Genre: Romance, Contemporary, Billionaire, Arranged Marriage, Enemies-to-Lovers
Author: Treasure Osayande
Prologue
On the day of her engagement, Elena Carter wished for rain.
Not because she liked storms — she didn't. But because she hoped that if the heavens broke open, maybe, just maybe, the whole charade would be ruined.
Unfortunately, the universe wasn't feeling generous.
The sun blazed mercilessly, the sky was an unbroken expanse of cruel blue, and every guest in attendance looked like they'd stepped out of a lifestyle magazine.
Laughter tinkled like glass. Champagne flowed freely. And in the middle of it all, Elena stood beside the man she hated more than anyone alive — Adrian Blackwell.
Her fingers were trembling when he took her hand. His grip was steady, warm, possessive, as though he had every right to touch her. She wanted to snatch it back, but dozens of cameras were aimed at them, and her father's warning echoed in her mind: Don't make a scene.
Adrian Blackwell wasn't just a man. He was the man who had destroyed her family. The man who, three years ago, had humiliated her in front of an entire boardroom before taking her father's company with a smile.
And now, thanks to a deal struck in smoke-filled backrooms, she was being bound to him — not with handcuffs or threats, but with a diamond ring.
"You don't have to like me, Elena," he murmured, his lips barely moving as he slid the ring onto her finger. His voice was smooth and mocking, like silk wrapped around a knife. "You just have to be my wife."
She forced a smile for the flashing cameras, every muscle in her face aching. Inside, she was screaming.
Because Elena Carter had sworn she would never, ever fall in love with Adrian Blackwell.
But the heart has a way of betraying even the strongest of promises…
---
Chapter 1 – The Deal I Never Agreed To
The Carter mansion had always been a place of warmth to Elena — its marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and sprawling gardens filled with childhood memories.
Today, it smelled of roses… and betrayal.
She paced the length of her father's study, heels clicking against polished stone. The heavy curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun, casting the room in shadows. Her father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, fingers drumming nervously on the surface. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
"You sold me," Elena said, her voice low but shaking with fury.
Her father flinched. "It's not like that, Elena."
Her laugh was short and bitter. "Then please, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, you've traded your daughter's freedom for a business deal."
"I'm protecting you," he insisted, his voice tired, aged beyond his years. "Protecting us. Without this marriage, we lose everything."
"Everything?" She stopped pacing, pinning him with a glare. "We already lost everything the day Adrian Blackwell took the company. Do you even remember what he did to us?"
"I remember," her father said quietly. His eyes darkened with something she couldn't read. "I also remember that he's offering a truce. He'll give back controlling shares if you—"
"If I marry him," she finished coldly. "And become his perfect little trophy wife."
The study door opened without warning.
And there he was.
Adrian Blackwell stepped into the room like he owned it — and maybe, in a way, he did. His suit was tailored to perfection, charcoal grey over a crisp white shirt, the top button undone just enough to be infuriating. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who'd never lost a battle.
"Elena," he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Still as fiery as ever. I like that."
She folded her arms, glaring at him. "I hate you."
"That's alright," Adrian replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Hate is just passion wearing the wrong clothes. We'll fix that."
"You are unbelievable."
"And you," he said, stepping closer, "are soon to be Mrs. Blackwell."
She took a step back, her pulse racing. "This is not my choice."
"No," he admitted. "But sometimes, the right decisions aren't ours to make."
Her father's voice cut in. "Elena, please. This is for the best."
Elena didn't answer. She couldn't. Because standing this close to Adrian, with that infuriating smirk and the faint scent of his cologne curling around her, she wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him… or run.
---
Chapter 2 – The Wedding Contract
The contract lay on the coffee table like a predator waiting to pounce.
Thick cream paper. Elegant black ink. Adrian's name signed in sharp, confident strokes at the bottom of the last page.
Beside it sat a gold fountain pen — the kind you'd use for a royal decree.
Elena stared at it as though it might bite her.
"This isn't a marriage," she said finally. "It's a prison sentence."
Adrian didn't even flinch. He was lounging in one of the leather armchairs across from her, his legs crossed, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. He could have been discussing stock prices or a new yacht, not her life.
"I call it a mutually beneficial agreement," he replied smoothly. "You get financial stability. Your father keeps his dignity. Your brother's gambling debts… vanish."
Her eyes snapped to his. "You've been digging into my family's private affairs."
"Correction," Adrian said, smirking, "I've been cleaning up your family's mess. Don't look so offended. You'll thank me later."
She crossed her arms tightly. "You think I'm going to live under your thumb for five years? Attending your events, smiling for the cameras, pretending I'm in love with you?"
"That's exactly what you'll do," he said without hesitation. "And you'll do it well."
Elena shook her head, almost laughing at the absurdity. "You're insane."
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "I'm offering you a choice, Elena. Sign the contract, and I become your husband on paper, your shield in public. You'll have power, influence, and more luxury than you can imagine. Don't sign it… and I will personally ensure the Carters are bankrupt by the end of the month."
Silence hung in the air like a noose.
Elena's heart pounded, her mind racing through every possibility. She could run — but where? She could refuse — but her father's pale, tired face flashed in her mind. She knew what this meant to him.
She looked down at the contract again.
Her hands were cold when she reached for the pen.
"Five years," she said, her voice low and tight. "Not a day longer."
