Chapter One
I was eleven years old when my life split into before and after. "We're moving to England." Those four words fell from my mother's mouth as casually as if she'd said we were changing dinner plans. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, my feet dangling because they didn't quite reach the floor, staring at her like she had just spoken another language.
"Moving… where?" I asked.
"England," my father repeated, folding the newspaper with finality.
"England," my father answered without looking up from his coffee. "We leave in two months." Two months. That was all the time I was given to say goodbye to everything I loved.
"Why?" My voice came out smaller than I meant it to. My father finally looked at me then. His eyes were cold—not unkind, but distant. Calculating.
"Because this island can't give you the future you deserve."
I wanted to scream that it already had. I came from a small, beautiful island where the ocean wrapped around you like a promise. I didn't just grow up there—I belonged there. Every sunrise felt like home. Every laugh, every memory, was stitched into my bones. I never wanted to leave. But wanting didn't matter. It never did. All my family. All my friends. All my life—left behind without a second thought. No family meeting. No questions. Just decisions made for us. I remember staring at my sisters that night, wondering if they felt the same helpless ache twisting inside my chest. Years passed. England sharpened me. Hardened me.I have two sisters. Ocean, my oldest, is twenty-six and brilliant in every sense of the word. She's majoring in biology, always buried in books, always chasing answers. Naiya , my youngest, is twenty and is still searching for herself, still floating between dreams like she's afraid to choose the wrong one. Then, there's me, the middle child, I'm Amaiyla, " I usually say with a smile. "I own a beauty salon and spa." People's eyes always widen a little at that. At twenty-four, I've built something of my own—something no one handed to me. It's my pride, my escape, my proof that I can stand on my own. It's my sanctuary. The one thing in my life that no one can take from me. Or so I thought. My parents, Patricia and John, are a team. A powerful one. My father is the CEO of Hollingsworth Enterprise Inc., a name that opens doors and silences rooms.
They're respected.
Admired.
Feared.
From the outside, we are the perfect family. And once, we almost were. We used to be close—so close it felt like nothing could ever come between us. Once, I believed love came before ambition. That illusion shattered the night my father called me into his office.
"Amaiyla," he said, gesturing for me to sit. His voice was calm, controlled—the tone he used in board meetings and serious conversations. His tone left no room for argument.
"There's something important we need to discuss." I glanced at my mother. She wouldn't meet my eyes. That's when I knew something was wrong.
"You're going to marry Xander Reyes," my father said. I laughed. I actually laughed, waiting for the punchline.
"Very funny," I replied. "Now what's the real conversation?" My father didn't smile. "You're serious?" I asked, my laughter dying instantly.
"Yes. We've already discussed it with his family."
The room felt too small. The walls pressed in as I stared at my mother, waiting—begging—for her to stop this. She didn't. I stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"No. Absolutely not." Xander Reyes—the son of my father's best friend of seventeen years. His future business associate. Their golden boy. They wanted more than a partnership. They wanted blood ties. Marriage. Loyalty sealed with vows instead of contracts.
"In our world," my father said evenly, "family doesn't betray family."
"So you're offering me up as insurance?" I snapped.
"This marriage will strengthen the company," my father replied. "And secure our future."
"Our?" I scoffed. "Or yours?"
"That's not fair," my mother finally spoke, her voice tight. "What's not fair," I shot back, "is deciding who I marry like I'm a business deal.
"I already had everything I wanted. My business. My independence. And Connor—my fiancé, the man I loved. There is no way in hell I'm marrying Xander Reyes," I said.
My father's jaw tightened. "Watch your language."
"I know him," I continued, my voice shaking now. "He's arrogant, cocky, self-centered, rotten to his core. He treats women like dispo sable toys and he goes through them like he changes underwear. You want that for me? you want him to own me?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
My father stood. "This is not a discussion. It's a decision." That was the moment I realized something terrifying. I wasn't his daughter anymore. I was an asset. And assets don't get a choice. And it was only the beginning.
At the Reyes Mansion
Xander stormed into the massive study, his blazer swinging, his dark eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell, Dad? Have you lost your damn mind? You honestly think I'm gonna marry a spoiled brat," he barked, his voice echoing off the marble walls.
His father, seated behind a polished oak desk, didn't flinch. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, a smug smile creeping across his face. "First off, I couldn't care less about what you think," he said smoothly. "And second, she's not a brat compared to the hussies you keep messing around with. She is educated, polite, professional… self-made. The real brat here is you, you ungrateful child."
Xander's jaw tightened. "This isn't the 18th century. I decide who I marry, not you. I'm sure Mum will feel the same." He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over his mother's contact, ready to call her.
"Don't," his father interrupted with a sharp gesture. "Your mum came up with the idea, son." Xander froze, then slowly lowered his hand. His father's smug smile widened, full of satisfaction.
Xander's fists clenched at his sides. "You're insane," he muttered under his breath. "Absolutely fucking insane."
"And you," his father replied calmly, "will do as you're told." Xander's dark eyes flicked to the doorway as if daring someone to stop him. Inside, he seethed. He hated arranged marriages—especially ones forced on him. But he hated being made a pawn more.
"And this brat," he muttered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue, "thinks she's some self-made goddess. Let's see how spoiled she really is."
Back to Amaiyla's Pov:
I had spent all day at the salon, hands slick with lotion and hair dye, my feet aching but my mind finally drifting into quiet. The familiar rhythm—the hum of dryers, the scent of citrus shampoo, the soft chatter of clients—usually grounded me. Today, it felt like freedom. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about expectations, or my father's voice, or the invisible cage I'd been born into. I was just Amaiyla—not a daughter to be traded, not a future wife chosen by someone else. But then, reality struck in when my phone buzzed. A text from my father. "Dinner. Tonight. 7 PM. You're meeting Xander Reyes."
My stomach dropped.
My breath caught.
My fingers went cold.
