Adrian's Pov
The boardroom door shuts behind me with a clean, final click, cutting off the low murmur of executives still lingering inside, my second meeting today.
My pace is deliberate as I head down the marble corridor, footsteps echoing in the silence. Logan, my assistant, falls into step beside me, tablet in hand, tie perfectly straight.
"The investors from Berlin seem satisfied," he says, his tone clipped but efficient. "They liked the quarterly numbers, and I've already sent them the updated expansion plan. The projection charts hit all their marks."
"As they should," I reply, not slowing down.
We turn a corner, the skyline of Halston City visible through the glass walls lining the hallway, The Sinclair Holdings building is glass and steel, pristine, cold, powerful.
Logan swipes something on his screen. "Your next few hours are packed, Strategy review with R&D at two, media consultant at three, and the Chinese investor's dinner invite at—"
"Clear it," I cut in smoothly.
Logan glances up, eyebrows knitting. "Sir?"
"I said clear my schedule."
He blinks "All of it?"
"I've got a meeting this afternoon with my future wife apparently." I said flatly
For a moment, Logan just stares, Then he exhales a quiet laugh of disbelief. "What? You agreed?"
I gave him a look.
He straightens immediately "Sorry Sir, It's just…I'm surprised, that's all, You've shot down every one of your father's arranged setups like they were spam emails, Why this one?"
My gaze shifts toward the city view.
"Alcrest group has finally gotten its crack for us to slip through, and this marriage gives us more than leverage, it gives us control. My father's finally right about something, It's a good deal."
Logan's eyes search mine. "And you're just... going along with it?"
"If marriage is what it takes, then absolutely."
I continued walking and he followed.
---
Milana's Pov
The hum of the city outside is muted by the thick glass of the car window. I sat in the back seat, legs crossed, fingers loosely clasped over my bag.
The car glides through Halston's high end district, a place where every building looks expensive enough to breathe money.
My phone buzzes in my lap.
A text from Serena
' I'm really glad you finally decided to do this, I know it's not what you wanted, but you'll be okay. Trust yourself.'
I don't reply,not because I don't appreciate it but because I don't have the words for what this really feels like. Numb, maybe. Or just... quiet.
The car slows, then pulls to a stop.
I glanced out the window.
The restaurant outside is everything the Sinclair name promises, high building, discreet, and dripping with quiet luxury. No flashy signs, no crowd. Just valet drivers in sleek uniforms and glass doors that reflect back your uncertainty with perfect clarity.
The driver steps out and opens the door for me.
I exhaled and got out, heels hitting the pavement with a practiced elegance.
The dress I wore is a black silk, knee length, thin strap,and clean lines. Nothing loud, but impossible to ignore.
My heels are delicate and metallic, catching the light with every step.
My hair is pinned back with a few loose strands framing my face.
I'm barely two steps toward the door when a sharply dressed man in a suit walks up to me. He doesn't introduce himself, just gestures politely.
"This way, Miss Monroe."
Inside, the air smells like quiet jazz and expensive wine, Everything gleams.
"Right this way." he says, turning back to me.
He walked, and I followed, my heels clicking softly against the marble. We weave through private booths and velvet chairs, past tables lined with candles and low murmurs.
And then he slows.
"Miss, I'll let you take it from here." he says, his voice dipping like he's speaking about someone far too important for small talk.
He turned away and left.
And there he is.
I can only see his back, but somehow that's enough to hit me harder than I expect. He's seated at a corner table, the kind reserved for people who don't ask for anything twice.
One hand rests on the table beside a glass of water, the other, loose on his lap. His posture is straight, but not stiff, like he was born knowing how to command space without trying.
My steps slowed.
Every click of my heels feels louder now.
He still hasn't turned.
Not even a glance.
But I see the way he fills that tailored dark brown suit, broad shoulders, clean lines, dark hair trimmed sharp at the edges and styled back in a way that looks both effortless and precise.
The atmosphere changes around him.
I stopped a few feet away.
Then he stands.
Turns.
And for a split second, I forgot how to breathe.
He's—
No. Focus.
He's tall, tall enough that I have to slightly lift my chin, broad frame,perfectly proportioned like he was sketched by someone with an obsession for symmetry. The suit is clean cut, custom for sure, every stitch hugging him like it was made for no one else, his eyes, cold, piercing gray met mine without a flicker of emotion. His hair, dark and pushed back, frames a face that looks almost unreal up close. Beautiful in a way that makes you second guess every standard you've ever known.
