manual as ever when it came to business.

“Got him to sign the contract.” He replied, gazing at his nails, bored.

“Good.”

“I do not understand, however, the need for going after his company though. I read through quite a few reports before the contract aggreement was even printed. Khem has been targeting Chaiwat’s business for a while now and his company is basically going below the red line. He is only going to be able to find his footing in the industry again, now that he has our help. How are we benefiting from this?”

“So short sighted. Are you really my son, Faifa?” His mother said and a tinge of hurt ran through Faifa. He regretted opening his mouth. “His company’s technology will be of use to us. Khem was targeting him for the same tech. They tried to drain him and take over. We just used a different approach and took over.”

Yeah, we just threatened to drain him and took over, his mind retorted.

Khem was one among the other conglomerates that was their company’s main rival, in terms of investment, business, profits, everything.

It was always a fight to the top and his mother had fought hard for years to keep them at the highest position. She made sure to remind him often that the place was never to be lost, especially when under Faifa’s reign.

“You need to think more, Faifa. Think smart. I’m entrusting you with our company. I need you to be sharp. You can’t slack like this.” She reprimanded, every word sending a shock of disappointment up Faifa’s spine.

He actually couldn’t see a point to signing a contract with another small company in a way where the benefits were equitable, when they could have just offered a better salary to the people working under Chaiwat at their company instead. But, who was he to question, this was his mother’s company and he was her puppet, son, heir, whatever.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, mae.” He said, knowing what was expected of him. He blinked thrice, letting out a soft sigh. “Right, Secretary Pawin said that all schedules today were cancelled. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you that in person.” She had a playful lilt to her tone.

“When?” He asked, his hand unconsciously travelling to the nape of his neck, the muscle ache killing him.

“Now.” Suddenly, the voice sounded way too closer. He turned abruptly, finding his mother standing at the door.

Amara. The one and only foreman of this empire. An iron lady that had laid foundation to this with his dad but had put in all the handwork to develop this company, initially just a singular business but later took over others with mergers and begun new ones. The one who was the mastermind behind the Rattanakorn enterprise’s footing among the top and noble.

The woman with whom he had a hate-love relationship with. The woman whom he loved more than anyone on the earth. The woman who also showed him that loving someone wasn’t enough to earn back their love or their respect. The one who had actively been the orchestrator of his worst nightmares, albeit unknowingly.

“Mae!” He stood up immediately, hands wrapping around her in a practiced, mechanical manner. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were not going to be back for a couple of days.”

“I just got back.” She reciprocated his hug, small pats vibrating around Faifa’s shoulders.

She hadn’t told him what important business she had out of the country, before she had flown out around a week ago.

“Did everything work out well?” He pulled away, from the hug, guiding her to the settee in the room.

“Absolutely.” She sat down, gesturing for him to take his seat next to her.

He sat down, maintaining a small distance. “Shall I have some coffee made for you?”

She shook her head, placing her expensive handbag carefully down.

“We need to talk about your future, Faifa.” She sounded very calm. “And not just about the company.”

Faifa’s eyes widened for a millisecond. All the colour in his face, drained in an instant. “Mae....” He sighed, closing his face. He knew what this was about.

“You’re 28 years old now, Faifa. It’s about time you start thinking about marriage.”

“I’m only 28. Newton is older than me and he is still unmarried.” Faifa tried to reason.

It wasn’t like he was a prude who had never dated. He has had his fair share of girlfriends and boyfriends, few that stuck long while some moved faster than a fleet of clouds when his storm winds blew strong.

“He is not the heir of my company. You are.”

“I want to focus on the company. I haven’t even settled into the CEO role I’m yet to take over. Throwing Marriage, and an arranged marriage at that, into the equation is just not a conversation I’m willing to entertain right now, Mom.”

He knew a marriage out of love was out of the question when his mom had found out about his previous serious relationship with a girl named Min a few years back and had basically bribed her away from this relationship. And when he had confronted his mother, she had proceeded to lecture him on class and decorum. And how Min had been after his money in the first place. That had been an eye opener for Faifa. He had presumed how the rest of his life was going to be under his mother’s thumb as well. He just hadn’t expected to be forced so soon into this.

"It’s because you’re about to be the CEO that we need to discuss this."

He shook his head, not meeting her eyes.

"This alliance will be good for the company. They’re one of the richest families in Thailand. The company will benefit from this. You will benefit from this. You’ll be known as the son-in-law of Oon-Arun family. And later when you take over the company, you’ll be an even more well known household name in the business sector."

