The marble steps echoed under her heels as Samaira entered the mansion. The grand chandeliers sparkled overhead, their brilliance mocking the emptiness she felt inside. Everything here looked flawless—expensive paintings, imported furniture, rare crystal vases—but to her, it was nothing more than a carefully constructed cage.
"Welcome home, President," the butler greeted softly, bowing his head.
Samaira only nodded, removing her coat. Elena had already informed the staff not to disturb her unless necessary. And yet, as she turned toward the study, she noticed an envelope lying neatly on her desk. Her name written in bold, elegant strokes.
Her heart stuttered.
That handwriting… she knew it too well.
With a trembling hand, she picked it up. The seal bore the family crest she hadn't seen in years—the one her father used. Her chest tightened as she sank into the leather chair. She had avoided every remnant of the past, every reminder of the people she had lost. But this envelope… she couldn't ignore it.
She tore it open.
"Samaira," the letter began.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind, each word pressing down on her.
> 'If you are reading this, I am gone. And with me, the choices I once made for you. I know you hate the idea of anyone controlling your future, but there was a promise made long before you could understand it. A promise that cannot be broken.'
Her grip tightened around the paper.
> 'Adam Black. The son of my closest friend. A man I once trusted with my life. We made a vow when you were children. If fate tore us apart, you and Adam would carry forward the bond we began. Not for wealth, not for power, but for the strength of unity. I ask you not as a father, but as a man who loved you more than his own life—do not break this promise.'
Her throat burned as she dropped the letter onto the desk.
Adam Black.
The name alone was enough to set fire to her veins. Ruthless, arrogant, untouchable. Their paths had crossed in business circles, but she had made it a point never to engage with him. His presence suffocated her. His gaze felt like a challenge she refused to accept. And now, fate wanted to bind her to him?
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.
"No." Her voice cracked in the empty study. "I won't let anyone decide my life. Not again."
But the echo of her father's words wouldn't leave her. A promise that cannot be broken.
A knock at the door jolted her back.
The butler appeared nervously. "Madam… Mr. Black has arrived. He is waiting in the main hall."
Her blood ran cold.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe. Adam Black—here, in her house. As if the universe was mocking her resistance.
Her fingers curled into fists as she forced her spine straight. She wouldn't let him see her weakness. She wouldn't give him that power.
With measured steps, she walked toward the hall.
And there he was.
Tall, impossibly composed, dressed in a tailored black suit that framed his broad shoulders and lean form. His presence filled the room like a storm—quiet, dark, inevitable. His eyes lifted to meet hers, those piercing gray depths that saw too much and revealed nothing.
"Samaira," he greeted, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that brushed against her skin like a blade.
She stopped a few feet away, her chin raised. "What are you doing here?"
His lips curved—too sharp to be called a smile. "Collecting what was promised."
Her heart thundered, but her face remained a mask of ice. "I am not some debt to be collected, Mr. Black."
He took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. "No. You're not. But a promise is a promise. And whether you like it or not, Samaira… you're mine."
The silence between them crackled with unspoken emotions—anger, defiance, something more dangerous neither dared to name.
Samaira's chest ached with the weight of her father's letter, with the reality of Adam standing before her. She wanted to scream, to deny, to run. But instead, she held her ground.
"I don't belong to anyone," she whispered, though her voice trembled.
Adam's eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw flashing through them before he masked it again.
"Then prove me wrong," he said softly, almost like a challenge.
And in that moment, Samaira knew—this was only the beginning of a war she was destined to fight. Not against him… but against herself.