I read it again. And again. Meeting. Xander. Reyes. My stomach dropped. I felt the floor beneath me vanished. I knew exactly who he was—the son of my father's best friend, heir to one of the most powerful business families in England. A name whispered with respect and fear in the same breath.
And apparently… my new fiancé.
Engaged.
Just like that.
I slid my phone back into my pocket as if it had burned me, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure the last client could hear it. What made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that I already had a fiancé.
Connor.
Connor Jackson.
Twenty-eight. Tall, devastatingly handsome, with eyes that shifted between blue and green depending on the light. Skin the color of warm golden sand, always kissed by the sun no matter the season. His body looked sculpted by a Greek god—broad shoulders, strong arms, confidence in the way he moved without ever needing to show off.
An engineer. A businessman. Driven, brilliant, disciplined.
His family was wealthy, yes—but modest. Kind. The kind of rich that didn't need to announce itself. The kind that welcomed me with warmth instead of calculation.
Connor loved me.
And he had no idea what was happening.
I leaned against my station, memories crashing in—Connor's laugh when I teased him about his obsession with work, the way he rested his forehead against mine when words weren't enough, the quiet certainty in his voice when he talked about our future.
A future I was now betraying without his knowledge.
My phone buzzed again. This time, his name lit up the screen.
Connor
"Hey love. Still at the salon? Want me to pick you up for dinner?"
My chest tightened. I stared at the message for a long moment before typing back.
"Long day. I'm heading home soon. Rain check tonight?"
The reply came almost instantly. "Of course. Get some rest. I'll call you later. I love you."
I closed my eyes. "I love you too," I whispered to an empty room, the words tasting like guilt. This—all of this—was a secret I wasn't ready to say out loud. Not to Connor. Not to anyone. Because once I did, it would become real. Irrevocable. I finished closing the salon on autopilot, my hands shaking as I turned the key. The sky outside had darkened, clouds heavy and low, mirroring the weight pressing down on my chest. At home, I stood in front of my closet, staring at dresses that suddenly felt like costumes. How do you dress for a dinner where your life is decided without you? How do you walk into a room knowing the man you love has no idea you're being handed to another?
At 6:45 PM, I took one last look at my phone. No missed calls. No explanations sent. No truth told. Just silence. And at 7 PM, I would step into a restaurant where my freedom would be negotiated—while the man who already held my heart remained completely in the dark.
Before I got out of the car, I just sat there.
Minutes stretched into something heavier—like hours, like days, like weeks collapsing into one suffocating moment. The engine was off, the world outside muted, but my heart was anything but quiet. It slammed against my ribs, frantic, as if it already knew what I was about to walk into would change everything.
I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers ached.
This was going to end badly. For everyone.
No matter how hard I tried to focus on my breathing, my mind betrayed me—drifting back to Connor. Always Connor. His face, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of something negotiable.
How was I supposed to get out of this?
Marrying Xander was still out of the question. Completely unthinkable. I loved Connor—he was the only man for me. The idea of a future without him felt wrong, hollow, like trying to imagine the sky without air. Connor wasn't just someone I loved; he was woven into who I was.
We had been together since we were teenagers—back when life was simpler and choices felt real. I had been almost sixteen when we went on our first date, both of us still in high school, awkward and nervous and hopeful in that innocent way you can only be once. He'd shown up early, hands shoved into his pockets, pretending not to be terrified.
And somehow… he never stopped showing up.
Through university stress, long nights, career pressure, distance, and growth—Connor had always been steady. Honest. Loyal. Not once had he betrayed me. Not once had he lied. Not once had he hidden anything from me.
And here I was—hiding everything.
The irony was crushing.
Tears burned behind my eyes as guilt wrapped itself around my chest. He had spent years making me feel chosen, protected, special—while I was sitting in a parked car, moments away from being offered to another man like a business deal.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, my breath shaky.
"I can't do this," I whispered.
But the clock on the dashboard glowed relentlessly, reminding me that time didn't stop just because my heart was breaking. My father was inside. Xander was inside. Decisions were already in motion—whether I agreed to them or not.
Still, I stayed there a little longer.
Because once I opened that door, there would be no pretending this wasn't real. No turning back. Only forward.
And no matter what happened next… I already knew the cost would be Connor.
I finally forced myself out of the car. Each step toward the entrance felt like I was walking into my own sentencing. The glass doors reflected a version of me I barely recognized—shoulders tense, eyes guarded, heart already bruised. I smoothed my dress out of habit, even though nothing about this night could be made presentable. Inside, the restaurant was hushed and elegant, the kind of place where conversations stayed polite and truths stayed buried.
My father was already seated, posture straight, expression unreadable. Beside him stood a man I knew—without being told—was Xander Reyes. He turned the moment he sensed me. And for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. Xander was tall, composed, dressed in a tailored dark suit that spoke of old money and quiet authority. His presence filled the space effortlessly, not loud or demanding, just… certain. His eyes—dark, sharp, observant—met mine and didn't look away. He studied me the way someone studies a storm approaching—aware of its beauty, but cautious of its damage.
Then he spoke. "You're late," he said calmly. Not accusing. Not annoyed. Just factual. My father opened his mouth, but Xander lifted a hand, stopping him without even looking away from me. "It's fine," Xander continued, his gaze still locked on mine. "If I were in her position, I'd sit in the car too." My chest tightened. That wasn't what I expected. He stepped closer, lowering his voice—not intimate, but deliberate. Controlled. "I imagine you're wondering how your life got rearranged without your consent," he said. "And how many people already know—while the one who matters most doesn't." The blood drained from my face.
My father stiffened. "Xander—"
"I know," Xander interrupted, finally glancing at him. "This isn't how you wanted the conversation to start." Then his eyes returned to me, softer now. Dangerous in a different way. "You're not the only one being lied to tonight," he said quietly. "And you're not the only one who doesn't want this." My heart slammed against my ribs. He pulled my chair out—not as a demand, but an invitation. When I hesitated, his voice dropped even lower. "For what it's worth," he added, "I already know about Connor." The world tilted. Every sound faded—the clinking glasses, the murmured conversations, even my father's sharp inhale. My fingers trembled as I gripped the back of the chair.