He was aware of the influence that the Oon-Arun family had in Thailand, more prevalent in the northern provinces of Thailand rather than Bangkok. They were people that never had to indulge in dirty work, never needing to. Supplied by generational wealth and the support of the local masses, they were a highly respectable family, descendants of a royal lineage. Faifa wasn’t too educated on the inner workings of the family, but even he knew this much.

"Is that what you were doing for this past week? This was your important business out of town?" Faifa felt betrayed. While he was constantly beating himself up to be a version his mother would not chide, she was out here finding yet another way to profit, at his expense.

"Faifa, Listen to me. Khem is playing his chess pieces rather carefully. There are rumours that he’s marrying his daughter Dokrak to the eldest daughter of Preechakasol groups."

Faifa stared in disbelief. The eldest daughter of Preechakasol groups would mean his fellow college mate and friend Pharawee or Pam. He masked his initial shock because he hadn’t heard about this piece of information from Pam, despite Faifa and her being on good terms and considerably close.

This was part of how life worked in their high society. Here, everything was business. You could be very good friends, but at the end of the day, you would still have to put your personal likes aside and actively participate in activities that would only further strengthen their footing in this industry. But Faifa was happy that at least Pam’s sexual orientation was being accepted by her family, to be looking for an alliance with a woman for Pam to spend her life with.

But with this alliance, Faifa will have to worry about not one, but two prospective rivals.

"Which is why this will benefit us indefinitely. This is a family that has been influential since time immemorial. They’re highly reputable. Most of the family members are either government employees or have some successful private business or are abroad, making a name for themself. We’ll have support flocking from all the sides, if you wed into this family."

"Who is this person you’re talking about?" He knew he sounded frustrated, he was actually trying not to let on how pissed this discussion was making him.

"Come on, Faifa, I’m not heartless. I met the boy and I know he’s just your type. Mae knows how you like them, okay?"

So it was a guy.

"What’s his name?"

"His name is Wine." Was he a foreigner or what?

"Mae, marriage is a huge thing. What if I don’t like this guy? What if we don’t get along? This is too much to take in and you’re giving me such short notice."

"Faifa, Love is a luxury in our life. No one gets married because they love someone. Everyone, here, gets married for mutual benefits. And you know, love doesn’t guarantee a life together forever." She spoke from experience, bringing her life with Faifa’s father into the conversation. As if they weren’t one of the reasons that Faifa was despising the idea of marriage in the first place.

"Why now though? Let’s at least wait a few months."

"I’m doing this to make sure there’s no one to oppose you when you take over the company in a few months, Faifa. This could be the best poster promotion for you."

Faifa closed his eyes, his head was starting to pound.

He felt his mother’s hand over his shoulder. "You know this is necessary."

He gave himself a few seconds to compose himself. "Of course."

He was back to mechanically nodding through plans his mother keeps creating for his life.

"This is for the best, Faifa, you’ll see." She smiled, as always unaware of the thoughts flooding Faifa’s brain. "Wine said he’ll meet you today for lunch."

"Where?" He sighed, this was going to be a long day.

⚡🍷

There was one thing Faifa hated the most in his life, it was tardiness. He had gone home, showered, changed into a plaid jacket with a white t-shirt and blue denim and had arrived 10 minutes earlier than the designated meeting time, 1pm.

It was 1:10pm. He was still waiting, at the reserved table for this Wine.

Faifa was an extremely busy person whose schedule was deliberately cancelled today just because his mother wanted him to marry this random person who couldn’t even come on time.

He shifted to the bar, alerting one of the waiters to let him know if someone named Wine came in search of him.

He ordered himself a whiskey on the rocks. He was annoyed. If Wine didn’t show up before Faifa completed his drink, then both Wine and his mother can go to hell, for all he cared.

He saw his own reflection on the glass cabinet behind the bar counter. He felt like a sliver of himself. He noticed frowns on his forehead, hating everything about this so-called marriage that he has no choice but to proceed through.

He glanced outside the frameless glass door separating the bar and himself from the bustling restaurant. Faifa had a past hobby - observing people’s faces. He considered himself a master at reading facial expressions, which came in handy during tricky deals like the one in the morning. But he simply liked seeing people go about their lives, wondering what must be going through their minds.

His eyes fell upon a vision out of his dream, a waft of dirty blonde hair parted in the middle, with doe eyes looking around for something, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Faifa blinked, turning around in the swivel bar chair. There was no one to stop him from admiring a little beauty, especially when his supposed lunch companion was late.

The boy frantically walked a few steps forward towards a waiter, pausing just behind him. Faifa found himself giving a lopsided smile, when the boy’s hand extended to call out the waiter but retracted it back, clearly not the type to mingle in social circles. He seemed troubled, almost as if he was about to cry. Faifa swallowed a sip of his drink, watching the pretty one muster the courage to tap on the waiter’s shoulder. He bowed three times, feeling sorry for interrupting the waiter’s working hours.

