Forcing The Billionaire

Chapter 4

Interaction

“I told you. That project is no good! What we do is business, not charity!”

I am yet to step foot inside our house but I already heard the high-pitch voice of my mom. Even an empty living room welcomed me, in the distance, I can hear their arguments.

“Aryan, that project’s goal is not to earn a profit, but to feed the children in the orphanage.” My father’s low voice sounds exhausted. They are probably arguing about this for hours.

In my guess, they are talking about the project that the L. Corporation conducted 6 months ago. Our company fed abandoned and were once homeless children for over 50 orphanages in the region.

I remember myself ‘volunteering’ to feed the kids. Although, my father told me he was going to block all of my cards when I won’t attend the said event. I thought he was only kidding. On the first day of the event, I did not show up. He did not say anything when he got home so I thought it was fine, not until I go out with my friends and realized he did block my cards!

“Oh my gosh, Ari! That was embarrassing. Good thing I brought my card with me,” Gela complained.

We just got out of the restaurant we had lunch with. I was supposed to pay for our meal with my card but it keeps getting declined. It took us about 30 minutes before I realize that my card was indeed blocked by my father.

“Why did they freeze your account? This is the first time they do it, right?” Asks Jaira.

I shrug my shoulder at them. “Geez, I don’t know,” I answer shortly, refusing my friends to know that my parents are forcing me to do charity work.

That day, when I got home, I and my father fought.

“I told you so,” he says after I complained about my freeze card. I thought he was going to fix it after a couple of days. Yet, he never did.

Three days after I discovered my card was frozen, I gave up. “Fine, I’ll go to that event!” I say. A small sweet smile from my father appears on his face when he heard what I said. I roll my eyes at him and march back into my room.

It’s not that I do not want to help those kids. I just don’t like the idea of being with someone at that event.

If I’m not mistaken, BM Corporations is also conducting the same event. BM Corporation, also known as the BigMalls Corporation, is the largest well-known chain of malls in the country. It is a company owned by the Frantz.

If I remember it correctly, my mother once mentioned that their family made it on the top 10 list of richest families in the world. Everyone admires and respects their family. It’s given. Rags to riches stories are often idolized and used as an inspiration by many.

BM Corporation is doing charity work not only to the orphans but also to the oldies. There are plenty of institutions here that house old people when their kids couldn’t take care of them. And BM Corp. included them in their priority list along with the orphans.

“He won’t be there. And if he’s there, you two won’t interact. Don’t worry,” my father smile widely, teasing me.

I glare at him. Unlike my mom who thinks that the only reason why I do not like to go to that event is that I need to socialize with different classes of people, my father exactly knows my reason.

“I do not care if he’s there, dad. We’re not even close!” It’s dinner time and my dad is still teasing me with Hyko.

At one of our social events our family was mutually invited, and I had a small interaction with him. He just ‘accidentally’ bump into me, making me spill the glass of juice in my pink glittery maxi dress.

Aaron, the guy I’m dating, is also invited to this gathering. We take this opportunity to have a simple date. His hand is resting on my shoulder and we were both watching the dancing people on the dance floor. I got a bit jealous so I asked him to dance with me. When I got up from my seat and pulled his arm, a broad and hard thing bumped from my behind. Suddenly, I felt a cold and sticky liquid dripping all over my arm.

“My dress!” I exclaim. My body froze as I stare at my currently ruined dress.

“It’s sticky,” Aaron murmured and immediately let go of my hand so the juice won’t ruin his tux. I glare at him but he did not notice since his eyes are all on his coat.

“I’m sorry,” a cold-low voice made me irritated. When I turn to face him, his chest welcomed me.

My eyes crawled up to meet his face. I frowned. He doesn’t look apologetic. He’s even coldly staring at me.

“You’re already using eyeglass yet you still didn’t see me?” I pointed at myself and raise a brow. Instead of talking back, he only slightly bows his head and utters an apology. I was a bit stunned by how he reacted.

I remember how annoyed I was at that time. My 15-year-old self was not aware of who he was and I thought he was an ordinary waiter. However, when our parents attended to us, I realized he is a Frantz.

