"Is this really happening?" I muttered to myself, staring at the stack of papers in front of me—contracts, agreements, signatures that would bind me to Christiana for the rest of my life.
I had been pacing in my office for the past half hour, unable to settle my thoughts. There was no denying it. The wedding was happening, whether I wanted it or not. And Christiana—her soft features, her calm but distant presence—she was becoming the anchor that I would have to drag along with me through this entire process.
I clenched my jaw and let out a deep breath. The deal had been made. My father's legacy, my company's future—everything depended on it. Christiana, though, was an afterthought. She was the means to an end. At least that's what I had to tell myself.
The sound of the door creaking open snapped me out of my thoughts. I didn't even need to look up to know it was her. Christiana had a way of entering a room with that quiet, deliberate presence, as if she were always aware of the weight she carried.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steady, even though I could see the tension in her posture.
I didn't answer right away. I simply looked up at her, my gaze cool, calculating. She was wearing a simple dress, but it was the way she carried herself that made her seem more regal than anyone else in the room. If only she understood the mess we were both in.
I gestured to the chair across from me, indicating she should sit. She did so cautiously, folding her hands in her lap, waiting for me to speak.
"Let's get this over with," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "You're here. We both know what's going to happen next."
Christiana's lips parted slightly, but she remained silent. The room was thick with unspoken words. There was a level of discomfort between us that was impossible to ignore. I had seen her the night we first met—the same cold eyes, the same calculated calmness. But this? This was different. This wasn't just about some strategic move on her part or mine. There were real stakes now.
"You don't have to do this," I said finally, though my words felt hollow. "If you want to back out, now's the time."
Christiana's gaze never wavered from mine. I could almost see the storm brewing behind her cool exterior. She took a deep breath, then nodded once, sharply, as if she was bracing herself for something she couldn't control. "It's not about what I want," she replied softly. "It's about what needs to happen. We both know that."
I hated how reasonable she sounded, how resigned to her fate. I had expected a confrontation—maybe a little anger, some frustration. But this? This was a different level of composure. Too much like her mother. Too much like everyone in my life who saw everything through the lens of power, of business.
It pissed me off.
"That's your problem," I snapped, standing up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "You're just going to roll over and accept everything, aren't you? You don't get a say in this, Christiana. You're just a piece on the board, moving where you're told."
Her eyes narrowed, but there was no real anger in them. Just resignation. "I'm not a piece," she said, her voice steady. "I'm doing what I have to do. Just like you."
I stared at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air like smoke. I hated how much they rang true. I hated how much I recognized myself in her. And yet, I couldn't allow myself to feel anything for her. I couldn't let her in. Not now. Not when everything was at risk.
"Good," I muttered, turning back to the papers. "Let's get this over with, then."
But she didn't leave. Instead, she sat there, watching me, almost as if waiting for me to show something—anything—of the man I had been before this arrangement took place. I wasn't sure if I could. I wasn't sure if there was even room for that person anymore.
I could feel her eyes on me, searching for some kind of connection that wasn't there. And it made my insides twist. The cold, distant version of me was so much easier to hold on to. I didn't have to think about feelings, about emotions. I didn't have to care.
But damn it, she was too much like me, and it made it harder to maintain that distance.
"I don't know why you're still here," I said, voice harder now, trying to push her away. "We don't need to talk about this. We both know what's at stake. We can pretend, go through the motions. Nothing more."
She stood up then, the chair scraping against the floor as she moved closer. Her eyes were sharp, determined. "And if I don't want to pretend?"
Her question caught me off guard. I hadn't expected her to say it. I hadn't expected her to challenge the very foundation of what this marriage was supposed to be.
"Then what?" I asked, unable to keep the challenge out of my voice. "What's the alternative? We both know there's nothing else to this."
For a moment, the room was silent. I could feel the tension between us building, the walls closing in. She stood there, just a few feet away from me, and I could see it in her eyes—the defiance. The same defiance that ran through my own veins, though I had buried it long ago.
"I don't want to be a part of your world, Alexander," she said, her voice softer now. "I don't want to be just another thing you check off your list. But I will do what needs to be done."
Her words left a bitter taste in my mouth. I wanted to reach out, to tell her that there was more to this, that I wasn't just some cold-hearted bastard who used people. But I didn't. I couldn't. The truth was, I had no idea who I was anymore, or how to stop this machine I had built around myself.
She turned to leave, her back to me now, her movements graceful, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more beneath her calm exterior. Something I couldn't quite grasp.
"Christiana," I called, my voice rougher than I intended. "You're not the only one stuck in this. You don't have to play the martyr."
She froze for a moment, her shoulders tensing. Then she slowly turned back to face me, her expression unreadable. "And you're not the only one carrying the burden of your father's legacy, Alexander. Don't forget that."
The weight of her words hit me harder than I expected. My father's legacy. The empire I had been forced to build. The cold, empty existence I had created for myself in the name of power and control.
I watched her walk out the door, her presence lingering in the space between us. And as she disappeared into the hallway, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Something was about to shift. Something I couldn't control.
I just hoped I was ready for it.
But as I sat back down at my desk, a knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.
"Mr. Wolfe," came a familiar voice. "There's someone here to see you."
I frowned, irritation rising. "Who is it?"
"Victor Langston, sir."
My stomach dropped. This was not good. Not good at all.
And just like that, the game had changed.