Dressed ethereal but completely out of place. Faifa found himself, captured in a trance. This was a pretty high key restaurant, while this guy that he had set his eyes on, looked like he was going to some local street side cafe. With an off-white coloured quarter-zip shirt that looked a size too big for him, paired with light black denim jeans and a pure white lace up sneakers.

But he was definitely one of the most beautiful men that Faifa had ever encountered in his life. His eyes sparkled animatedly, as he talked with the waiter, enquiring him about something. The waiter pointed at the glass door of the bar, the boy bowing back to him in gratitude, which again had Faifa wondering what such a casually dressed, non-presumptuous man who didn’t mind thanking or bowing to someone of definite low stature, was doing at a fancy restaurant like this. The door to the bar was opened, and Faifa decided to avert his eyes, not wanting to be found staring at a random passerby. He twirled himself back to his original position, which left him staring at the glass cabinet once again.

He couldn’t stop himself from following the reflection of the pretty guy that had entered the bar, in search of someone. He looked around, before glancing at Faifa’s back. In a sudden extended moment, their eyes found each other on the reflections dancing on the cabinet.

Both of them looked away on instinct, but Faifa definitely heard the tell-tale signs of footsteps heading his way.

Faifa heard someone clear his throat, that someone being the guy he was outright eye fucking. Faifa sighed mentally, getting ready for a confrontation, about staring at strangers in public spaces. He used the revolving chair to turn around to look at the beautiful face of the said guy. Faifa was star struck, he looked even prettier up close.

Faifa was about to open his mouth to apologise but the other one beat him to it. "I'm sorry, are you Faifa, by any chance?"

Faifa blinked once, then twice. Sorry what?

"Hello." The pretty one waved his hand in front of Faifa’s face. "You’re Faifa, right?"

Faifa’s mouth slowly fell open, the cogs in his brain clicking into place.

Don’t tell me. "You’re Wine." He gulped.

The pretty one, No, Wine nodded, giving him a tiny smile.

Chapter Text

Verse 2

Stuck in a gilded cage, for a freedom that I’m tryna chase

Wine sighed, foot tapping impatiently against the cool marble floor adorned with intricate designs. He noticed his aunt’s stern eyes fall on his leg and he immediately ceased his movement. He couldn't help but roll his eyes. It wasn't like he was trying to rebel today. He wasn't even wearing his usual comfortable t-shirt and jeans. Instead, he had willingly dressed appropriate to place and occasion, perhaps due to reverence for his grandfather.

He was clad in one of his finest silk shirts, a navy blue shirt that boosted his natural skin tone, with a subtle embroidered pattern on the collar. He had neatly tucked it in his black everyday formals. In place of the Puma Pride sneakers that he loved, he had instead opted for brown gleaming leather loafers. He had even buttoned the cuffs of his shirt at the wrist. He was sitting, his posture straight and both of his palms placed carefully over his thigh.

God forbid, he was shaking his leg in an unroyal manner because he was nervous.

The person seated on the single seater cushion of the drawing room, however, was the complete opposite of him. The lawyer appeared very calm, as he opened his briefcase which housed his grandfather's will.

He willed himself to look around, at the faces around him. Some nervous and at the edge of their seats, like his cousins. He knew they were eager to see what their grandfather had left behind for them, eager to know what more they can usurp off the lineage. His aunts and uncles who were seated on the plush emerald velvety sofa were composed.

But Wine knew them, he knew they were anxious that his grandfather might have favoured him and his parents. He could only imagine the wrath that would follow such an instance.

His parents, however, were probably the calmest of them all. His mother in her brown checkered dress sat at the two seater antique sofa with his father who had worn his best three piece suit. His mother had her leg crossed, with a confidence that said she had nothing to fear. Maybe she didn't. But he sure did.

Technically, he knew he had nothing to fear. All these years, he had easily been his grandfather's favourite. For as long as his grandfather had lived, an impressive 77 years, he had been the one at his grandfather's beck and call in comparison to his cousins who had only tried to win his favour when needed. His favourite person had been his grandfather and he definitely hoped, prayed, that he was his grandfather's favourite grandchild.

The silence amplified the hushed anticipation hanging in the grand drawing-room. He settled more comfortably and distracted himself by gazing at the high ceiling which had a masterpiece of traditional Thai artistry with delicate floral motifs and mirrored tiles that caught the soft light filtering through the sheer silk curtains.

Three months had passed since his grandfather, the revered patriarch, had breathed his last. Three months filled with quiet grief that felt heavier than the reality he was living in.