But there's no smile
No warmth
Just control
He steps forward, pulls out the chair across from him, and waits.
"Miss Monroe," he says with a simple acknowledgement, not a greeting.
Voice deep, smooth, unaffected. Like this is just another business dinner.
I sit.
His hand brushes the back of my chair only for a second as he pushes it in, then returns to his own seat.
No lingering glance.
No compliment.
Just him. There. Solid. Impossible to read.
"Thanks for showing up," he says, eyes on me, "That makes things easier."
I cross one leg over the other and rest my hands on the table, steady. His eyes…unreadable.
"You're punctual," I say, because the silence is too powerful for a first move.
Adrian leans back slightly in his chair. "I tend to be."
Of course he does.
A waiter approaches with a wine list. Adrian waves it off.
"We'll have the private menu," he says, without even looking. Then, to me, "Unless you'd rather order something specific?"
I lift one brow "No need, This works."
He gives a slight nod.
I glanced around the restaurant "I was expecting something more formal, you know, in an office, a contract to sign."
He doesn't speak right away, just watches me.
I meet his stare head on.
Then I ask, "Why are you here?"
His brow lifts slightly "Excuse me?"
"I mean…" I shift slightly in my seat, adjusting the thin strap of my dress, "it's obvious why I agreed to this. My family's company is collapsing,this marriage is just leverage, but what's your reason?"
A pause.
He nods once "we're aligned."
My eyes narrow "So that's it? Your father arranges a marriage and you just... show up?"
His expression remains unreadable "I've handled more complicated deals for far less gain."
"And I'm what—an asset now?"
"You're a condition," he replies smoothly, tone flat "The gain is access,the marriage is branding."
I laugh under my breath, soft and dry. "You make it sound like—"
Interrupted by the waiter's arrival, quietly placing two plates of elegantly arranged appetizers in front of us.
For a beat, we just stare at each other. The tension isn't heated, it's controlled. Measured like a negotiation happening without the paperwork.
Adrian leans back slightly, fingers tapping once against the stem of his glass "You don't have to like me."
"Good," I say "Because you're making that really easy."
Something flickers behind his eyes
He lifts the glass to his lips, drinks, then sets it down, eyes still on me.
"I don't care about whatever you do ," he says "As long as you're discreet."
"And I expect the same—.
Caught short again by the vibration from his phone, screen lighting up with a name
He glances at it once, then answers without hesitation.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"I'll be right there."
He ends the call just as effortlessly.
Then he stands, buttoning his suit jacket with precise, practiced movements "We'll continue this another time, I'll have someone contact you about the engagement details, dates, press releases, expectations."
I blink "Wait, what? Just like that?"
He doesn't respond, doesn't pause
I glanced down at the untouched plates between us "You haven't even touched your—"
But he's already walking away, phone in one hand, posture straight, mind clearly elsewhere, the sound of his shoes fading as he walks out of the restaurant.
Like I was never even here.
…
Adrian's Pov
I stepped into the elevator and tapped the top floor. The doors slide shut with a quiet hiss. For a second, there's silence, just the steady hum of motion.
The elevator opens directly into the executive wing. Logan is already waiting for me.
"We've got a problem," he says as we walk to my office. "One of the subsidiary execs in the Riyad branch tried to push through a licensing agreement we hadn't signed off on, legal caught it ten minutes ago."
"Damage?" I ask
"Minimal but it won't stay that way if the board gets wind of it before we lock it down."
I push open my office doors.
Three execs were already inside, one of them, Oliver, head of international strategy,my friend, holding a printed draft of the contract like it personally offended him.
"Tell me what I need to see," I say as I walk in.
Oliver doesn't waste time "The clause was buried in the third draft, It bypasses holding company protocols and creates exposure in two regions."
I scan the paper "Redraft this with our legal standard, fix the language,bury it clean and make sure the fucking idiot who approved this without my clearance is replaced by morning."
"Yes sir" they all said and exited my office except Oliver
I moved to the end of the table and sat, already pulling up the Riyad portfolio on my screen.
"By the way… I heard you had lunch with your future wife." Oliver said offhanded
I don't look up "It was scheduled."
"She's the youngest Monroe, isn't she?"
"She is."
"Hm." A beat "Smart move, Alcrest's on the brink, this puts us in a good position if they cave."
"That's the idea," I said, scrolling, my voice didn't shift.
Oliver smirks faintly "Is she any good?"
I glanced up
Then back at the screen.
"She understands the terms, That's all that matters."