"You… what?" I whispered.
Xander leaned in just enough for only me to hear. "And before you ask," he said, "no. I'm not here to replace him." Then he straightened, his mask back in place, composed and unreadable. "I'm here because our parents made promises years ago," he continued aloud. "Promises they intend to keep. Whether we cooperate… or not. "
I sank into the chair, my heart racing. Because somehow, impossibly—Xander Reyes wasn't my enemy. And that scared me more than if he had been.
I wasn't alone in that room.
I realized it not because anyone spoke, but because the weight of what was happening was too heavy for one person to carry. Pain has a way of sharpening awareness—and suddenly, I felt every pair of eyes on me.
My sisters were there.
Ocean sat close, her posture rigid, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like she might crack a tooth. She didn't need words to tell me she felt it—every humiliation, every unspoken fear. Ocean had always been my shield, even when she couldn't step in front of the blow.
Naiya, my little sister, sat quietly beside her. Too quiet. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers twisting together as she stared at the table. She understood enough to know this wasn't right—but not enough to fight it. Her pain was silent, internal, and somehow that made it worse.
Across from us were the Reyes siblings.
Xander stood at the center of it all, composed and immovable, his presence controlled and sharp. Nothing about him suggested doubt—not yet.
Emry sat slightly apart, his shoulders heavier than the suit he wore. Thirty years old. A single father. The exhaustion in his eyes wasn't just from responsibility—it was from years of choosing caution over desire. His phone lay face-down near his plate, no doubt hiding a photo of the child who depended on him. His gaze drifted to Ocean more than once—always brief, always restrained. No one noticed. Or pretended not to.
Near the window stood Aras.
He leaned casually against the glass, arms crossed, feigning detachment. But his attention betrayed him every time Naiya shifted in her chair. Every glance was measured, stolen, carefully hidden. Whatever existed between them lived in the quiet spaces—unnamed, untouched, and dangerous.
Cleo and Vaier—Xander's sisters—sat together.
Cleo's expression was tight, anger simmering just beneath the surface. She watched me with something close to empathy, her fingers tapping restlessly against the table. Vaier, softer, more observant, had angled her body toward Naiya, their knees almost touching. Their friendship was evident in the way Vaier's presence alone seemed to steady my sister.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
This wasn't a family dinner. It was a transaction dressed in elegance.
I felt Ocean shift beside me, her knee brushing mine—grounding. A silent reminder that I wasn't alone. Her presence grounded me.
Xander finally broke the silence.
"This arrangement," he said evenly, "is not optional."
Something in me snapped.
"I am not an arrangement," I said quietly.
His eyes flicked to me, sharp. Assessing. Waiting.
"You walked in expecting resistance to matter," he replied.
"I walked in expecting decency."
Cleo inhaled sharply, then stopped herself. Emry's jaw tightened. Aras straightened just slightly—barely noticeable.
"This ends lives," I continued, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "Maybe not yours. Maybe not mine. But someone else's."
Xander's gaze didn't waver. "Sacrifices are unavoidable."
Ocean's fingers curled into fists.
Naiya swallowed hard.
Vaier's hand brushed Naiya's arm—brief. Comforting. Invisible to anyone not watching closely.
Emry finally spoke, his voice calm but strained. "Xander… enough."
Xander didn't look at him. "You chose caution."
"I chose responsibility," Emry replied. His eyes flicked, just once, to Ocean. Then away.
Aras shifted again, the tension between him and Naiya tightening like a wire pulled too far.
I closed the folder slowly, deliberately.
"I will not sign this," I said.
Xander stepped closer. "Then prove you're not exactly who my father thinks you are."
Ocean leaned toward me, whispering, "We'll figure this out."
Naiya nodded faintly, eyes shining but determined.
Xander turned away, his voice low and final. "We'll see."
And as the silence settled back over the table, one truth became painfully clear:
Every single person in that room was hiding something.
And if even one secret surfaced—
Everything would burn.
The restaurant had a quiet hum to it, soft chatter, the clink of glasses, the faint scent of wine and roasted meat filling the air. I was still reeling from the confrontation with Xander when the door opened, and the atmosphere shifted without a sound.
Connor walked in, unaware of who was waiting inside. Tall, golden-skinned, moving with that effortless confidence that had always made my heart skip, completely unaware that he had just stepped into a lion's den. He scanned the room, eyes lighting up when he spotted Ocean sitting with me, and he waved, unaware of the tension surrounding us.
Emry, sitting near Xander, noticed immediately. His posture shifted subtly, protective but cautious. He watched Connor with interest, like a general measuring an unexpected player on the field. He had always been the type to assess situations before acting, and right now, the presence of my fiancé—even unknown to him—triggered every instinct he had for keeping the room under control.
Ocean's hand brushed mine under the table, and her eyes flicked toward Emry. A question, a silent warning: Do you see this?
"Yes," Emry whispered back, just enough for her to hear. "We need to remain calm."
Connor had made his way to the hostess stand, chatting politely, his natural charm making him completely disarming. That's when Aras noticed him.
The smirk that curved Aras' lips wasn't friendly. He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp, a predator sizing up another predator. No one—including Connor—could intimidate him, and he made it known silently. His gaze lingered, assessing, calculating, daring anyone to step out of line. He wasn't one to follow rules, and he wasn't going to let anyone decide what happened in his space.
Naiya, sitting beside Ocean, noticed Aras' stare. She didn't flinch, didn't lower her eyes. Her chin lifted slightly, her fingers tightening around her napkin. She wasn't one to oppose father lightly, but she also wasn't someone to be dismissed. A quiet but firm presence, her strength radiating in a way that seemed small—but deadly to those who underestimated her.