He knew what to expect, or at least he thought he did. Shares in the local family conglomerates, perhaps a property or few in the quieter northern districts and Bangkok. He was hoping that it would be enough to finally fund his escape to Paris.

The memory of his parents’ lukewarm response to his acceptance into The Royal College of Art in London still stung.

"Art is a lovely hobby, Wine." His mother had said, her tone gentle but dismissive, while his father had simply nodded, already engrossed in a phone call about import-export logistics.

The real barbs had come from his father’s siblings, his uncle and his aunt.

"An artist? Such a meaningless pursuit for someone of our standing." His Aunt Kanya, his father’s elder sister, had sneered at the family dinner, her perfectly coiffed hair and diamond-studded earrings radiating disapproval. His Uncle Somchai, the eldest of the three siblings, had chimed in, his booming laughter laced with condescension. "Perhaps you can paint portraits of us to hang in the drawing room, Wine. A modern touch to our ancient palace!"

He had looked to his parents, who offered no defence, their silence a familiar acknowledgment of the established family hierarchy where their elder siblings’ opinions held undue weight. Only his grandfather had offered solace. He had overruled the adults opinion with an iron fist that Wine, his grandson, would be allowed to pursue art at the college of his liking. Wine had happily escaped to US for 3 years right after his schooling.

Wine closed his eyes briefly, a fond smile touching his lips as he recalled their last conversation, barely a week before his passing. They had been in the serene private garden, air fragrant from the jasmine shrub as he pushed his grandfather's wheelchair along the pavement.

"You want to paint the world as you see it, my little Wine." His grandfather had said, his voice raspy but his eyes twinkling with understanding. "That is a strength, not a weakness. Go to Paris. Create your own legacy." He had even squeezed Wine’s hand, a rare display of physical affection. "Don’t let anyone dim your colours."

"It's easy for you to say that. It's not you who is being forced to study Business Administration."

"Is that your mother's doing?"

"No, but she's subtly been leaving brochures of prestigious business schools across the world in my room and she thinks I don’t notice it. I mean, I just came back to Thailand, what, five months ago. Did she not even miss me a little bit? She's already trying to send me away."

His grandfather knew his anxiety about his parents’ expectations and the local family-run cosmetic line. His grandfather had simply chuckled. "Let the old man worry about that in his will, okay?"

He had scolded his grandfather for talking about his demise, because he hadn't wanted to imagine such a world.

Now, as the formally dressed lawyer cleared his throat, the rustle of expensive fabrics and the barely concealed sighs of anticipation filled the room. The reading began, a dry recitation of names and assets. Wine tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to the cobbled streets of Montmartre he had only seen in pictures, the vibrant art scene that he yearned to be a part of.

He imagined his own small gallery, white walls adorned with his canvases, a haven of creativity far away from the gilded cages of royalty.

Then, his name was called again, and the lawyer’s tone shifted slightly, a hint of surprise in his voice. Wine’s ears perked up and his orbs widened, a soundless gasp escaping him.

The list of properties was extensive - a sprawling beachfront villa, several prime commercial spaces in the city, and a significant portfolio of shares that dwarfed what his cousins had received combined. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope. Paris was within reach.

But then came the catch.

The lawyer adjusted his spectacles and read the final clause, his voice echoing in the suddenly silent room. "…on the condition that Prince Witsawa is legally married within one year of the reading of this will. Failure to comply with this condition will result in the entirety of the aforementioned assets being redistributed equally among the remaining beneficiaries."

Wine’s jaw dropped. A stunned silence descended upon him, his mind struggling to process the absurdity of it all. Married?

He couldn't fathom why his grandfather would include such a statement in his will. Unless.... He closed his eyes, sighing. He had told his grandfather, quite emphatically, during one of their many private conversations, that marriage was not in his plans, not now, perhaps not ever.

He cherished his independence, his freedom to explore his art, his own path. He remembered joking with his grandfather about arranged marriages being relics of the past. His grandfather had simply smiled enigmatically. He hadn’t thought the old man had taken his aversion to matrimony so….literally, so strategically.

Around him, a low murmur rippled through the room. The envious gazes of his aunts, uncles, and cousins intensified, clearly filled with disbelief and annoyance.

Wine’s carefully constructed plans of escaping to Paris shattered like a dropped porcelain vase.

He glanced at his parents. His mother’s expression was unreadable, a flicker of something, relief or was it concern, shone in her eyes. His father, however, wore a tight-lipped expression, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Wine could already hear the unspoken disappointment, the looming lectures about duty and responsibility. His grandfather, even in death, had managed to orchestrate a grand, inconvenient twist in his life. And Wine, trapped in the opulent prison of his lineage, could only breathe aloud, the weight of his inheritance feeling suddenly unbearable.

