The coffee hit his chest before I realized who he was. Dark liquid spread fast across his white shirt, soaking into the fabric and dripping onto the stack of documents in his hand, the lid rolling across the marble floor and stopping near someone's polished shoe. Silence followed, not the normal kind, the kind that made people turn and stare without pretending otherwise. He didn't react immediately, and that was the first thing I noticed, most people would have jumped back or raised their voice or made a scene, but he didn't. He just looked down, slow and controlled, like nothing in his life had ever surprised him, then he lifted his head and looked at me, cold, not loud, not angry, just cold. "You have five seconds," he said quietly, "to explain why I shouldn't have you escorted out." My fingers were still warm from the cup I had dropped, my heart beating too fast, loud enough I was sure he could hear it, but I crossed my arms anyway because backing down first felt worse. "Maybe don't stop in the middle of a walkway like you own it." There was a slight shift in his expression, not shock, not offense, something closer to recognition. "I do own it." I let out a short laugh. "Of course you do." The lobby suddenly felt smaller, too many eyes, too many people pretending not to stare. He stepped closer, not aggressive, not rushed, just deliberate, the kind of movement that made you aware of everything at once, the distance, the silence, the air between you. His cologne reached me first, dark and expensive, and my stomach tightened even though I refused to move. "You just ruined a seventy million dollar deal," he said, his voice still low, still controlled, and somehow that made it worse. I tilted my chin slightly. "Good, maybe next time you will learn basic manners." A flicker crossed his face and disappeared just as quickly, his jaw tightening as the papers in his hand dripped slowly onto the floor, each drop louder than it should have been. Something twisted in my chest, but I ignored it, turned, and walked away. "Watch where you are going next time," I added without looking back, but I felt it anyway, his gaze heavy and unmoving, like he was already deciding something.
My day should have ended there, it didn't. The drive home was quiet, too quiet, the kind that pressed against your ears, and I stared out the window as the city blurred past, people moving like they belonged somewhere, like they had somewhere that mattered. I used to think I was one of them, not anymore. "Your parents are waiting," the driver said as the car slowed in front of the house, and of course they were, they were always waiting when something needed to be decided, something important, something that never included me. I stepped out, smoothing my skirt automatically, even though my hands were still slightly shaky, telling myself it was from the coffee incident and not from the way that man had looked at me.
The house was exactly how it always was, perfect in a way that didn't feel real, every surface polished, every detail controlled, even the air smelled the same, clean and expensive and distant. Home never felt like home, it felt like a place you behaved in. I stepped into the dining room and they were already seated, my mother with her glass of wine, my father adjusting his cufflinks like he had all the time in the world, neither of them looking surprised to see me. "Sit," my father said, not asking how my day was, not asking why I was late, just that. I pulled out the chair and sat, the silence stretching until it became uncomfortable, something about it off in a way I couldn't explain. My mother placed her glass down carefully, too carefully, and I knew something was coming. "We have finalized the arrangement." I frowned. "What arrangement." My father didn't look at me, and that was the first real warning sign. My mother smiled, calm in a way that didn't match the moment. "Your marriage." I stared at her, then laughed, the sound sharp and short and completely out of place. "No." No one else laughed. The silence that followed was worse than before. "You will be married in three weeks," my father said, like he was discussing a business meeting, "the Cole family has agreed." The name tugged at something in my memory, but I couldn't place it yet. "And when exactly was I supposed to be part of this conversation." "You were not," my mother replied smoothly. Something tightened in my chest. "I am not marrying someone I don't know." "You will." "No, I won't." The words came out faster this time, sharper, more real, my chair scraping against the floor as I stood. "You don't get to just decide this." "We already did."