Connor moved closer to the table, smiling warmly as he greeted Ocean and me. "Hey," he said casually, completely oblivious to the layers of tension in the room.
Ocean gave him a polite smile but didn't break her composure. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Emry, who gave a small nod. Stay calm. Do not say anything. Do not react.
Connor, sensing the intensity but not understanding it, laughed softly. "Everything okay?"
Before I could answer, Aras stepped forward, leaning casually against the table. His voice was low, just for Connor. "You look familiar."
Connor smiled, oblivious to the undercurrent. "Small world."
Aras' smirk widened. "Or maybe I just remember faces. Don't assume anyone here is harmless."
Connor tilted his head, intrigued rather than intimidated. "I don't scare easily."
Aras' eyes gleamed. He liked that. A challenge. He didn't let anyone set the rules. Not his father, not his siblings, not even Xander. He thrived in pushing boundaries, and Connor's unwitting defiance was enough to pique him.
I felt Ocean tense beside me, glancing at Emry again. "This isn't good," she whispered.
Emry's jaw tightened. "It's exactly what I expected."
Naiya, observing Connor and Aras silently, didn't move. She didn't need to. Her quiet strength filled the space around her. If anyone tried to bully her, she wouldn't resist with force, but she also wouldn't bow. She had her own way of protecting those she cared about—and that included her sister.
Connor's smile faltered slightly as he caught the tension, but he had no idea what he had just walked into. Every pair of eyes on him was hiding secrets, judgments, and agendas—some dangerous, some protective. He was completely unaware that one wrong move could unravel everything, that he had stepped into a room where family loyalty, old grudges, and forbidden love were tangled in a way he could never predict.
And I… I sat frozen, heart pounding, trapped between the man I loved, the man I was to marry, and the duties my family had forced upon me.
Chapter 2
While the younger generation remained at the main table, caught in their own web of tensions, the parents slipped away to a secluded corner of the restaurant, hidden behind a thick velvet curtain. The warm hum of the dining room seemed distant here, almost irrelevant, swallowed by the quiet intensity that immediately filled the space.
Harold Reyes, Xander's father, leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished wood, eyes narrowed. "We need to finalize the dates. My father insists on London. No delays, or the press will sniff around every detail."
John Hollingsworth, Amaiyla's father, swirled his glass slowly, eyes sharp and calculating. "Destination doesn't matter. What matters is absolute control. Limited invites. Only key families. Not a whisper in the press."
Harold's lips pressed into a thin line. "And the contract?"
John lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, glancing around the empty corner. "Everything is drafted, yes. But there's a clause they haven't seen. A clause neither Xander nor Amaiyla suspects exists." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Once invoked… it changes everything. Lives. Careers. Everything they hold dear."
Harold's brow furrowed. "And they don't know?"
"Not a clue," John replied. His voice was calm, almost chilling. "They think this is about choice. But it's about control. And once this clause is triggered, the fallout will be—total."
A shadow passed over Harold's face. He spoke in a low, tense tone. "Ten years ago… do you still remember, no one can ever find out. We need to make sure these two stay in line and do as they are told."
John jaw tightened. "How could I forget? That day could have ended us and it still can if anyone were to find out. Careers destroyed, reputations ruined… lives lost. And yet here we are, negotiating an engagement like it's a business luncheon."
Harold's hand trembled slightly as he set his glass down. "If anyone ever connects the dots…"
John leaned in, his voice dropping even lower, heavy with intent. "That's exactly why we must be meticulous. Every detail. Every clause. Every loophole sealed. This wedding cannot fall apart. And when it's done, the clause will be the final —silent, invisible, inescapable."
Harold swallowed hard. "It's… dangerous."
John's lips curved in a faint, almost cruel smile. "Danger is necessary. Love is irrelevant. Loyalty is optional. Obedience is mandatory. Once the clause is invoked, not even the innocent will be left unscathed. One wrong move… and everything they hold dear—destroyed. Gone."
Harold's voice dropped to a whisper, dark and serious. "And the press? The scrutiny?"
John's eyes gleamed with cold certainty. "By the time the world notices, it will be too late. The clause binds more than property, more than finances. It binds their very lives to the arrangement. One mistake, one defiance, and history—our history—has a way of repeating itself."
Harold exhaled slowly, tension coiling in his shoulders. "Then we proceed. Dates, invites, destination—sealed. And when the time comes, the clause will ensure compliance… and consequences no one will anticipate."
John nodded, finishing his wine with deliberate calm. "Perfect. They will never see it coming."
The two men sat back, eyes locked for a moment, each weighing the gravity of the past and the possibilities of the future. The air between them was thick with secrets, ambition, and unspoken threats. Outside the curtain, a celebration appeared, a wedding. Here, it was a battlefield—a dangerous game with no room for error, where mistakes were paid for in blood.
And in that quiet, shadowed corner, one truth lingered: the young adults at the main table had no idea how fragile their world really was… or how soon it could collapse.
Chapter 3
Connor's glass hovered mid-air for a second too long before he finally took a sip. His usual ease—his calm confidence—was thinning, fraying at the edges. I knew him too well not to notice.I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "You don't have to answer anything you're uncomfortable with," I murmured. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—but Xander noticed anyway. His eyes flicked to me.A warning.Or a challenge.
"Of course," Xander said smoothly, folding his hands together. "I'm only making conversation." Conversation. The word felt like a lie. Connor forced a small smile. "It's fine," he said, though his knuckles had gone white against the stem of his glass.
Xander's gaze returned to him, sharper now. "Tell me something, Connor. When life throws you a situation you didn't plan for—something… permanent—do you confront it immediately?" He paused. "Or do you hope time will erase it?"
Silence stretched.
Too long.
The hum of the restaurant faded into a distant blur. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Connor exhaled slowly. "I believe in accountability," he said carefully. "But I also believe some things don't need to be dragged into the light if they won't change the outcome."
Xander's lips twitched. "Interesting philosophy."