⚡🍷

"Ma, what are you doing?" He shook his head at the pile of potrait photos lying on the round mahogany coffee table in his room.

"These are some potential candidates for your wedding."

"Candidat-" He sighed. "Ma, you're making this sound like some business arrangement. I'm not getting married."

"Wine, you have to. You heard your grandfather's will." His father crossed his leg from where he sat on the sofa.

"That doesn't mean I want to. Grandpa knew I didn't want to."

"And yet he included that clause."

"But-"

"Wine, it's already been two months since the will was read. You only have 10 more months to find someone to marry. Or all of the shares and properties your grandfather has left behind for you is going to be transferred to Anya, Rit and Tharm."

His cousins. Of course he knew that. But marriage complicated everything that he had planned. He seriously wanted to travel to whatever peaceful world his grandfather was residing in currently and ask him what was the reason behind this cruel betrayal.

"Are you dating some British guy you found during your stay in London? Is that why you're not-"

"No. Ma, stop please. There's nothing of that sort."

"Then why are you dragging this out?"

Because I don't want to tied down to anyone. Because I want to be independent. Because I don't want to be in Thailand. Because my career and my passion is more important to me.

Instead, he settled on this. "Because you're showcasing these men to me like you would a new cosmetic product you've cooked up and I don't like that."

"Wine, these are the most eligible bachelors in Thailand. They're all extremely rich and well mannered."

Wine rolled his eyes. All rich men were snobs.

He had gazed at the myriad of photos of conventionally attractive men and still felt nothing. One of them caught his eye but he wasn't intrigued or desperate yet to consider this option. He opted for tossing the photo back onto the central table and turned away, gazed fixed pointed on the curtains of his room.

⚡🍷

"What do I do?" Wine clutched the sides of his head, squatted on the leather sofa at the private enclosed bar in Arc's office.

Arc, a lawyer, seven years older than him, impeccably dressed as always in a crisp linen shirt despite the Bangkok heat, was already nursing a single malt.

His mind, sharp and analytical, was Wine’s go-to for legal counsel, even if their relationship was primarily built on years of Arc's relationship with his family friend, Arm. Arm had been the senior who looked after him since middle school, despite being only a year older than him. But being family friends meant attending parties and social events in the same circles more often than not and Arm had taken him under his wing.

His perpetually jovial friend, arrived shortly after, his broad grin dimming slightly as he sensed the tension radiating from Wine. He quickly ventured up to Arc, stealing a kiss from him before sliding into the seat opposite Wine. "So, what's got our resident prince looking like he's just lost a kingdom?"

Wine ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, clearly agitated.

"Worse, P'Arm. I've been given one, on the condition I do something I absolutely despise." He quickly recounted the will’s infuriating clause, his grandfather’s baffling final demand.

Arc, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "So, to recap, more assets than your cousins combined, but contingent on marriage within a year. And your current life plan involves fleeing to Paris to paint pretty pictures, not settling down with a spouse."

"Precisely." Wine said, picking at the label of his mineral water. "I told Grandfather explicitly that I wasn't interested in marriage. He just...smiled. I genuinely thought he was being understanding."

Arm let out a low chuckle at his expense. "Your grandfather was a master strategist, Wine. This is a classic move. He probably knew your family would try to pull you back into the business, and this is his way of giving you the leverage, the money, but still ensuring some kind of stability in his eyes. Or maybe he just wanted great-grandkids." He added, with a mischievous wink.

Wine resisted the urge to throw his phone at Arm and turned to Arc. "P'Arc, Is there…any way around this? A loophole? Can I get married and then get it annulled?"

Arc took a slow sip of his drink. "An annulment requires specific grounds. Non consummation, fraud or duress. Difficult to prove if it’s a consensual marriage. And the will specifically states legally married. A quick annulment might be challenged as an attempt to avoid the will’s intention, especially by your dear aunts and uncles."

Wine slumped back against the plush velvet. "So what? I'm doomed to find a husband, pretend to be happy and settle down to run the family empire?"

Arc held up a hand. "Not necessarily. We could explore what I call a contractual marriage. A temporary arrangement. You find someone amenable, draw up a watertight prenuptial and post-nuptial agreement, get married, fulfil the will’s condition, and then divorce after a mutually agreed upon period, say, a year after the assets are officially transferred."

Wine’s eyes widened slightly. "You mean…a sham marriage? Is that even legal?"

"The marriage itself would be legal." Arm clarified. "The intent behind it, while not strictly traditional, isn't illegal. What we would need is absolute transparency between you and the other party. The agreement would stipulate everything. The duration of the marriage, the terms of the divorce, any financial considerations for their participation and crucially, an ironclad confidentiality clause."