I learned from my parents that the Frantz always discipline their kids by making them work from the lowest position. As a family that is known for their rags to riches story, the Frantz also want their kids to experience what it is like to work like regular employees before they place them as the heir.

That explains why this multi-billionaire boy is wearing a waitress uniform and unfortunately ruined my dress.

He never mentioned his name when I ranted and burst out in anger. Never told me he was a Frantz. Maybe he’s scared of his parents? After all, it was indeed his fault. People that are actually working in that position could not afford to get mad because it may lose him his job. Maybe he is in character.

My mother even scolded me about my attitude when we got home.

“You have no idea how many times I apologize on behalf of you! Good thing the Frantz did not make it a big deal.”

"If it's no big deal to them, then why are you making a fuss?"

"What did you say?!"

“Aryan, that’s enough,” my father meddles. We are already at our house, but my mom keeps nagging about the incident earlier. She’s saying I should be the one who should be sorry. Tss! Over my dead gorgeous body. He was the one at fault so why would I apologize?

If other families go crazy to get the attention and be-friend with the Frantz—even my family—I beg to do the opposite. I do not want to face their family ever again. Not after that incident. But I can’t live without money. I do not have cash and I always pay with my cards!

Knowing that I am left with no choice, I decided to go to that event the next day.

I was pulled back into my conscious state when I hear glass breaking from afar. Ugh! Seriously? I just got home from school!

“Mom? Dad!” I called. In the kitchen, I saw broken pieces of glass scattered on the floor. Slowly, I entered the scene. My mom is facing the sink with her arms crossed over her chest while my dad started cleaning the mess.

“Just an accident,” he shrugs. “Go upstairs and rest for a while. We’ll call you for dinner.”

I raised a brow. It’s only five in the afternoon. Our dinner mostly starts at seven.

As an 18-year-old girl, I am not blind to my family’s situation. This is not the first time that it happened. The broken glass, the silent arguments, the fight over money, and my parents' rocky relationship. All are laid in front of my face but I chose not to face them. I’m 18. I shouldn’t be wasting my life thinking about the problems that adults are responsible for.

“I’ll cook our food. I want to eat pizza for dinner. Is it okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah, sure hon.”

“Make it with less carb,” my mom, who was silent the whole time, suddenly spoke.

“Okay. I have to go to the mall to pick up some ingredients. I bet I need stuff not available here in our house.” I did not wait for their response and quickly turn to face my back.