Aras let out a low chuckle, swirling his drink. "Sounds like someone who's lived a little," he said, eyes glinting with mischief. "Or survived something messy."
Connor shot him a tight smile. "Life isn't clean."
"Neither are secrets," Aras replied lightly—but his eyes stayed on Xander, as if daring him to push further.
Naiya shifted beside me, her knee brushing mine in a silent show of support. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp, protective. She was watching every move, every word, storing them away.
Xander leaned forward again, voice dropping just enough that it felt intimate. Dangerous. "You're right," he said. "Life isn't clean. But secrets?" He paused, letting the word hang. "They have a cost. And usually, someone else ends up paying it."
Connor's jaw clenched. I felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to stand up—to end this, to drag Connor away before whatever Xander was circling finally struck. But my body wouldn't move. Fear had its own kind of gravity. "And Amaiyla," Xander added casually, turning to me at last. "You trust him, don't you?"
The question landed like a blade. Every pair of eyes at the table shifted to me. My throat tightened. I forced myself to meet Xander's gaze. "With my life," I said. Something unreadable passed through his expression. Not anger. Not satisfaction. Something colder.
"Good," he replied softly. "Trust is precious. Especially when it's… incomplete." Emry straightened slightly, his attention snapping fully to the table now, his protective instincts flaring. Ocean noticed—of course she did—and their eyes met briefly. A silent understanding passed between them, unspoken but heavy. Connor reached for my hand under the table, squeezing it once—steady, grounding. But I could feel it now: the tension in his grip, the uncertainty he was fighting to hide.
Xander leaned back, finally breaking eye contact. "Well," he said lightly, as if nothing unusual had occurred, "this has been enlightening." But I knew the truth. So did Connor. So did Xander. This wasn't over. It wasn't even close. Whatever Xander knew—whatever he was hinting at—it was waiting. Patient. Dangerous. And when it finally surfaced, it wouldn't just test Connor's past or my loyalty. It would shatter the fragile illusion that any of us were still in control.
The moment the parents stood and excused themselves—murmuring about "details" and "logistics"—something in the air shifted. It was subtle. But unmistakable. Their departure left the table exposed, stripped of polite supervision. No buffers. No witnesses who mattered. Just us… and the truth circling like a storm that hadn't decided where to strike first.
Connor leaned closer to me again, his voice barely above a breath. "Amaiyla… talk to me. Please. You're shaking."
I hadn't even realized I was. "I'm okay," I lied, the word tasting bitter. "Just tired." He didn't believe me. I could see it in his eyes—the concern, the confusion, the quiet fear that something was slipping through his fingers.
Before he could press further, Xander stood. "I need a word with Amaiyla," he said calmly. Not a request.
Connor's head snapped up. "Is that really necessary?"
Xander met his gaze evenly. "Yes." The silence that followed was suffocating.
Naiya straightened. "I'll go with her." Xander's eyes flicked to her, then back to me.
"This is private." Naiya didn't move.
"So is family." For a moment, I thought Xander might push back. Instead, he smiled—slow, calculating. "Five minutes," he said. "Right over there."
I rose on unsteady legs and followed him a few steps away, close enough that everyone could see us… but far enough that they couldn't hear. The moment we stopped, his expression changed.
"No more pretending," Xander said quietly. "You're not just hiding something, Amaiyla. You're protecting someone."
My chest tightened. "You don't know anything."
"I know enough." He leaned in slightly. "And Connor Jackson is not the safe, spotless hero you think he is."
My pulse spiked. "Don't talk about him."
"Why?" Xander asked coolly. "Because you love him? Or because you don't want to find out what love costs when it's built on half-truths?"
I shook my head. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Yes," he admitted without hesitation. "Because you're entitled enough to believe love exempts you from consequences. And spoiled enough to think the past stays buried just because you refuse to look at it. Or acknowledge it."
Anger flared, hot and sharp. "You don't know me."
"I know your father," he replied. "And men like John Hollingsworth don't raise innocent daughters." That cut deeper than I expected. "You want out," Xander continued. "You want me to help you break this engagement. But you haven't even asked yourself what happens when everything comes out. When secrets stop being optional."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Then help me. If you're so smart—if you know so much—help me end this before it destroys everyone." He studied me for a long moment, eyes cold, assessing. "No," he said finally. "Not yet."
My breath caught. "Why?"
"Because right now," he said quietly, "you don't deserve saving. You want freedom without fallout. I intend to prove my father i'm right about you." And with that, he stepped back.
Across the room, Connor had risen halfway out of his chair, tension coiled tight in his frame. "Amaiyla," he said the moment I returned, searching my face. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing," I replied too quickly. Xander resumed his seat as if nothing had happened. "We were just clarifying expectations."
Connor's eyes flicked between us. Something dark crossed his expression. "About what?"
"About honesty," Xander replied smoothly. "And what happens when it's delayed."
Connor's jaw tightened.
Aras let out a sharp laugh, finally pushing back his chair. "Wow," he said. "This is getting painfully dramatic." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes flashing with defiance. "Let me be clear—no one here gets to decide anyone else's fate. Not fathers. Not contracts. Not you, Xander."
Xander didn't even look at him. "Sit down."
Aras ignored him. "You think you're in control," Aras continued, voice low, dangerous. "But whatever you're playing with? It's going to explode." Naiya stood then, her voice steady but unyielding. "And when it does, don't expect Amaiyla to be the only one standing in the wreckage."
Emry had gone quiet—too quiet. His gaze had shifted past the table entirely. That's when I saw it. Connor followed his line of sight. Across the room, Ocean stood near the bar, laughing softly at something Cleo had said. Emry's expression softened in a way that felt… intimate. Unguarded.
Connor frowned slightly. "I know her," he murmured
. Emry's head snapped up. "You do?"
