The soft clink of silverware echoed in the cavernous dining room, a delicate sound almost swallowed by the weight of silence.

Everything was perfect, as always-hand-cut crystal, French linen napkins, an oak dining table long enough to seat royalty. My father never tolerated less than excellence. And Alexander Grayson fit right in, all clean lines and cool indifference, a man moulded for power and untouched by warmth.

He sat across from me, his expression unreadable, his every move calculated. He hadn't said much since he arrived. Not that I expected him to. Still, I waited, watching. Listening.

Then came the first strike.

"The wedding will take place in six months," my father said, reaching for his wine with the ease of someone making small talk.

"No, it won't." Alexander objected. "No one will believe I'm marrying someone with such short notice unless something was wrong," he continued smoothly.

My father's lips thinned. "What would you suggest then?"

"A year is a more reasonable timeframe."

 "Alright. That's enough time to plan a proper celebration without dragging things out. However, public announcements should go out in two weeks."

I held my glass a fraction tighter, its stem cool against my fingers.

I turned my head slightly. "Two weeks?"

"Announcements should also go out later," Alexander added. "A month gives us time to craft a proper story, considering your daughter and I have never so much as been seen in public together before."

My father's eyes narrowed. "We don't need a month to come up with a story," he snapped.

"Two weeks," my father countered. "We'll announce the weekend Eliana moves into your house."

The words hit harder than I expected.

Move in?

I blinked, caught off guard. I turned to Alexander, searching for any sign that this was news to him, too.

It wasn't.

He calmly sipped his wine without comment, as if my relocation to his home had already been carved into stone.

The nausea curled low in my stomach. I was moving in with a stranger-a cold, calculating man who looked at me not like a person, but a proposition.

"I'm sure your family would like the announcements to go out sooner rather than later as well," my father said.

Alexander finally looked up. "Two weeks it is."

"Excellent. We'll work together to draf the-"

"I'll draft it," Alexander interrupted. "Next."

My father's glare was swift. But Alexander didn't care. His confidence was surgical, dispassionate, cutting without blood.

Something wasn't right between them.

Talk turned to guest lists and press contacts, but I barely heard it. I was too busy steadying my breathing, rebuilding the mask of composure I'd worn since I was fourteen, the year my mother died, and silence became a second language.

I reached for the only shield I had: charm.

"I appreciate you taking the time to fly in when we could've met in New York. I know you must be busy."

He didn't respond.

I tilted my head. "I also heard the more zeroes one has in their bank account, the fewer words they're capable of speaking. You're proving the rumour correct."

His eyes finally met mine. Cool. Calculating.

"I thought a society heiress like yourself would know better than to discuss money in polite company."

"The keyword is polite."

A flicker of amusement crossed his features-brief and razor-thin.

"It's not polite to speak to a guest that way," he murmured, reaching for the salt. His sleeve brushed mine. I didn't move.

"What would your father say?"

"He'd say guests should adhere to social niceties as much as the host, including making an effort to hold a polite conversation."

"Yeah? Do social niceties include dressing like you stepped out of a Fifth Avenue Stepford Wives factory?"

The comment landed with surgical precision.

My outfit was classic-a pale skirt suit, pearls, clean lines designed to communicate elegance and power- my father-approved wardrobe. It was deliberate. Strategic. But the way he said it, laced with derision, turned it into a costume.

"No," I said, smile sharpening. "But they certainly don't include ruining a nice dinner with discourtesy. You should buy a nice set of manners to match your suit, Mr. Grayson."

His lips quirked, the faintest suggestion of approval.

My father rose. "I'll go see if dessert is ready."

He left the dining room, taking his wine with him.

Silence hovered between us.

Alexander  stood, chair scraping. "Excuse me."

And just like that, he was gone.

I sat in the too-silent dining room, staring down at the half-full glass of wine I no longer wanted. The air still carried the bitter taste of control, of my father's manoeuvring, of Alexander's amusement. Of the way I'd once again become an asset, not a person.

