The drive to Adrian Blackwood's office was a blur. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with fury. Every traffic light, every turn, every second that passed only fuelled the fire inside her. She wasn't nervous—she was focused. Controlled. Determined to make him understand that this marriage—this farce—would never happen.
Elina pulled up outside the towering glass building in the heart of the city, a symbol of power and wealth that gleamed beneath the sun. She stepped out of the car with the kind of confidence that turned heads—her footsteps echoed sharply against the polished floor as she strode through the entrance.
Inside, the lobby was sleek and cold—marble and chrome—the very definition of calculated elegance. She made her way to the reception desk, her expression unreadable.
"I'm here to see Adrian Blackwood," she said, her tone cool and clipped.
The receptionist, a young woman in a tailored navy blazer, blinked and straightened in her seat. "Mr Blackwood is currently in a meeting. Do you have an appointment, Miss...?"
"Elina Castellano," she answered, folding her arms. "And no, I don't."
The receptionist hesitated, clearly weighing whether to push back. But there was something in Elina's eyes that made her think twice. Still, protocol demanded a measure of delay. "Would you mind waiting? It shouldn't be long."
Elina nodded stiffly. "Fine."
She took a seat near the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed, one leg bouncing ever so slightly—a single tremor betraying the storm inside her. She watched the city move beyond the glass, people walking with purpose, oblivious to the chaos about to unfold.
Twenty-five minutes passed in silence. The receptionist glanced at her once or twice, as if half-expecting her to lose her patience and storm in. But Elina remained still, her gaze fixed forward like a lioness waiting for the cage door to open.
Finally, the receptionist stood and approached her. "Mr Blackwood is available now. Please, follow me."
Elina rose without a word.
As they walked down the quiet hallway, each step brought her closer to the man at the centre of it all—the one her parents had chosen. The one who thought he could simply claim her. The one she was about to face.
She didn't know what would happen next. But she knew one thing:
She wasn't leaving without being heard.
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The door clicked open, and the receptionist stepped aside to let Elina through.
Adrian's office was just as she'd imagined—minimalist, sharp-edged, all dark wood and glass. A place built for power. He sat behind a wide desk, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, scrolling through something on his tablet. He didn't even glance up right away.
"Elina Castellano," he said smoothly, as though her arrival were part of the day's schedule. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She didn't sit. She didn't smile. She stood tall, arms stiff at her sides, fire in her voice. "You need to tell my father you've changed your mind. This marriage isn't happening."
Adrian finally looked up, his gaze settling on her like a predator sizing up its prey. Calm. Amused. Unbothered. "I assure you, I have no intention of doing that."
Elina's jaw tightened. "What the hell is wrong with you? I acted like a complete disaster. I made sure every other suitor walked away. But you—" She took a step closer. "You said yes. Why?"
He leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Because you're not like the rest. You're not predictable. And frankly…" His gaze travelled over her with slow calculation. "I find you fascinating."
Her fists clenched. "I'm not some trophy you can claim."
"No," he said, voice low, unhurried. "You're far more than that." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But make no mistake, Elina—you belong to me now."
The words landed like ice down her spine. Not loud, not dramatic. Just cold. Matter-of-fact—like a truth already decided.
Her breath hitched for the briefest second. This wasn't just arrogance. It was conviction.
And the terrifying part was—he truly believed it.
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Breathing felt like swallowing glass as she stared at Adrian. His words echoed through her mind, heavy and unrelenting.
You belong to me now.
"No." The denial slipped from her lips, raw and broken. "I refuse to accept this. I'm not yours. I will never be yours."
Adrian's gaze remained steady, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "You can keep telling yourself that, Elina. But it doesn't change the fact that your parents have already agreed to this arrangement. The only thing left is your compliance."
Her chest tightened, a hollow ache clawing at her ribs. "I'll make you reject me. I'll—"
"Do everything you can to make me walk away?" he interjected smoothly, one brow lifting. "Go ahead. It will only make things more interesting."
His calmness made her skin crawl. Her hands trembled at her sides. He wasn't just prepared for resistance—he welcomed it.
"Why me?" she demanded, her voice thick with emotion, eyes burning. "Why are you so determined to force this marriage?"
He rose from his chair—slow, deliberate—the quiet scrape of leather against the floor slicing through the tense silence.
"Because I find you fascinating," he said, stepping around the desk with the composed confidence of a man who expected the world to yield. "And because I always take what I want."
Each step brought him closer, his presence wrapping around her like smoke—inescapable, suffocating.
Elina didn't move. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Her voice cracked. "What the hell do you want from me? You don't even love me. So why this? Why me?"
Adrian tilted his head slightly, his lips curving—not with affection, but with something far darker. "Love?" he echoed, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest. "No, Elina. Love has nothing to do with this."
He paused, then added, voice smooth as velvet, "You are rare. Driven. Stubborn. You're willing to burn yourself down just to light the way for others. That kind of fire... it's captivating. And I don't let go of things that intrigue me."
A shiver traced her spine—not from fear alone, but from the weight of being seen. Not understood, not respected—but seen. Not as a person. As a possession. A conquest.
"You're insane," she whispered, disbelief tightening her throat. "I won't let you do this to me."
"Perhaps," he murmured coolly.
He moved closer still, circling her now—like a lion descending from its perch, slow and measured. Her pulse thundered. Her instincts screamed for her to run. But she didn't. She wouldn't. She stood her ground, jaw clenched, shoulders squared.
Then came the blow she never expected.
Adrian stopped beside her, his voice a low whisper that skimmed against her skin like smoke. "And in my world, Elina... no one walks away without a price."
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