"Yeah," Connor said slowly. "We crossed paths earlier. She helped me find parking. Small world." Ocean looked over then, recognition flickering in her eyes. Something unspoken passed between her and Emry. A thread had just connected—quiet, invisible, and dangerous. And somewhere behind the velvet curtain, two fathers shook hands over a contract none of us had seen or participated in. A contract already in motion. One that didn't merely bind two people for life, but threatened to destroy countless others. Nothing had broken yet—but the cracks were already there.
Chapter 4
Aras hadn't sat back down—but he hadn't followed Naiya either. Instead, he stayed where he was, one hand braced against the back of an empty chair, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. To anyone watching, he looked detached. Unbothered. He wasn't. Xander noticed. Of course he did.
"You're unraveling," Xander said quietly, not looking at him.
Aras scoffed. "Relax. I'm fine."
"You're lying," Xander replied calmly.
"And you don't lie well when it comes to her." Aras's fingers curled slowly.
"Don't." Xander finally turned, eyes sharp.
"You think I don't know? You think I don't see the pattern? Every choice you make lately—it's damage control. " Aras leaned back, forcing a careless smirk. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
For a moment, Aras said nothing. Then, quieter—dangerously so—he muttered, "I don't get to choose."
Xander stiffened. "What?"
Aras's eyes darkened. "I made a deal. Years ago. One mistake. One moment I thought I could fix on my own." His jaw clenched. "My father made sure I never forgot it."
Xander's voice dropped. "Blackmail?"
Aras didn't answer. He didn't need to.
"I stay where I'm told," Aras continued flatly. "I play the role. I keep the peace. Because if I don't—something gets released. Something that would destroy more than just me."
Xander studied him carefully now. This wasn't recklessness. This was restraint under pressure.
"And Naiya?" Xander asked.
Aras exhaled sharply. "She's the one thing I didn't plan for. The one variable I can't control." His mouth twisted. "Which makes her the most dangerous." Aras exhaled sharply.
Across the table, Naiya sat rigid, staring into her glass. She felt it—his gaze, heavy and unrelenting. She didn't look back. She couldn't. Not when every instinct told her that whatever held Aras in place was powerful enough to break him… and anyone too close. Emry leaned subtly toward Ocean, lowering his voice.
"This family is rotted from the inside." Ocean nodded once.
"So is mine." Their eyes met. No judgment. Just recognition.
Meanwhile, Connor shifted beside Amaiyla, unease crawling up his spine.
"Your brother—" he began quietly to Emry.
"Is complicated," Amaiyla finished, forcing a small smile.
"We all are tonight." Xander leaned back, scanning the table—the cracks, the silences, the secrets hanging unspoken. So many people pretending they still had choices. They didn't know it yet. But Aras was already living proof of what happened when fathers decided your future for you—and used your past as a weapon. And whatever had been buried was clawing its way back to the surface.
The table felt heavier after the parents left. Like something unseen had taken a seat among us.
Connor leaned closer again, his concern no longer subtle.
"Amaiyla… something's wrong. I can feel it. Please talk to me."
I shook my head, staring at the condensation sliding down my glass. "Not here." His jaw tightened, but he nodded. He always respected my boundaries. That was part of what made this unbearable. Across from us, Xander observed in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, calmly, deliberately, he spoke.
"You should be careful, Connor," he said.
"When people avoid conversations, it's usually because the truth is inconvenient. They want to avoid facing or admitting the truth which can be damaging. " Connor stiffened.
"Is there a reason you're saying this to me?" Xander met his gaze evenly.
"Just an observation." The tension thickened.
Aras hadn't returned to his seat. He stood a few steps back, arms crossed, watching everything with sharp detachment. Naiya sat upright, refusing to look at him—but she could feel him. She always could. Xander shifted his attention smoothly." Aras, you're pacing."
Aras scoffed. "Maybe I don't like cages." Xander's eyes narrowed at his brother's comment.
"Careful." said Aras.
That was when Aras snapped—just slightly. "You think I chose this?" he muttered. "You think I enjoy playing a part?"
The table went still. Emry straightened. Ocean's gaze flicked to him instinctively.
"What are you talking about?" Emry asked quietly.
Aras exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I made a mistake. A long time ago. One moment. One choice." His jaw clenched. "Father decided it would define the rest of my life."
Xander's voice dropped. "He's holding something over you." Aras didn't deny it.
"I stay where I'm told," Aras continued.
"I do what's expected. Because if I don't, it doesn't just ruin me." His eyes flicked briefly to Naiya.
"It destroys people who don't deserve it." Naiya's breath caught. She finally looked at him.
"Then stop looking at me like that." Aras met her gaze fully now, raw and unapologetic. "I can't."
The honesty shook her more than anger ever could. Before anyone could speak, Xander turned back to Connor—smooth, composed.
"You see?" Xander said lightly.
"That's the thing about choices. Sometimes we think we're free… until the past reminds us otherwise."
Connor's fingers curled into his napkin. "You keep talking in riddles."
Xander leaned back. "Only because you already understand them." Connor felt it then. Not accusation. Surveillance. He scanned the room unconsciously—waitstaff passing, phones on tables, eyes lingering just a beat too long. A cold realization settled in his chest. Someone had been asking questions.
He leaned toward Amaiyla. "Have you noticed… we're not alone in this?" Her heart skipped. She had.
Before she could answer, Naiya spoke, her voice steady but edged with steel. "Whatever game is being played, it ends when someone gets hurt."
Xander smiled faintly. "Games end when people stop pretending."
At the far end of the table, Emry watched Ocean again—really watched her. She wasn't oblivious. She never was. Their eyes met, held. Something unspoken passed between them.
Recognition.
Possibility.
And danger.
Across the restaurant, behind velvet curtains, two fathers leaned over a contract, finalizing details that sounded innocent enough—dates, destinations, guests. Neither son knew. Neither daughter suspected. But a clause had already been embedded. Quiet. Invisible. Activated not by refusal… but by resistance.
Back at the table, Connor exhaled slowly. "I don't like this," he said quietly." I feel like I'm being measured."