The heels of my shoes echoed down the marble hallway as I stood and walked away from the table. I didn't need directions. I knew where he'd gone.

There were only a handful of places in this house that offered any true privacy.

Of course, he'd choose that one.

I found him exactly where I expected-in my father's office, leaning back in the chair like he'd always belonged there, head thrown back with his eyes closed.

I stepped through the doorway, spine straight, voice cool.

"What are you doing?" 

"Enjoying a break", he said as he scanned my face.

"In my father's office?" I asked from the doorway.

"Obviously," he said.

I walked across the room without taking my eyes off his. 

"You're clearly used to doing whatever you want," I said, my voice even. "But it's exceedingly rude to sneak off during a dinner party to lounge in your host's office."

"That's my problem, not yours."

"Please rejoin us in the dining room. Your food is getting cold."

"Why don't you join me for a break?" he drawled. "I promise it'll be more enjoyable than your father's hand-wringing over floral arrangements."

"Based on our interactions so far, I doubt it."I snapped.

He moved around the desk, casual, slow.

"I don't understand why you're here," I said. "You're clearly unhappy about the arrangement. You don't need the money or the connection with my family. And you can have any woman you want."

He paused. "Can I?"

"What if I want you?"

My heart skipped. I hated that it did.

"You don't."

"You give yourself too little credit." He said as he stood in front of me, so close I could practically feel his breath fan my face. His eyes darkened as he lifted his hand and grazed his thumb over my bottom lip. 

My breathing shallowed, but I didn't move away.

 I held my ground as his gaze lingered on my lips.

"You're a beautiful woman," he said. "Perhaps I saw you at an event and was so enamored I asked your father for your hand in marriage."

"Somehow, I doubt that's what happened."

"What kind of deal did you make with him?" I finally asked.

He stilled, then stepped back.

"You should ask your dear father that question," he said. "The details don't matter. Just know that if I had any other choice, I damn well wouldn't be getting married. But business is business, and you..." He gave a careless shrug. "You're simply part of the deal."

The words landed like a slap. But I didn't show it.

"You're so cruel."

"Yes, I am." His smile was all pearly white teeth. "Better get used to it, because I'm also your future husband."

He walked out, the scent of his cologne and arrogance lingering long after the door shut behind him.

Alexander's POV 

Damien looked like he wanted to bolt.

Christian looked like he was calculating how much longer until Damien got disowned.

I looked like I always did: calm.

"You're engaged?" Damien said again, like repeating it might change the answer.

"To Eliana Rivera," I confirmed, sharp and unbothered.

Christian's brow ticked up. "Wow. So it's officially that kind of day."

He didn't sound surprised. Then again, he'd been in on the damage control meetings. He knew exactly what was at stake.

"I-what?" Damien sputtered. "Since when? You haven't been seeing anyone seriously, and now you're engaged?"

"Since three days ago," I said.

Christian leaned forward, fingers steepled loosely in front of him. "Let's be clear. This isn't about love. This is about Cassian Rivera having leverage and Alex eliminating it before it hits daylight."

"I already said I was sorry-" Damien tried.

"You saying it doesn't make it less useless," I cut in. My voice stayed low, but the chill in it could've flash-frozen steel.

He shut up instantly.

"You were seen with the daughter of a married diplomat in a five-star hotel," I continued. "You didn't just screw around, Damien. You risked international fallout. If Cassian had leaked those photos to the right media outlet, or worse-to her father? You wouldn't just be a headline. You'd be a liability. You'd be dead."

Damien swallowed, his confidence buckling fast.

That photo, taken during his late-night rendezvous with the daughter of a very married South Korean dignitary, hadn't even been meant for me. But Cassian had it. And he used it.

Used it to push me into a corner. Into a proposal. Into Eliana.

"What were you thinking? Sleeping with a married woman from a dangerous family like that?" Christian asked him with an exasperated look.