Arm, who had been listening intently, chimed in. "So you would basically hire someone to be your temporary husband. Fascinating. Like a modern-day arranged marriage, but with a clear expiry date."

"Exactly." Arc said. "Pros, You get the inheritance, you get to go to Paris. You avoid being forced into a marriage you don't want and you retain control over your life. Cons, Firstly, finding someone completely trustworthy. This person would hold a significant amount of power over you, given the royal family’s scrutiny. Any leak could cause a massive scandal, jeopardizing both the inheritance and your reputation. Secondly, Your family. They’re shrewd. They’ll be watching. You would have to put on a convincing show of a legitimate relationship for a while."

"And the financial aspect?" Wine asked, already mentally calculating. "What kind of financial consideration are we talking about, P'Arc?"

"Enough to make it worth their while, but not so much that it screams transaction, if this were to ever come to light." Arm explained. "It could be a lump sum, a property, shares, or a combination of it. Something that secures their future without being overtly excessive. And it would all depend on their absolute discretion. If they breathe a word, they lose everything stipulated in the agreement."

"Can such an agreement truly hold up in court if they decide to go back on their word?" Wine pressed, a glimmer of hope mixed with scepticism in his voice.

"That's the trickiest part." Arc admitted. "While the agreement itself would be legally drafted, the underlying premise, marrying solely for inheritance, could be viewed unfavourably. If they tried to extort you or claim a greater share in the divorce, it would be a messy legal battle. We would have to ensure the agreement is clear and strong, explicitly waiving any claims to your inherited assets and making it clear their remuneration is for their participation, not as a spouse."

Arm leaned back, thoughtfully. "It's a gamble, Wine. A high-stakes one. But if it works, you get your freedom and your art."

"What about the person I should marry?" Wine mused, more to himself than to them.

"Someone from within the royal circle would be too risky, too many ties, too much gossip. Someone from outside… but who would agree to such a thing?" Arm shrugged.

"Someone who needs this agreement as desperately as you do right now. Someone who might need financial security, but also values discretion and respects the terms." Arc replied. "Perhaps someone from a slightly less prominent family, but still with a good reputation. Or even a close friend who you trust implicitly and who understands your situation, though that carries its own set of complications."

Wine turned to look at Arm who looked baffled. "Don't look at me, I'm not marrying you. How dare you look at me when my P'Arc is standing there, handsome as hell?"

Wine rolled his eyes, returning away while Arc shook his head, clearly finding Arm fond.

He sighed, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "So I essentially have to choose between a life I don't want or a potentially scandalous charade that could backfire spectacularly."

"Or you could find someone you genuinely fall for within the year." Arm offered, trying to lighten the mood. "Stranger things have happened."

Wine scoffed, a wry smile touching his lips. "This is me we're talking about P'Arm. You know my luck with love. This contractual marriage, as P'Arc calls it, seems like the only viable albeit risky path to Paris. The question is, how do I find someone willing to play along. And how do I trust them with my entire future?" He looked from Arm to Arc. "This is going to be far more complicated than I ever imagined."

⚡🍷

The months that followed Arc's plan were a blur of awkward meetings and forced pleasantries. Wine, despite his royal standing, found himself in the unusual position of interviewing potential spouses. Arm had, with surprising efficiency, curated a list of eligible bachelors from various respectable Thai families.

There was Kim, a charming scion of a manufacturing empire, whose easy laughter and apparent intelligence initially held promise. But he had spoken with a possessive glint in his eye about the future, already sketching out how Wine’s artistic endeavours could be integrated into their family’s textile designs, effectively commodifying his passion. Wine politely declined, the thought of his art becoming a corporate tool chilling him to the bone.

Next was Jinta, a quiet, unassuming academic with a love for ancient history. He was gentle and kind, but when Wine subtly broached the topic of a temporary arrangement, Jinta's eyes widened with genuine shock and he stammered about the sacredness of marriage, making it clear he could never agree to such a deception. Wine admired his integrity but knew he wasn't the solution.

Then came Mek, a flamboyant socialite whose only interest seemed to be the access Wine’s royal connections could provide to exclusive parties and high-society events. Mek barely listened to Wine, instead prattling on about his latest fashion acquisitions and celebrity acquaintances. Wine ended the meeting prematurely, his patience worn thin.

He met Song, a rising star in the tech world, who seemed too focused on his own ambition to care about Wine’s. Song saw the marriage as a strategic alliance for his business ventures. While this initially felt like a good idea, Wine was scared that he might take advantage of Wine’s state to fulfil his quench for the top.

