"Do you really think you can force me out of my will? I am of age. I know what is good for me and what is not," Laura's voice carried a sharp edge as she pressed the phone closer to her ear. She was pacing the length of her apartment's living room, her long fingers tugging at a strand of loose hair that had fallen from her ponytail.
On the other end of the line, her mother's tone was calm yet heavy with authority. "You have no idea how much this family depends on your marriage for sustainability, Laura. You know what society expects. You are twenty seven, not seventeen. The world is watching, and the Jude name cannot afford to be mocked."
Laura's lips pressed into a thin line. She could almost picture her mother, Rachel Jude, sitting in her silk gown with perfect poise, sipping tea as though dictating her daughter's future was a casual duty. It infuriated her.
"I do not care what the world expects," Laura shot back. "My life is not a project for society. I am not a bargaining chip in your social games."
There was a long pause, the silence so weighty that Laura's heart thudded harder. Then came her mother's clipped response. "Your father will not be pleased with this attitude. He is already making plans."
The call ended before Laura could reply. She dropped the phone onto the couch and collapsed beside it, letting out a breath that was part laugh, part sigh. Her parents had been at this for years, but lately the pressure had intensified. Every family dinner turned into an interrogation, every phone call another reminder that she was wasting time. To them, love was not a matter of the heart. It was a transaction.
Laura Jude was not the kind of woman to be caged.
Though born into luxury, she had always sought her own path. At twenty seven she was already a promising journalist with a name beginning to echo in the media circles of London. She could have sat idly, basking in her father's billions, but she had chosen to work, stubbornly submitting her applications under a different surname just to prove she could earn her place on merit. It worked. Her sharp wit and fearless approach to stories quickly earned her respect among her colleagues, and now she was thriving, with her articles making front page splashes and her face recognized in press rooms.
Independence was her oxygen, and she clung to it fiercely.
Yet her family seemed determined to suffocate her.
Dr Jude, her father, was a man who had conquered London with the sheer force of his ambition. From real estate to shipping, banking to media, his empire sprawled across industries, his name opening doors that others did not even know existed. People called him the silent king of London's economy, and though he rarely appeared in the press, everyone knew the reach of his influence.
But to Laura, he was not just a successful billionaire. He was the looming shadow that always threatened to eclipse her.
Her mother Rachel, refined and immaculately elegant, was the softer but no less manipulative force. To her, Laura's unmarried status was not just a matter of concern. It was an embarrassment. Daughters of wealth were expected to marry sons of power, binding families into stronger alliances. Every delay, every refusal, in Rachel's eyes, chipped away at the family's standing in society.
Laura wanted no part of it.
She rose from the couch and walked to the window, gazing at the city sprawled beneath her. London glittered under the late evening lights, a city that thrived on both tradition and rebellion. She pressed her palms against the glass and whispered, "I am not a pawn in their game."
But even as she said it, her chest tightened. Because deep down, she knew her father's threats were not empty.
Just last week, Dr Jude had told her flatly, "If you continue to reject every suitable suitor, do not expect me to shield you when your editor questions your credentials. Do not expect my name to stay out of the whispers that you only got your position because of me."
The words had stung because they were not entirely false. No matter how hard she worked, her surname was always a double edged sword. Some doors opened because of it, others slammed shut. Some colleagues respected her talent, others dismissed her as a privileged heiress playing career woman.
And now, her father was using that same shadow to force her into marriage.
Laura turned from the window and crossed into her small home office. On the desk lay her latest article draft, a hard hitting piece on corruption in real estate, one she knew would make waves if published. She stared at the bold title on the screen, a sense of pride filling her chest. This was what she lived for. Not ballrooms, not staged dinners, not diamonds and arranged unions. This. Truth. Freedom. Purpose.
Her phone buzzed again. She flinched, half expecting it to be her mother calling back. But the screen flashed a message from her best friend, Bridgette.
Bridgette: "Dinner tomorrow? You need a break before you explode."
Laura: "Exploding sounds tempting. But yes, I will come."
Laura smiled faintly. Bridgette always knew when to pull her out of the storm.
She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. The weight of her parents' expectations was crushing, but she could not yield. Marriage for her was not a business move. She wanted love, reckless, inconvenient, undeniable love. The kind that could not be arranged over champagne glasses in a gilded hall.
But was that even possible in her world?
Her phone buzzed again. This time, a message from her father's secretary.
"Dr Jude expects your presence at the family estate this weekend. Important discussions will be held. Attendance is not optional."
Laura's pulse quickened. She knew what important discussions meant. Another dinner, another parade of eligible bachelors dressed up as saviors of the Jude legacy. Another evening of forced smiles and silent battles.
She pressed her forehead into her palms. "Not again."
A knock at the door startled her. She was not expecting anyone. Rising cautiously, she moved to the door and opened it. The hallway beyond was quiet, except for a delivery man holding a large, carefully wrapped bouquet of lilies.
"For Miss Laura Jude?" he asked.
She blinked in surprise. "Yes, that is me."
He handed her the bouquet with a smile. "Card's inside. Have a good evening."
Closing the door, Laura set the flowers on the table and pulled out the small white envelope nestled within. Her heart sank as she read the card.
"From Charles, looking forward to Saturday night."
Laura let out a groan of frustration, tossing the card aside. Charles, her father's favorite candidate. Wealthy, charming, and utterly devoid of the kind of passion she craved.
She stared at the flowers, their petals impossibly perfect, arranged with the same precision she was expected to bring to her life.
"Over my dead body," she whispered.
Laura Jude was determined. No matter what her parents planned, no matter what society whispered, she would not surrender her future so easily. But as the week drew closer and the family's demands grew louder, a storm was gathering on the horizon.
And soon, fate would send her colliding into someone who carried the same fire, the same defiance, and the same desperate need to escape.