"Shit, I didn't even know who she was until after we slept together. If I knew I would never have done it and gotten you dragged into this mess." he paced around the room with his fingers in his hair.

"This isn't about guilt," I said. "It's about strategy. I just need to be engaged to her long enough to get my hands on the evidence and destroy it permanently."

And then I could be free from Cassian and his threats.

Christian exhaled a soft laugh. "This is the most terrifying wedding toast I've ever heard."

"No one asked for your toast," Damien muttered.

Christian exhaled through his nose, slower. "We're tracking where Cassian's storing the backup files. He's not dumb-he didn't just keep one."

"Encrypted server," I said. "We'll find it. And when we do, we wipe every copy."

"I'm on it," Christian said. "My team's already working leads through two data brokers and his assistant's burner account. We'll get it."

Christian's voice was cool, confident-but I caught the flicker of tension beneath it. He understood the stakes better than anyone. He was head of security for Grayson Group, and the only man I trusted with secrets deeper than our family's.

He also knew what would happen if this didn't work.

Damien ran a hand through his hair. "So what-your brilliant plan is to marry his daughter and make this all go away?"

"It's not a plan," I said. "It's a fact. It's going to happen."

"And she agreed to that?"

"She didn't object."

"She probably didn't have a choice," Damien muttered.

"Neither did you," I said coldly.

He flinched.

Christian finally cut in, his tone half-light but laced with warning. "Damien, look at him. Do you think Alexander  wanted to marry anyone let alone the daughter of that conniving fucker?"

"I don't know, okay?" Damien snapped, then looked instantly regretful.

"She's cold," I said. "Calculating. Every word out of her mouth is wrapped in silk and aimed like a knife."

Christian hummed. "Sounds familiar."

"I don't like her," I added.

"Also familiar."

"But she knows what's at stake. So she's not fighting it."

Damien let out a bitter laugh. "Wow. The foundation of a healthy marriage."

"She'll be fine," I said. "She knew what this was."

"Did she?" Christian asked, softer now. "Or did she just play along because she's as trapped in that family as you are in this deal?"

I paused.

Because even now, I could still see her face at that dinner in Boston. Perfectly composed, like she'd trained for that exact moment her entire life-and maybe she had. But there had been something behind her eyes. Something sharp. Controlled.

She hadn't been surprised. But she hadn't agreed either. She'd endured.

It should've made her forgettable. Instead, it made her an instrument of my curiosity.

Eliana Rivera was elegant, sharp, and beautiful. 

She also hated my guts as much as I hated hers, maybe even more.

And she was going to be my wife.

"She and her father get more wealth and status. We get silence," I said. "We both play our parts. That's all this is."

Christian didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked at me. Then, finally: "And if she figures out what this really cost you?"

"She won't."

"You underestimate her."

"I'm not underestimating anyone," I said, voice harder now. "This is not about her. This is about him."

I stared at Damien.

He looked... small. Ashamed. Rightfully.

"You don't get to be reckless anymore," I said. "You don't get to act like the rules don't apply to you because you're my brother."

"I know," he murmured.

"Do you?"

"Yes." His voice cracked. "I know."

Christian shifted in his seat. "We're almost through Rivera's firewall. Give me a few more days, and I'll have something actionable."

"Good," I said.

"Then what?" Damien asked, quietly. "Once you destroy the photos? What happens to the marriage?"

I didn't answer.

Because even I didn't know.

Eliana Rivera was a problem. Elegant. Controlled. And smarter than she let on. I didn't like her, didn't trust her, and sure as hell didn't want to be married to her.

But I also didn't like loose ends. And she'd just become one of the most dangerous ones I'd ever tied to my name.

"I don't walk away from responsibility," I said instead.

"That's one word for it," Christian muttered under his breath.

"I'm serious," I said, eyeing them both. "This isn't about optics. This is about protecting what's ours."

"I didn't mean to screw it up," Damien said again, softer this time.