Xander's gaze locked onto him. "You are." The words landed like a warning. Or a promise. And in that moment, Amaiyla understood something with chilling clarity. This wasn't about a wedding. It wasn't even about control. It was about leverage. And every single one of them was already standing on a fault line— waiting for the first crack to split them wide open.
The shift didn't announce itself. No raised voices. No dramatic confrontation. Just a feeling—subtle and unmistakable—that something had already begun. Amaiyla felt it first. It started as a vibration in her phone, tucked away in her clutch. One notification. Then another. She didn't check them, but her pulse spiked anyway. Her father never texted twice unless something had gone exactly the way he wanted.
Across the table, Connor rubbed the back of his neck, unease settling deep in his bones. He couldn't shake the sense of being watched—not just by Xander, but by something larger. Invisible. Methodical. "I think someone's been looking into me," he murmured to Amaiyla, barely moving his lips. Her breath caught.
"What?"
"Nothing obvious," he continued quietly.
"Just… questions. An email last week. A call that hung up when I answered. I brushed it off." His jaw tightened.
"I shouldn't have." Xander heard every word. He didn't react—but his silence was confirmation enough. At the other end of the table, Naiya finally stood. Calm. Composed. Dangerous in her restraint.
"Aras," she said evenly.
"Walk with me." It wasn't a request. They moved a few steps away—still within sight, but far enough to breathe.
"You're being controlled," Naiya said softly. "And you're letting it happen." Aras laughed under his breath.
"You think I don't know that?"
"Then fight it." His expression darkened.
"I already tried." She studied him carefully now.
"What did you do?"
"Enough to make my father ensure I never try again," he replied quietly.
"One mistake. One incident. Covered up." He paused. "But never erased."
Her stomach twisted.
"So that's it? You sacrifice yourself?"
"I sacrifice my choices," he said.
His eyes met hers, intense.
Back at the table, Emry's phone buzzed. He glanced down—and stiffened. Ocean noticed instantly.
"What is it?" Emry hesitated, then showed her the screen. A legal notification. A custody review request. Filed that morning.
"I didn't ask for this," he said quietly. "Someone did."
Ocean's expression hardened.
"Your father." Emry didn't deny it. "That's leverage," she added softly.
"He's reminding you who still owns the board. "Emry exhaled slowly.
"He won't touch my kid". Ocean met his gaze.
"Men like him already have."
Meanwhile, Amaiyla finally checked her phone.
One message.
From John Hollingsworth.
It's done.
No explanation.
No warmth.
Just certainty.
Her chest tightened. Across the room, the velvet curtain shifted as the parents returned. Smiles in place. Decisions made.
"Everything is settled," John announced pleasantly.
"The wedding will proceed quickly. Limited guest list. Overseas." He looked directly at Amaiyla. "You'll be informed of the details." Xander's brow furrowed.
"I haven't signed anything." John smiled.
"You won't need to." That was the moment it clicked. Connor felt it. Naiya sensed it. Emry understood it. Something had already been activated.
Xander turned sharply to his father. "What did you do?"
Harold Reyes met his gaze coolly. "Protected you."
Xander stood. "From what?"
Harold's voice lowered, "From consequences you don't see coming." Silence fell.
Amaiyla's hands trembled."You don't get to decide my life."
John's smile didn't waver. "I already did."
Connor stepped forward instinctively. "You can't force her—"
Xander's hand came up sharply. "Stop." Connor froze.
Xander's expression was tight now—not cruel, not smug.
Controlled.
Furious.
"This isn't just about Amaiyla," Xander said slowly.
"Is it?" John said nothing.
Harold adjusted his cufflinks. "You'll understand soon enough."
That night ended without resolution. But not without consequence.
By morning:
Connor would receive proof he was being investigated.
Emry would be threatened through his child.
Aras would be reminded what happens when he looks at Naiya too long.
And Amaiyla would realize the engagement wasn't a promise...it was a trigger.
And whatever clause had been hidden inside that contract? It had already begun to close around them.
...
Chapter: The Week That Changed Everything
The fallout didn't explode.
It crept.
By morning, the first dirty trick revealed itself. Amaiyla woke to the sound of her phone vibrating nonstop.
Messages.
Missed calls.
Emails she hadn't opened yet—but the subject lines were enough.
ENGAGEMENT CONFIRMED
HOLLINGSWORTH–REYES ALLIANCE FINALIZED
EXCLUSIVE: POWER COUPLE TO WED IN EUROPE
Her breath caught. She hadn't agreed to anything. She stormed into the kitchen where John Hollingsworth stood calmly reading the paper, coffee in hand, completely unbothered.
"You leaked it," she said, voice shaking with fury.
John didn't look up. "I confirmed it."
"You lied."
"I controlled the narrative," he corrected. "Before someone else did."
"You used me, Dad, it's not fair ." He finally met her gaze.
"I protected you."
She laughed, sharp and broken. "From what? My own life?"
"From choices that would ruin you," John replied with a firm tone .
"From men who come with liabilities." Her stomach twisted.
"Connor." John silence was answer enough.
At the same time—across the city—Connor sat frozen in his office, staring at the email on his screen.
SUBJECT: Notice of Pending Civil Inquiry
CONTENT: Request for testimony regarding events during your academic tenure abroad.
His blood ran cold. Someone had reached back into his past.
Someone powerful.
Back at the Reyes estate,
Xander was discovering his own trap. His father slid a folder across the table. "Clause 17-B."Xander flipped it open—and stilled.
"Temporary cohabitation?" he said sharply. "You're forcing us to live together?"
"One week," Harold replied.
"Under supervision. Neutral territory. Until the engagement is formally recognized."
"This is extortion," fumed Xander.
"This is enforcement," Harold said calmly. "If either of you refuses, the clause escalates."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Escalates how?"
Harold's eyes hardened. "You don't want to find out."
That was how Amaiyla found herself standing outside a sleek, glass-walled townhouse overlooking the river—suitcase in hand, heart pounding—as Xander arrived moments later, equally furious. They stared at each other.