The doors behind me opened, the sound soft but cutting through everything, footsteps following, measured and unhurried, and suddenly I knew. I didn't know how, but I knew. I turned, and there he was, clean white shirt, no stain, no trace of what had happened earlier, like it had never existed, but I remembered every second of it. Our eyes met and recognition hit instantly. "You." His expression didn't change. "Miss Bennett." My stomach dropped slowly, heavily. My mother gestured toward him like she was presenting something valuable. "Adrian Cole." Of course it was him. Of course. "You cannot be serious," I said, looking between them, "this is the guy." "This is the man you are going to marry," my father corrected. I turned back to him, to Adrian, standing there like he belonged, like this was normal, like I was already part of his life. "You are joking." "I do not joke." "Great, that makes two of us." His gaze sharpened slightly. "And she is reckless," he added. I stared at him. "You stopped in the middle of a walkway." "You threw coffee." "That was an accident." "You did not apologize." I stepped closer before I could stop myself. "You did not deserve one." Silence settled again, heavy and thick. My mother sighed softly. "This behavior is exactly why this arrangement is necessary." I ignored her, focused on him. "You do not even like me." "I do not need to." The answer came too easily. "You are unbelievable." "And you talk too much." I let out a breath, shaking my head. "This is not happening." "It is." "No, you do not get to treat my life like it is a contract." "That is exactly what it is." I froze and turned back to him slowly. "What did you just say." His voice didn't change. "Your family needs this merger, mine requires stability, this marriage solves both problems." The words were precise, like he had said them before. I laughed again, but it sounded wrong this time. "So I am what, a solution." "Yes." No hesitation, no apology, just yes. Something tightened in my chest, sharp and uncomfortable, and I stepped closer until we were only a breath apart. "You think I will just agree to this." His gaze dropped briefly before returning to mine, calm and certain. "You will." "Why." "Because," he said quietly, "you do not actually have a choice." The room felt smaller, tighter, and I hated how calm he was, how sure. I folded my arms. "You are very confident for someone I just embarrassed in public." There was a pause, then, "I do not lose twice in one day." The words were quiet but they stayed, something about the way he said them making my stomach flip, not fear, something else I didn't want to name. I looked away first and hated that I did. "Three weeks," my father repeated. Three weeks. I looked back at Adrian, really looked at him, cold eyes, controlled posture, no hesitation, like this was already done, like I was already his. Something inside me pushed back hard. "This is a mistake." "Probably." I blinked, that was not what I expected. "Then stop it." He held my gaze, didn't move, didn't soften. "No." The word settled between us, final and unmoving. I swallowed. "Then I will make you regret it." For the first time something shifted in his expression, small but real, a flicker of interest. "Try."
Dinner continued like nothing had happened, which somehow made it worse. My mother talked about arrangements, my father discussed timelines, and Adrian sat across from me calm and composed, like this was just another deal. I barely tasted the food, barely heard the words, all I could feel was him, every time I looked up his gaze was already there, watching, measuring, not curious, deliberate, like he was learning me, and I did not like it. Later that night I stood in my room staring at my reflection, the same face, the same person, but nothing felt the same. Three weeks, that was all it would take to change everything. I pressed my hands against the dresser, grounding myself, I was not going to let this happen quietly, I was not going to agree, I was not going to become something convenient. My phone buzzed with a message from my mother saying we would discuss the details tomorrow, like this was normal. I dropped the phone onto the bed and exhaled slowly, then I saw it through the window, a black car parked outside, sleek and familiar, and leaning against it was him. Adrian. Even from this distance I knew it was him, still and unmoving like he had been there for a while. Waiting. I didn't know for what, and I didn't want to know, but my feet moved anyway before I could stop myself.
The night air felt colder as I stepped outside, and he didn't move, didn't speak, just watched me as I walked toward him. "Do you make a habit of showing up uninvited." His gaze stayed on me. "You are going to say yes." I let out a quiet scoff. "You are really not used to hearing no, are you." "No." The honesty caught me off guard. I crossed my arms. "That is a problem." "Not for me." Silence stretched between us. He studied me for a moment. "You are not as careless as you pretend to be." I frowned. "And you are not as impressive as you think you are." A pause. "That is not what you thought earlier." My stomach tightened and I ignored it. "You do not know what I thought." "I do." His voice was softer now, still controlled but different. "You are angry, but you are not surprised." I didn't answer because he wasn't wrong and I hated that more than anything. "This marriage is happening," he said. "Then I will make it difficult." "I expect you to." Our eyes locked again, that same tension, that same pull, unwelcome and unfamiliar but real. In that moment I understood something, this wasn't just a contract, this wasn't something I could walk away from, I wasn't just being forced into a marriage, I was being pulled into something sharper, something dangerous, something that felt like a war, and the man standing in front of me was the one I was supposed to hate.