My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
"Looking forward to tomorrow, Aria. Don't be late. A.B."
My hands clenched around the phone. So he already had my number. Probably had a full dossier on me by now. The great Adrian Blackwood did nothing without thorough research.
I typed back with shaking fingers: "I haven't agreed to anything."
The response came immediately: "Yes, you have. You just don't know it yet. Wear something nice. I'm taking you somewhere after lunch."
The audacity. The sheer arrogance.
I wanted to throw my phone off the terrace. Instead, I deleted the message and blocked the number. Childish, maybe, but it felt good.
"Aria Chen. Funny finding you here."
I spun around, and my blood turned to ice.
Vanessa Blackwood stood in the terrace doorway, resplendent in a silver gown that probably cost more than most people's cars. Her blonde hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, and her blue eyes sparkled with malicious amusement.
"You're not welcome here," I said coldly.
"It's a public charity gala. My family donated half a million to the cause." She stepped closer, and I caught the scent of her perfume something expensive and cloying. "Besides, I heard the most interesting rumor tonight. Something about you and my brother?"
So she knew. Of course she knew.
"Stay away from me, Vanessa."
"Oh, honey." Her smile was razor-sharp.
"We're going to be sisters. I'd say we should learn to get along, but we both know that's not happening." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Between you and me? Adrian specifically chose you. I asked him why, and do you know what he said?"
I didn't want to know. I didn't want to engage. But my mouth moved anyway. "What?"
"He said you have something he needs. He wouldn't tell me what. But Adrian always gets what he wants." She straightened, smoothing her gown. "See you at Sunday dinner. It's tradition every week, the whole family gathers. I'm sure you'll just love meeting everyone who'll be watching you pretend to be happy in a loveless marriage."
She walked away, leaving me alone with the city lights and the crushing weight of my new reality.
I pulled out the envelope and broke the Blackwood seal. Inside were twenty pages of legal jargon, but certain phrases jumped out:
"Duration of marriage: minimum three years"
"Separate residences permitted with mutual agreement"
"Prenuptial agreement attached; Ms. Chen retains no claim to Blackwood assets"
"Termination clause: marriage may be dissolved only with mutual consent after minimum term, or for cause as defined in Section 7.3"
And at the bottom, in bold letters:
"In exchange for this union, Blackwood Enterprises agrees to assume all debts of Chen Industries, valued at 847 million dollars, and to provide ongoing medical care for Victoria Chen through the Blackwood Medical Trust."
Eight hundred and forty-seven million dollars. That's what I was worth. That's the price tag on my freedom.
My phone buzzed again. Different number.
"You blocked me. Clever. But pointless. I have a dozen numbers. A.B."
Then another message: "Also, I know you're reading the contract right now. Page 12, clause 4.7. That one's important. We'll discuss it tomorrow."
How did he.
I flipped to page 12 with shaking hands. Clause 4.7 read: "The couple agrees to present a united public front at all business and social functions. Public displays of discord will be considered breach of contract."
In other words, I had to pretend. Smile. Play the happy bride while being married to the brother of the woman who destroyed my life.
A third text arrived: "One more thing. I know you hate me already. Good. Hate is better than indifference. It means you feel something. See you tomorrow, Aria. Sleep well."
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Twenty-four hours ago, I'd been Aria Chen, CFO of my family's company, successful and independent. Tomorrow, I'd meet the man who held my family's fate in his hands. The man I'd have to marry, sleep beside, pretend to love.
Adrian Blackwood.
My enemy's brother.
My future husband.
And apparently, someone with his own agenda that involved me specifically.
I looked out at the glittering city one last time as a free woman. Somewhere in that sea of lights, Adrian Blackwood was waiting.
And somehow, I knew my life would never be the same again.
I didn't sleep.
Instead, I spent the night in my home office, combing through every piece of information I could find about Adrian Blackwood. If I was going to be forced into this marriage, I'd at least know exactly who I was dealing with.
The basics were public knowledge. Adrian Marcus Blackwood, age thirty-two. MBA from Harvard, undergraduate degree from Princeton. Took over as CEO of Blackwood Enterprises' international division at twenty-five, tripled their profits in three years. Currently worth an estimated 4.2 billion dollars, though the exact figure was difficult to pin down given the family's complex network of holdings.
But those were just numbers. I wanted to know the man.
I scrolled through images from business conferences and charity galas. In every photo, Adrian stood slightly apart from the crowd, his posture radiating controlled power. He never smiled for the cameras not really. There was always something calculated about his expression, like he was three moves ahead in a chess game no one else knew they were playing.
In one photo from a tech summit in Singapore, a beautiful socialite had her hand on his arm, gazing up at him adoringly. Adrian was looking past her, his attention fixed on something in the distance. The caption identified her as Melissa Hartwick, daughter of a real estate mogul. They'd dated for six months before she gave an interview to a gossip magazine claiming Adrian was "emotionally unavailable" and "married to his work."
There were others. A French actress. A celebrated surgeon. An Olympic gold medalist. All beautiful. All accomplished. All eventually walking away, citing the same reason: Adrian Blackwood didn't let anyone close.
So why did he want to marry me? A woman from a bankrupt family, the subject of last year's most humiliating scandal, the ex-best friend of his own sister?