"Five years," Adrian agreed, but the way he said it made her stomach twist — as if he knew something she didn't.
The pen scratched against the paper. Her signature sealed her fate.
When she looked up, Adrian was smiling — the kind of smile that said checkmate.
"Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life, Mrs. Blackwell-to-be," he murmured.
---
Chapter 3 – A Public Kiss
The Blackwell Foundation's annual charity gala was the kind of event where power was measured not in money, but in how many people stopped to greet you — and how many whispered about you after you left.
Elena stood just inside the grand ballroom, every inch of her feeling out of place. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting golden light over the sea of glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos. A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music barely audible over the hum of polite conversation.
She clutched her champagne flute like a lifeline, though she hadn't taken a sip. Her gown — a deep sapphire satin that clung to her figure — had been selected by Adrian's stylist without her input. She hated that it fit her perfectly.
She spotted him before he spotted her.
Adrian Blackwell, surrounded by a cluster of investors and socialites, laughing at something one of them said. His posture was effortless confidence, his dark hair perfectly styled, his cufflinks glinting under the light.
Even from across the room, he radiated control.
When his gaze finally swept toward her, it was like a laser locking on target. The corners of his mouth curved slightly, and he began making his way through the crowd — not hurriedly, but with the smooth assurance of a man who knew everyone would make way for him.
"Elena," he greeted, taking her free hand before she could protest. His palm was warm, his grip firm. "You look beautiful tonight."
She stiffened. "I didn't pick this dress."
"I did," he said simply, as if that settled the matter.
She opened her mouth to retort, but the sudden flurry of camera flashes stopped her. Several photographers were angling for a better shot of them, and Adrian's smile deepened.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at her.
"I'd rather—"
"Don't finish that sentence," he interrupted softly, still smiling for the cameras. "They're watching. You're supposed to be in love with me."
"I'm not—"
Before she could get the words out, his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her champagne flute wobbled dangerously, and she had just enough breath to whisper, "Adrian, what are you—"
And then his lips were on hers.
It wasn't a polite, staged peck for the cameras. It was a real kiss — deep, warm, possessive. His hand tightened at her waist, his other hand brushing lightly against her jaw, tilting her face toward him as though they were alone instead of in front of hundreds of people.
The noise of the room seemed to fade. For a heartbeat, Elena forgot to be angry. Forgot the cameras. Forgot the deal.
She hated that his kiss felt nothing like she'd expected — not cold and mechanical, but heated and deliberate, like he'd been waiting to do it.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The flashbulbs went wild, their light pulsing in time with her racing heartbeat.
When Adrian finally pulled back, he didn't step away. His face was still close, his breath warm against her lips. His eyes — dark, unreadable — locked with hers.
"Now," he murmured so quietly only she could hear, "they believe we're madly in love."
Her cheeks burned, though whether from the cameras or the fact that she'd kissed him back — even for a second — she didn't know.
She forced her voice into something cool and detached. "You enjoyed that."
His mouth quirked. "Guilty."
Before she could come up with a scathing reply, one of the photographers called out, "Mr. Blackwell, over here! Just one more!"
Adrian smiled charmingly for them, his arm never leaving her waist. He didn't seem bothered by the scrutiny. In fact, he seemed to thrive on it.
As they moved toward the main seating area, whispers trailed in their wake. Elena caught fragments — perfect couple, finally tamed him, lucky woman.
If only they knew.
---
Chapter 4 – Trapped Under One Roof
Elena had been home for less than an hour when the doorbell rang.
She opened it expecting a delivery or one of her father's associates. Instead, she found Adrian standing there, impossibly composed in a dark suit despite the late hour.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, stepping into the doorway so he couldn't just stroll in.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced past her into the Carter mansion's foyer, his gaze sweeping over the marble floors and the grand staircase as if evaluating the property for purchase.
Finally, he said, "Pack a bag."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You're moving in with me."
Elena laughed, but it came out sharp and humorless. "Not a chance."
Adrian's expression didn't change. "It's non-negotiable."
"Of course it is," she muttered. "Because everything with you comes with threats."
"This isn't a threat," he said, stepping closer. His cologne hit her first — crisp, clean, with a hint of something darker underneath. "It's a precaution."
"I don't need your precautions. We're not married yet."
"And yet," Adrian countered, "we are already being watched. Tonight's kiss went viral."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
He pulled out his phone, turned the screen toward her. The headline blared: Billionaire Adrian Blackwell Engaged — Passionate Kiss at Gala Stuns Society. Below it was a still image of him kissing her, her eyes closed, his hand on her jaw.
The comment section was a battlefield of speculation. She's gorgeous. She's after his money. He finally found someone worth keeping.
Elena shoved the phone back toward him. "So what? Let them gossip."
"It's not just gossip," Adrian said. "Every business rival I have is now looking for ways to use you against me. The safest place for you is under my roof, where my security can keep an eye on you."
She crossed her arms. "Or maybe you just want to keep me where you can control me."
His eyes darkened. "Both can be true."
"I'm not moving in."
"Then I'll have my security team escort you in the morning," he said, as though discussing a routine meeting. "You can pack on your own or let my staff do it for you. Your choice."
She hated him in that moment — hated the way he always backed her into corners, hated the way he never raised his voice but still managed to make refusal impossible.
And yet, as she closed the door after him, a small, traitorous part of her wondered what it would be like, living in Adrian Blackwell's world.