"I'm going to bloody murder them."
I crumpled the papers in my hand and flung them across the room. Files hit the floor, pages scattering everywhere. I raked a hand through my inky hair, frustration coiling tighter in my chest by the second. The air around me darkened—heavy, oppressive—thick enough to feel like it could choke someone to death.
"You can't," Evan reminded me cheerfully from across the office. My younger brother. Infuriatingly alive. "They've got hordes of security around them twenty-four seven." He paused, eyes flicking over me before he added, far too casually, "Oh—and by the way, that sweater still looks nice on you."
He didn't quite manage to hide his laugh.
I glowered at him. "Do you have a death wish?"
The sweater. Knitted by my grandmother—with love, apparently. Given her age and lack of dexterity, the thing was a crime against fashion. Poorly done didn't even begin to cover it. If I hadn't hidden it under my overcoat on the way to the office, I'd have lost whatever respect the employees still had for their supposedly fearsome CEO.
I would rather have eaten sand than worn it—but my parents' incessant nagging had left me little choice.
Naturally, Evan took it upon himself to mock it.
He opened his mouth again, but I cut him off. "One more word, and I'll have your allowance quartered."
He choked, disguising his laughter with a coughing fit.
"Big brother, you are no fun," he said, pouting dramatically, eyes suspiciously watery.
He sprawled across my desk, legs folded without a shred of decorum, thoroughly enjoying my misery over what was supposed to be a momentous business association between a European group and Blackwood Corp.
I sighed and dragged a hand through my hair again. I knew what people said about me—the rumored heir, sharp-featured, well-defined, flawless complexion, sculpted like something not quite mortal. Tall. Lean. Untouchable. Right now, I felt anything but.
"Why the tragic face, brother?" Evan cackled. "You just have to get married and the issue disappears." He even made a ridiculous puff sound, waving his hands like he'd performed a magic trick.
A teasing smile tugged at his lips.
"Just have to get married," I echoed dryly, dropping onto the couch beside him and rubbing my temples. "Easier said than done."
This whole business association was giving me a headache.
"You already have a fiancée," Evan said, turning toward me, playful as ever. "Only—you don't agree to marry her." He winked.
"I never acknowledged her as my fiancée," I snapped. "That engagement was enforced by the elders."
"I don't get it," he said honestly. "Vanessa Wright has everything a man could want. She's beautiful. Great family background. Perfect etiquette. Howard graduate. Countless medals—"
"Doesn't matter," I cut in. "As long as her IQ is in the negatives."
Evan stared at me.
"…Brother. She's a Howard graduate."
Even he thought that was too much.
He shook his head, utterly baffled—as always. "People say she's a ten out of ten in every category."
"A straight ten for a night," I said flatly. "Not for spending the rest of my life handcuffed to a bed."
Evan nearly choked.
We were talking about his potential future sister-in-law. Apparently, tact was optional.
"What do you even find wrong with her?" he asked helplessly.
"She's clingy. Can't keep her hands to herself."
"That's… normal?" he said carefully. "Holding hands with your fiancée is considered normal."
"She won't stop talking about herself. Uses an irritatingly strong cologne. Horrible fashion sense. Updates her status every five minutes—"
I kept going. Evan nearly dozed off.
"I'd classify her as eccentric," I concluded.
"That's what you say about every woman," he muttered, yawning.
I frowned. He had a point.
That could only mean one thing.
"Every woman is eccentric."
He fell silent.
He was probably wondering if I planned to remain a bachelor forever.
"Why would they add a clause requiring the president to be married?" I muttered, skimming the contract again. This deal was crucial to Blackwood Corp—yet suddenly, marriage was a condition?
"This is ridiculous."
Could the Wright family be behind it? They did have European connections. And I had been delaying the wedding indefinitely.
Possible.
"Maturity," Evan read aloud lazily from another file.
"Ridiculous," I scoffed. "Since when does marriage equal maturity? I run a mega-corporation alone. If anything, people who rush into marriage are the immature ones."
I harrumphed like an irritated child.
Evan wisely said nothing.
Then his lips curled into a grin. "Oh. Right. Father sent me to tell you—the Wright family is coming tomorrow to discuss the wedding date."
My expression darkened instantly.
"And," he added gleefully, "you absolutely must attend. All your meetings are postponed."
Damn it.
Evan tried—and failed—to stay invisible, a chuckle escaping as he raised his phone to snap a picture.
I grabbed him and physically kicked him out of my office.
Once alone, I lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. White smoke curled around my face, blurring my reflection in the glass. Immortal deity, they'd say. Invincible allure.
I crushed the cigarette between my fingers.
I wasn't being forced by my father—or the Wrights—anymore.
I was twenty-seven. I had the right to say no.
Grabbing my phone, I left the office for some air.
"Mr. Blackwood, are you heading out?" my secretary, Grace Hill, asked politely.
"Just taking a walk."
"Should I call security? The paparazzi are still around—"
"No need," I said curtly.
I stepped onto the pavement. Nearby stood the Blackwood-owned nightclub—famous, exclusive, crawling with elites.
"Of course, there's nothing stopping me from getting a man."
The cold, unwavering voice reached me before I realized I'd stopped walking.
I looked up.
A woman in red.
Elegant. Alluring. Long dark-chocolate hair cascading under the moonlight. There was something unyielding about her presence—something that drew me in before I could stop it.
My phone buzzed. I glanced down to silence it.
Footsteps approached.
I looked up again.
Why was she walking toward me?
"What are you doing—"
I never finished the thought.
Her hand fisted my collar, yanking me down—
And her warm, soft lips crashed against mine.