"This is insane," she said.
"I agree," he replied.
Inside, silence stretched between them—thick, uncomfortable, charged. Rules were posted on the counter. Curfews. No guests. Shared meals. Daily check-ins. Amaiyla scoffed.
"They're treating us like prisoners." Xander tossed his jacket aside.
"No. Like assets." That night, neither slept. By day three, the tension shifted. They argued about everything—coffee strength, lights, music—but something strange began to happen in the quiet moments. Xander noticed how Amaiyla hums when she cooked. Amaiyla noticed how he checks the locks every night—without fail. One evening, she found him on the balcony, staring out at the city.
"You don't look like a villain," she said softly.
He snorted, "Neither do you."
Silence.
"You really love him," Xander said finally.
Not accusatory.
Observant.
"Yes," she answered without hesitation.
Something flickered across his face—regret? Or relief?
"Then don't thank me for what's coming," he said quietly. "Because I won't stop it. Not yet."
She frowned. Confused, she asked, "Why?"
"Because your father is counting on you breaking," Xander replied. "And I don't like rewarding men like him."
Meanwhile, Aras's world tilted. Tammy Veraga arrived two days later—unannounced, flawless, dangerous in her confidence.
She slipped into the restaurant where Aras sat alone, sliding into the chair across from him like she owned it. "You didn't tell me your family was this… powerful," she said lightly. Aras stiffened.
"You shouldn't be here."
Tammy smiled. "Your father invited me." That smile carried threat.
'I kept my end of the deal," Aras said quietly. "You promised discretion."
"I promised silence," she corrected. "Not distance." She leaned in. "And silence has a price."
Across the room, Naiya watched them—something in her chest tightening painfully which she ignored and went back to her books.
Back at the townhouse,
Amaiyla and Xander sat on opposite ends of the couch, exhaustion finally dulling their defenses.
"You ever notice," Amaiyla murmured, "how they never had to ask for our consent?"
Xander nodded. "Because they trained us not to expect it."
Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Understanding.
And that, somehow, was more dangerous. Outside, the city pulsed—unaware that contracts were tightening, secrets surfacing, and love was being weaponized in ways none of them could yet escape. The week wasn't over. And nothing—nothing—would ever be the same when it ended.
Chapter: Too Close for Comfort
The townhouse began to feel smaller by the hour.
Amaiyla noticed it first in the silence—how it pressed in, how every sound felt amplified. The clink of a glass. The hum of the fridge. Xander's footsteps moving somewhere behind her. They were orbiting each other.
Careful.
Defensive.
Irritated for reasons neither wanted to name. By the second evening, it exploded over something stupid.
"You used all the hot water," Amaiyla snapped, standing in the hallway with a towel clutched tightly around her.
"Again." Xander looked up from the couch, incredulous. "I showered for ten minutes."
"You shower like you're power-washing guilt off your conscience."
He scoffed. "Maybe if you didn't take an hour—"
"I don't take an hour!"
"You absolutely do." She stared at him, eyes blazing. "AH! You're impossible."
He stood. "You're dramatic." That did it.
"Oh, so now I'm dramatic?" she shot back. "I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to live with a man who treats everything like a negotiation."
"And I didn't ask to babysit someone who thinks emotions override reality," he fired back. The words hung between them—too sharp.
Amaiyla's voice dropped. "At least I feel something."
Xander went still. "I do feel something." "Pity for Connor," he said smugly. "You never had the guts to tell about this engagement."
"You think I enjoy this?" She crossed her arms, trembling.
"I think you're better at pretending you don't care." Something cracked then.
Xander turned away abruptly, grabbing a bottle from the cabinet. "I need a drink."
"Good," she muttered, grabbing one too.
"Because I'm done being polite."
They drank on opposite ends of the kitchen at first. One glass turned into two. Two into three. The fight softened into something blurrier—words spilling easier now, defenses lowering whether they wanted them to or not.
"You know what I hate about you?" Amaiyla said, slurring just slightly.
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Just one thing?"
"You look like you don't need anyone," she said. "Like nothing ever touches you."
He laughed once, bitter. "You think that's a compliment?" She shook her head.
"I think it's lonely." The room went quiet.
"You know what I hate about you?" he replied.
She braced herself. "What?"
"You see too much," he said. "And you don't even realize it."
The alcohol made everything heavier.
Louder.
Truer.
At some point, they ended up on the couch—too tired to keep standing, too stubborn to admit they were done fighting. Amaiyla rested her head back, eyes closing.
"I don't trust you," she murmured.
"Good," Xander replied. "Means you're paying attention."
Silence.
Then, softer, "But I don't think you're the enemy." He looked at her then—really looked. Her lashes resting against flushed cheeks. The exhaustion she'd been carrying for far longer than this week.
"Maybe," he said quietly. She didn't answer. Getting her to the bedroom was awkward—half-guiding, half-carrying, both of them unsteady. She kicked off her shoes. He collapsed onto the bed beside her without thinking.
Neither moved.
Then she shifted in her sleep, instinctively curling toward warmth, her hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt. Xander froze. For a long moment, he didn't breathe. Then—slowly—he wrapped an arm around her, careful, restrained, as if afraid she might disappear if he held too tightly. They slept like that.
No lines crossed.
No promises made.
Just two people trapped by the same cage, clinging unconsciously to the only thing that felt steady. When morning light crept in, Amaiyla stirred first. She realized where she was. Who she was with. And instead of panic—there was calm. That scared her more than anything. Xander was already awake, staring at the ceiling.
"We didn't—" she began.
"I know," he said immediately.
"Nothing happened." She nodded, relief washing through her.
"Okay." Neither of them moved. Neither of them pulled away. Outside, unseen, the clause logged its first silent success.
Proximity achieved. Emotional dependency: pending.
And somewhere far away, two fathers smiled— unaware they had just ignited something they could no longer fully control.