I looked at him. Really looked.

And as angry as I was-as ready as I was to let him twist under the pressure-I remembered something. Him, eight years old, walking into my office barefoot with a bloody nose because he didn't want me to find out he lost a fight. Because he thought I'd be disappointed.

"I know you didn't mean to," I said quietly. "But you did."

Damien dropped his eyes.

"And now I'm going to fix it," I added. "Even if it means marrying someone I'd rather never see again."

Christian finally rose from his seat. "Alright. I'll check in when I get something. And Damien?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to be a walking PR crisis until then."

Eliana's POV

"I'm sorry. You're marrying who?"

Katherine's voice hit an octave only dogs and divas could hear.

"Keep your voice down," I hissed, glancing around the café. "This place is crawling with people who donate to my father's foundation. If one of them hears I'm being bartered off like a Birkin bag in a tax write-off, he'll have a full-blown aneurysm."

"I'm not whispering until you explain to me what the hell is happening." Katherine leaned over the table like we were conspiring to rob a royal bank. "You're marrying Alexander Grayson? The Alexander Grayson?"

"That's what the press release will say," I murmured, stirring my coffee even though I had no intention of drinking it.

"The same man who once shut down a tech startup by accident and didn't apologize?"

"It was a strategic acquisition. The founder failed to read the fine print."

"Oh my God, Eliana. He's basically a Bond villain with a better skincare routine."

I gave her a look. "And your point?"

"My point is-since when do you go for emotionally unavailable billionaires with god complexes?"

"Since my father decided he'd rather sell me off to one than risk a minor PR hiccup."

Katherine blinked. "Okay. I need to sit down."

"You are sitting down."

"I need to sit lower."

Her chair screeched an inch across the floor as she slumped dramatically. "Eli. No. You cannot be serious. Tell me this is one of those strategic engagement rumors people float to boost stock prices."

I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee. "I wish. Unfortunately, it comes with a diamond the size of a macaron and a prenup thicker than a Tolstoy novel."

Katherine stared at me, wide-eyed. "You actually signed it?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice. You once ghosted a guy because he said 'expresso.'"

"He deserved that."

"He was hot, Eli."

"He was illiterate."

Katherine groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I can't believe this. You're really going to marry the Ice King of Manhattan."

"I don't have time for a meltdown," I said, carefully tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "My father made the deal. Alexander agreed. And if I so much as flinch, this entire thing blows up and takes everything I've built with it."

Katherine leaned back, folding her arms. "I hate that you're saying all of that like it makes perfect sense. Like it's normal. It's not. You're marrying a man you barely know, who probably lists 'hostile takeover' as a hobby."

"I'm aware."

"You don't even like him."

"I don't have to like him," I said coolly. "I just have to survive him."

Katherine's brows knit. "And what does he get out of this?"

"A distraction. Legitimacy. Whatever demons he's trying to outmaneuver with a headline about a picture-perfect engagement."

"And you're okay with that?"

I paused.

"I'm not okay," I said. "I'm just handling it."

Katherine studied me for a long moment, her sarcasm softening into something more serious. "Do you want me to say it?"

"Say what?"

"That you deserve more than this."

I forced a smile. "Say it after the wedding. Over champagne. Or whiskey. Or while helping me fake my death and start a new life in New Zealand."

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand while offering me a small, sympathetic smile.

"You can still change your mind, you know."

"No," I said quietly. "I can't."

There was a pause. Katherine squeezed my hand once more before pulling away.

"Then at least make him suffer a little."

I smiled, tight and brittle. "That's the plan."

---

Alexander hadn't answered my calls. Or my emails. Or my extremely polite but increasingly pointed messages from our shared wedding planner. So I showed up at his club.

Some women sent flirty texts. I preferred mildly confrontational drop-ins at exclusive members-only establishments. Same energy, better results.