It was too obvious that they want me out of the house so they can continue fighting. No matter how hard they try to hide it from me, to the number of nights that I woke up and hear them argue in their room, and from their countless small fight over our table, I am definitely aware of what’s happening.

~~~

I did not ask for our driver to escort me to the mall. I already turned 18 and I learned to drive at the age of 17. Also, I have to shop for the ingredients. I am very picky and it took me hours before I decide what to buy. I don’t like it when someone’s guarding me the whole time. I felt pressured.

I may be spoiled as most people think, but I am very hands-on in the kitchen. I love cooking and experimenting with new dishes. I do not know if I got it from my father’s family. We don’t own a fast-food restaurant for no reason.

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” A saleslady wearing a blue apron welcomed me. I nod at her and utter a soft thank you when she handed me a pull cart.

I started with the dough. We have ingredients in our house but in case it isn’t enough, I decided to buy one.

“Flour, butter, a pack of pepperoni, a bag of shrimp, one whole mozzarella cheese, cheddar cheese, white onion, bell pepper, olives… what else did I miss?” I whisper to myself.

I keep staring at my phone where I listed all the ingredients I have to buy. I already checked everything that is on the list but I feel like I am missing something.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Is there anything I can help you with?” A familiar hoarse voice from my behind made the small hairs at the back of my neck stand.

When I turn to face the owner of the voice, I frowned. Wearing a black polo uniform, black jeans, and a blue apron on top, he looks different from the guy who scolded me hours earlier in school.

I almost forgot that they owned this mall. Imagine, 5 floors of this building and we still bumped into each other, not to mention that he was assigned here in the market.

“I can manage,” I snobbishly answer and roll my eyes.

I was about to walk away with my cart when he places his hand on the holder and get it from me.

“Let me, ma’am.” He gently pulls the cart from me and pushes it with him as he walks.

Honestly, his blue apron does not match him. He may look completely different but his aura, his vibes, and the way he moves are very much like a Frantz. Pushing a cart for a customer doesn’t suit him. He fits more with a long sleeve top, black trousers, and a black coat with a black tie. Something like office and business attires.

He started walking ahead of me as if he knows where to go. I am the one shopping, he should be behind me and not the other way around! I march towards him and tried to snatch the cart from him but he did not let me. Instead, his grip tightens on the cart which made the veins in his arms protrude.

“What else do you need?” He asks, ignoring the silent fight we have.

“Nothing. I’m done! Give it to me. I have to pay for them,” I coldly reply and once again tried to snatch my cart from him.

“What are you going to cook?” He refuses to let go of my cart and faces me. We are walking slowly side by side while fighting over who should push my cart. I hate how effortless he is while casually pushing the trolly while I wanted to almost hit his face just for him to let go of it.

I am still pissed at what happened earlier at school. How dare he threatened me to call my parents!

Since I do not want to look desperate, I answered him calmly. “Pizza.”

His eyes drop to my cart. His thick eyebrow arches a bit before looking in front and pushing the cart at a little faster pace.

“Hey! The counter is on the left!” I said when he turned on the other aisle. Not that he isn’t aware. He works here and they are the owner of this.

He ignores my sentiments and continues walking with my cart. I am on the verge of hitting his head out of annoyance of being ignored when he reaches for a bottle of tomato sauce from the rack.

He then faces me, “You forgot your base sauce.”

My irritation escalated and was replaced by curiosity. With furrowed brows, I ask, “You cook?”

He only tilts his head. His smirk filled with no humor perfectly matches his cold eyes behind his thick eyeglass. “You don’t have to be an expert in the kitchen to know that you need a tomato sauce for making pizza.”

The annoyance that I felt quickly went back to life and appears on my face. How dare he mock me? I know I am missing something. That is why I kept on scrolling through my list until he appeared and meddled.

“And you don’t have to stick your nose in someone else’s business!”

We are not close and I keep on avoiding him since that incident 3 years ago, but our world seems so small!

“It’s also my business, ma’am. It’s my job to take good care of our customers.”

Calling me ma’am is far from how he addresses me in school.

“Why? Do you always offer your help to your customers and forcefully snatch their cart from them?!” I sarcastically ask.

My voice raises and I somehow caught the attention of shoppers and staff near us. None of the staff dare to meddle. Of course, they are aware of who I am talking to! But the shoppers around us, specifically the group of girls my age not far from us is what irritates me.

I keep on ignoring them but I can sense that they were following us—or maybe him! I glare at Hyko who seems not to notice the girls shamelessly staring at him. I heard soft giggles from them earlier yet I am too busy arguing and ranting in my mind.

“I do, ma’am,” he answers—still not dropping his act as a salesman in their own mall!

“Oh my gosh, his voice sounds hot!”

“I told you, he looks way way way more handsome if we come closer.”

My brows almost meet each other. I look straight at him but his expression did not change. He is closer to those girls and I am certain he heard them.

“Give me back my cart. I told you earlier that I can do it on my own!” I reach my arm to the other end of the cart to grab my cart back.

“I don’t like that b*tch’s attitude,’ said one of the girls.

I am sure I am the one she is pertaining to because, in my peripheral vision, I can see them watching us. If I am in a different situation, I will confront that witch. The audacity to call me a b*tch when my hair looks prettier than her whole existence!

This time, Hyko darted his gaze in the girl’s direction. I use it as an opportunity to forcefully pull my cart. However, I forgot I am too close to the cart. When I pulled my trolly, its wheels hit my feet.

“Ouch!”

Wearing 3 inches of heels, I am already ready to hit the floor. However, instead of feeling pain in my bottom cheeks, I felt a strong grip on my upper uniform. It was too late when we both realized he held me in the wrong way. A couple of buttons of my school uniform fell on the floor.

I froze and was still in a state of shock.

“F*ck!” he curses.

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Forcing The Billionaire

by: Joanne Cristel

©2022

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Note: Unedited. English is not the author's first language so expect grammatical errors. Thank you!