And finally, Akin, a family friend from a fellow royal family, whose eagerness to elevate his social standing was palpable, making him seem both desperate and potentially unreliable. And Wine was not about to risk getting his secrets exposed to his family by selecting someone close to his family.

In the meantime, he was regularly being paid visits by his cousins to remind and poke at him with barely concealed insults fuelled by their jealousy that Wine couldn't help but pity.

They, of course, had no inkling of Wine’s desperate plan. They simply saw a deadline looming and their cousin, who had seemingly been handed the family’s golden ticket, struggling to meet its terms.

It was during those particularly stifling Sunday brunches, a mandatory family affair that Wine dreaded, that the hits were fired.

Anya, draped in the latest Louis Vuitton collection that shimmered with condescension, dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin.

"So, Wine." She began, her voice dripping with mock concern. "Mother says you've been quite the busy bee with your social engagements. Any luck finding a suitable partner to share all your newfound burdens with?" Her eyes flickered towards the ornate ceiling, subtly referencing the properties that would be Wine’s.

Rit, never the one to not be blunt, scoffed. "Burden? More like a golden parachute, Anya. But one that seems to be stubbornly refusing to open. Isn't it Wine?" He took a loud slurp of his soup, his eyes glinting with amusement as he watched Wine’s reaction. "I hear the eligible bachelors are dwindling. Perhaps you're being too picky? You wouldn't want to disappoint dear Grandfather, even in passing."

Wine couldn't believe these people were actually older than him. Granted, older by just a year or two, but still older than him. He forced a smile, a practiced mask he wore for these occasions. "The right person takes time, P'Rit. Unlike some, I'm not in a rush to simply tick boxes." He took a deliberate bite of his prawn, maintaining eye contact.

Tharm, the quietest but often the most venomous, leaned forward. "Or perhaps the right person simply doesn't exist for someone with such peculiar aspirations. An artist, after all, needs a very understanding partner, wouldn't you agree? Someone willing to overlook the practicalities of a vast inheritance for the sake of futile passion." His words were carefully chosen, designed to needle at Wine’s deepest insecurities, hinting that his artistic passion made him unmarriable in their world.

Wine felt a flush creep up his neck. He remembered his parents’ dismissive tones, their quiet shame when his aunt and uncle made these very same points. His father, seated across from him, merely cleared his throat and refocused on his meal, while his mother offered a small, helpless smile that did nothing to quell the barbs. There was no defence, no standing up for him, just a tacit agreement that his artistic dreams were indeed an eccentric, if not embarrassing, hurdle.

A few weeks later, at a grand charity gala, Wine found himself cornered by the trio near the dessert table. He had just endured a painfully awkward conversation with a distant relative who, clearly prompted by the gossip, had subtly inquired about his matrimonial progress.

"Still flying solo, Wine?" Anya purred, gesturing with a delicate pastry. "Such a pity. There's only three months left. I have a feeling we're just going to end up splitting your inheritance, dear cousin."

"Or perhaps he’s waiting for a prince on a white horse, not realizing he’s supposed to be the prince!" Rit guffawed, attracting the attention of a few nearby guests who quickly looked away, sensing the family tension. "One would think with all those assets, suitors would be lining up. I guess, considering your unconventional preferences, things might be hard. After all, not many are out of the closet and proud." Rit’s insinuation hung in the air, a thinly veiled jab at Wine’s sexuality. Wine clenched his fists at his side.

Tharm stepped closer, his voice conspiratorial. "You know, Wine, if you find yourself truly desperate, I'm sure Auntie knows a few very accommodating young men who might be persuaded. For a small fee, of course. Just to ensure Grandfather's wishes are met, naturally." The offer, cloaked in fake helpfulness, was a direct insult, suggesting Wine was so unappealing he'd have to resort to paying someone.

Wine could feel the blood pounding in his ears. The temptation to lash out, to reveal his ingenious plan, was almost overwhelming. But he held back, remembering Arm’s warnings about discretion.

Instead, he met Tharm’s gaze with a cold, unwavering stare. "I assure you, P'Tharm, my personal life is perfectly in order. And when the time comes, I will meet Grandfather's condition, much to the surprise of some." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the trio simmering in their own venom.

The taunts were constant, a steady drip of poison designed to undermine him, to make him feel inadequate. They knew nothing of the desperate, calculated gamble he was about to make. They only saw the clock ticking, and their cousin, the favoured one, seemingly failing. And in their eyes, that was a victory in itself.

Wine was able to whittle his list down to five prospects who, while imperfect, at least seemed capable of understanding the concept of a discreet agreement. Yet, as the clock ticked mercilessly, with only three months left until his grandfather’s deadline, he felt an overwhelming sense of defeat. None of them truly felt right, and the risk of a scandal loomed large with each unsatisfactory encounter.