The Citadel wasn't just any club. It was the kind of place so exclusive it didn't have a sign, a website, or a phone number-just a silent nod from a stone-faced doorman and the hush of wealth thick in the air. You didn't walk into The Citadel unless you belonged. 

Or, in my case, unless you were engaged to someone who did. But they didn't know that yet.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're not on the list. It doesn't matter whether you're Mr. Grayson's mother, sister, or fiancée..." The hostess raised a brow at my bare ring finger. "I can't let you in without an invitation."

My smile didn't falter. "If you call Alexander, he'll confirm my identity," I said, even though I wasn't sure he would. I'd deal with that bridge when we got there. "This is simply an oversight."

No matter how much I didn't want to, I knew I had to suck it up and see him, no matter how much he annoyed or unnerved me.

Of course, in order to see him, I had to get into the club.

The hostess's face reddened. "I assure you, there was no oversight. We are meticulous in-"

"Eliana, there you are."

An aristocratic British accent cut smoothly through our standoff.

I turned, surprise coasting through me when I saw the handsome man smiling at me. His flawlessly chiseled face and deep, dark eyes would've almost been too perfect were it not for the simple black frames lending him a touch of approachability.

"Alexander just texted. He's looking for you, but you weren't answering your phone." He came up beside me and retrieved an elegant cream invitation from his jacket pocket. He handed it to the hostess. "Christian Davenport, plus one. I can bring Ms. Rivera in so we don't bother Alexander, he's probably busy tonight.."

She glared at me but offered Christian a tight smile.

"Of course, Mr. Davenport. Enjoy the party." She stepped aside, as did the pair of unsmiling, suited guards behind her.

I waited until we were out of earshot before I turned to Christian with a grateful smile. "Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

Christian and I weren't close friends, but we often attended the same parties and chatted whenever we crossed paths. His thoughtful, reserved demeanor was a breath of fresh air in the narcissistic jungle of Manhattan high society.

"You're welcome." His formal tone made me smile.

"I'm sure your absence on the list was an oversight on Alexander's part." He whisked two glasses of champagne off a passing server's tray and handed one to me. "Speaking of which, congratulations on your engagement. Or should I say, condolences?"

My smile blossomed into a laugh. "The jury is still out."

From what I'd heard, Christian and Alexander were friends. I wasn't sure what Alexander told him about our engagement, but I was erring on the side of caution.

"Smart. Most people treat Alexander like he walks on water." Christian's eyes sparkled. "He needs someone to remind him he's mortal just like the rest of us."

"Oh, trust me," I said. "I don't think he's a god."

More like the devil sent to work on my last nerve.

Christian laughed. We made small talk for another few minutes as he led me to Alexander's lounge, before he excused himself to talk to an old college friend.

Why couldn't I have ended up with someone like him? He was polite, charming, and rich enough to meet my father's  standards.

Instead, I was stuck with a brooding man who wouldn't know good manners if they slapped him in the face.

The door to the lounge opened on a room bathed in soft shadows and warm amber light. Low music played. Glass clinked. And there he was.

Black suit. Black shirt. Black mood, from the looks of it. He sat in a corner armchair like it had been built for him, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a stare that could bend steel.

He looked up when I entered. Didn't smile. Of course not.

"Eliana."

I gave him a slow blink. "Wow. Two syllables. I'm touched."

He set his glass down. "Did you come all the way here just to be sarcastic?"

"I came here because you're ignoring me. And since passive-aggressive post-it notes aren't your style, I figured I'd try a more direct approach."

"I've been busy."

"You're always busy. I thought being your fiancée might earn me a time slot between your global dominance and your 8 p.m. brooding session."

He sighed, leaned back, and gestured at the seat across from him. "Sit."

I stayed standing.

"Why?" I asked. "So you can explain how this arrangement only requires my silence and my signature, not actual communication?"

"I didn't think a dinner meeting was necessary."

"You proposed to me."

He chuckled 

"Technically, I proposed to your father."

"Oh, great, because that's so much better." I replied flatly.

