It began with a dinner.
Not a celebration. Not even a family gathering in the true sense of the word. But a performance. A quiet little trap set beneath the glimmer of crystal chandeliers and polished silverware.
Serena Vale knew something was wrong the moment her mother called her downstairs—not in the usual clipped tone laced with disappointment, but with a sugary sweetness that felt forced. That was always the first sign. Like the hush before a thunderstorm.
She descended the staircase slowly, the heels she never liked clicking against the marble like warning bells. Her pale blue dress felt too tight, too chosen. As if it hadn't come from her own closet, but from someone else's expectations.
The dining room was immaculate. Too immaculate. Her father sat at the head of the table, straight-backed, face unreadable. Across from him sat her mother, eyes shining with a brittle kind of excitement.
And then there was him.
The stranger in the charcoal-gray suit.
He rose as she entered, tall and startlingly composed. Midnight hair, a jaw carved like a statue's, and storm-gray eyes that followed her every move. There was something dangerous in how calm he looked. A kind of silence that felt like power.
"Serena," her father said, gesturing toward the empty seat beside the stranger. "Come sit."
She hesitated. Just a beat. But it was long enough to feel her father's stare sharpen. She obeyed without a word, lowering herself into the chair, pulse quickening.
"This is Alaric Wolfe," her mother said, as if introducing her to some charity donor instead of the man who would soon alter the course of her entire life. "CEO of Wolfe Industries. You've likely seen him in Forbes."
He nodded politely. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Serena."
Finally?
Her fingers clenched around the linen napkin in her lap. "I'm afraid I wasn't aware we were scheduled to meet."
A pause. Her mother's smile faltered, but Alaric's didn't.
"That's quite alright. We're correcting that now."
The dinner proceeded like a well-rehearsed script. Her father discussed oil contracts, political ties, mergers. Her mother floated between flattery and gossip. Alaric spoke little, but when he did, Serena noticed how everyone quieted to listen.
She hated it. Every second.
It wasn't until dessert arrived—something lemony and sickeningly sweet—that the final blow fell.
"We've signed the preliminary agreement," her father said, folding his napkin. "The engagement will be announced next week. The wedding is scheduled for the end of the season."
Serena choked.
Silence rang out as all eyes turned toward her. She rose to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"I'm sorry. The what?"
"The marriage, darling," her mother said lightly, reaching for her wine. "It's for the good of the family. We wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
"You didn't ask at all," Serena snapped. "You decided."
Her father stood now too, voice sharp. "You'll do what is necessary. As your sister once did. This isn't a fairytale. It's legacy."
Alaric hadn't moved. Hadn't even blinked.
"I'm not a bargaining chip," Serena hissed, eyes burning. "You can't just trade me away like one of your—"
"You're not being traded," Alaric interrupted smoothly, his voice a cool velvet. "You're being offered a partnership. One that comes with more power and freedom than most women will ever see."
She turned on him. "Freedom? Is that what you think this is?"
He met her gaze evenly. "You haven't seen the contract yet. Don't assume you know what kind of cage I'm offering."
Something flickered behind his eyes then—something dark and unreadable. But not cruel. Not entirely.
She didn't sleep that night.
Not when her parents called her selfish behind closed doors. Not when her younger brother avoided her gaze. Not when her childhood bedroom began to feel like a stranger's museum.
And not when a courier arrived the next morning with a black envelope, sealed in wax.
Inside was the contract.
Twelve months. No children. No public scandal. Mutual discretion.
And at the bottom: "After one year, either party may annul the union—should they survive it."