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Wine was gaming at his condo when his mother had called him, asking him to come by the palace. Wine obliged, despite not wanting to. He walked through a secluded corridor of the Royal Palace, heading towards the drawing room when he heard voices emanating. His mother’s usually soft tones were punctuated by a sharper, more commanding voice he didn't immediately recognize. Curiosity piqued, he slowed his pace.

As he passed the open doorway, he saw his mother, his father, and an impeccably dressed woman in a striking emerald green Gucci suit, her posture regal, her coal black hair coiled elegantly. She exuded an aura of immense power and wealth. His mother’s eyes lit up upon seeing him.

“Ah, Wine, darling, just the person,” his mother chirped, pulling him gently into the room. “This is Khun Amara, CEO of the Rattanakorn Enterprises. And Khun Khun Amara, this is my son, Witsawa.”

Wine managed a respectful bow, the name Amara echoing in his mind. The Amara. The woman behind one of, if not the, largest conglomerates in Thailand. Her empire stretched from real estate to telecommunications, finance to luxury goods. He had seen her name in countless business articles, always described as formidable and visionary.

Amara’s gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over him. “Prince Witsawa. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your mother has spoken highly of you.” Her tone was smooth, but there was an underlying assertiveness that allowed no argument. Then, she turned back to his parents, her voice dropping slightly, though still audible to Wine. “As we discussed, I believe a union between our families would be mutually beneficial. My son, Faifa, is prepared to proceed.”

Wine’s stomach churned. Prepared to proceed? Union? Was this woman discussing a marriage, his marriage, without consulting his opinion?

As if his thoughts were about this were irrelevant. As if this was a definite conclusion. He felt his jaw tighten. This wasn’t just a proposition. It was an order. His parents offered no protest, their expressions a mix of humble smiles and thinly veiled excitement. The prospect of an alliance with the Rattanakorn Group was clearly too tempting for them to resist.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

"Khun Amara." Wine interjected, his voice firm, though he could feel the disapproving stares of his parents and his uncle and aunt who had gathered at the periphery of the room. "While I deeply respect the honour of your proposal, I would very much appreciate the opportunity to meet with your son first. Compatibility, I believe, is essential for any successful union, and I would like to ascertain that before any decisions are finalized."

Amara’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose infinitesimally, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. Her expression, however, remained diplomatic. "A reasonable request, Prince Witsawa." She conceded, though her tone suggested it was barely so. "I shall arrange a meeting with Faifa at our earliest convenience."

Wine immediately set his personal intelligence network into motion. He needed to know everything about Faifa.

Faifa, or Thanawanyotha's official profile was flawless. Handsome. Just the type of man that Wine would go crazy for. Tall but barely, towering over him by a mere 1 cm. Composed. A Harvard MBA graduate, poised to take over as CEO. No public scandals. A reputation for being intelligent and disciplined.

But Wine knew better than to trust public relations. He deployed Arc's most trusted spy, who came highly recommended, someone called Gun who was now working deep within Bangkok’s elite social circle, with a simple directive to find the truth, the buried stories, the whispers that never reached the headlines.

The intel arrived late that night. But Gun hadn't been able to find much except that Faifa had been in a serious relationship, a long-term one with a non celebrity girl from a respectable, though not ultra wealthy family. The relationship had ended abruptly, not due to incompatibility, but because Amara had discreetly paid the girl off. Paid her off to disappear. Gun reported that the girl had been heartbroken but the money had been too significant to not actually accept it. So she had taken the money and left Thailand, effectively exiled from Faifa’s life.

A heavy feeling settled in Wine’s chest. This woman, Amara, was ruthless. She would stop at nothing to secure her family’s interests, even if it meant destroying another’s happiness. He felt a pang of sympathy for Faifa, who had seemingly been subjected to his mother’s whims.

Despite the disturbing revelation, Wine was desperate. Faifa might turn out to be a mommy's boy who might not be the one Wine needs right now. But this was his last chance. If this was screwed up, he might just have no choice but to beg Arc to let him marry Arm. And he really didn't want to marry Arm. Gross.

With a heavy but determined heart, he pushed aside his reservations. He would meet Faifa. Perhaps, just perhaps, this might be the solution he needed to secure his inheritance and finally, his freedom.

Three agonizing days passed. Wine tried to focus on painting a new piece, but his mind raced with the implications of Amara’s visit. Finally, the call came. His mother relayed the message with an almost giddy excitement. Faifa Thanawanyotha would meet him for lunch tomorrow.

He set out on a flight to Bangkok, towards his last hope.