I crossed the room and sat down, my spine straight and voice cool.

"We're engaged." I stopped beating around the bush and cut straight to the heart of the matter. The faster I got this out of the way, the faster I could leave. "We haven't exchanged a single word since the dinner even though I'm supposed to move in next week. I don't expect love declarations and flowers every day"-though that'd be nice-"but I do expect basic courtesy and communication skills. Since you appear incapable of taking the initiative, I did it myself."

His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered. Something I couldn't quite place. 

Then he smiled.

Alexander's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"That was quite a speech. You certainly didn't have this much to say at dinner the other night." The cold steel of his voice melted into rough silk as his gaze swept over me, gathering heat the farther it traveled. "I almost don't recognize you."

The intimacy of his double meaning throbbed in my veins and dropped between my legs.

I wore a classic black cocktail dress, heels, and my favorite red lipstick. Diamonds glittered around my neck and on my ears. It wasn't anything groundbreaking, but it was the best I could do when rushing to get ready.

I swallowed before carefully asking, "What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips curved into something too slow to be a smile, too sharp to be soft.

"It means," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "that you walked into this room looking like sin dressed in diamonds... and now I'm wondering what else you've been hiding under all that poise."

He leaned in, just slightly-enough for his breath to graze my cheek, for his scent to wrap around me like a second skin.

"I remember silence at dinner. I remember practiced smiles and perfect posture. But now..." His eyes dragged down my body with agonizing precision. "Now I see a woman who knows exactly what she's doing. And I'm trying very hard not to imagine what would happen if you stopped pretending you didn't want to be caught."

That voice, that look, that very inconvenient pulse of heat spiraling straight down like my body hadn't gotten the memo that this man was the enemy.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I was here to be calm. Cool. Possibly a little bit bitchy. Not... internally combusting because Alexander  just suggested-without actually saying it-that he wanted to peel me out of my self-control like it was lingerie.

I needed to say something smart. Cutting. Devastating.

I straightened, masking my internal chaos with the kind of poise that only came from years of high society events and emotional repression.

Two could play this game.

"I'm not hiding anything," I said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my dress. "But if you're that curious, Alexander..." I let the pause hang-sweet, dangerous, deliberate. "You'll have to earn the privilege."

His jaw flexed. His eyes darkened.

He didn't smile. Not really.

But the glint in his eyes told me exactly how entertained he was.

"Earn it?" he repeated, his voice a murmur dipped in velvet and sin. He stood slowly, unhurried, like a man who had all the time in the world to ruin me.

"Darling, I don't earn. I take."

He moved closer, and despite my best efforts, my breath hitched-just enough for his gaze to catch it.

"I don't need permission to see what's mine," he murmured, his mouth a breath away from my ear. "But I do enjoy watching you pretend I do."

My breath caught-audibly, humiliatingly-and I hated how quickly my body responded to him. Like it had been waiting for his voice, his nearness, his heat.

I should've stepped back. Should've said something cutting, something clever.

But all that came out was a whisper that betrayed me far more than silence ever could.

"...you're insufferable."

Even to my own ears, it lacked bite.

His hand didn't touch me-but I felt the warmth of it hovering near my waist, a promise and a warning all at once.

Why was he saying these things? Isn't he supposed to hate me? He probably just enjoys toying with me- the heartless bastard.

But why can't my heart stop pounding at the prospect of his strong body laying on top of mine- or under me.

Something's definitely wrong with me.

Another silence stretched between us. Tense. Measured.

He chuckled.

Then he moved back to his seat and spoke. "We're meeting with the event planner tomorrow. Noon."

I finally exhaled. "Fine. Where?"

"I'll send my driver."

"Wonderful. I'll try to contain my enthusiasm."

I stood. "Try not to avoid me until then."

He didn't respond.

Typical.

But as I walked out, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time. And for a brief second, I wondered if under all that ice, Alexander Grayson was starting to thaw.