The pen felt heavier than it should've.
Gold. Engraved. Symbolic.
The kind of pen used for billion-dollar contracts and, apparently, binding your future to a man you didn't love.
Emery Holdings stared at the line beneath the contract:
Signature of intended.
The paper was cream-colored. The ink? Black, like a bruise.
Her father sat across from her, posture rigid, expression unreadable.
"This is how legacies are secured," he said, as if that should make it easier. "This isn't about feelings, Emery. It's about future."
Emery said nothing.
She didn't need to. Her silence was agreement. Her stillness, obedience. She'd been trained in it since she was ten - the poised daughter of Calder Holdings, the crown jewel her father polished until she forgot what it was like to shine on her own.
Her fianc� sat to the right, charming as always.
Grayson Holt.
Son of Holt International. CEO-in-waiting. And as emotionally available as a glass wall.
He smiled at her like a campaign photo. Perfect. Practiced. Hollow.
"I promise I'll be good to you," he said. "We'll make a great team."
Team.
Not love. Not life. Just synergy.
Her throat tightened, but she nodded anyway.
She reached for the pen.
Signed.
That was it.
Her engagement was official.
The photographers would be notified. The ring would be delivered in a velvet box she didn't choose. The press release would go out by morning.
The rest of her life - scheduled, sealed, sold.
She stood and smoothed her dress. "If we're done here, I'd like to go home."
Her father barely looked up. "You'll attend the gala tomorrow. Our partners will expect you there."
"Of course."
She walked out with her chin high, steps graceful, like it didn't cost her a single piece of herself.
But as soon as the elevator doors closed, she exhaled.
Her reflection in the mirrored walls stared back - a woman wearing a life she didn't choose.
And tomorrow, she'd meet the man Grayson called his best friend.
Beckett Rowe.
She didn't know it yet?
But that man would be the one to ruin everything.
Gold. Engraved. Symbolic.
The kind of pen used for billion-dollar contracts and, apparently, binding your future to a man you didn't love.
Emery Holdings stared at the line beneath the contract:
Signature of intended.
The paper was cream-colored. The ink? Black, like a bruise.
Her father sat across from her, posture rigid, expression unreadable.
"This is how legacies are secured," he said, as if that should make it easier. "This isn't about feelings, Emery. It's about future."
Emery said nothing.
She didn't need to. Her silence was agreement. Her stillness, obedience. She'd been trained in it since she was ten - the poised daughter of Calder Holdings, the crown jewel her father polished until she forgot what it was like to shine on her own.
Her fianc� sat to the right, charming as always.
Grayson Holt.
Son of Holt International. CEO-in-waiting. And as emotionally available as a glass wall.
He smiled at her like a campaign photo. Perfect. Practiced. Hollow.
"I promise I'll be good to you," he said. "We'll make a great team."
Team.
Not love. Not life. Just synergy.
Her throat tightened, but she nodded anyway.
She reached for the pen.
Signed.
That was it.
Her engagement was official.
The photographers would be notified. The ring would be delivered in a velvet box she didn't choose. The press release would go out by morning.
The rest of her life - scheduled, sealed, sold.
She stood and smoothed her dress. "If we're done here, I'd like to go home."
Her father barely looked up. "You'll attend the gala tomorrow. Our partners will expect you there."
"Of course."
She walked out with her chin high, steps graceful, like it didn't cost her a single piece of herself.
But as soon as the elevator doors closed, she exhaled.
Her reflection in the mirrored walls stared back - a woman wearing a life she didn't choose.
And tomorrow, she'd meet the man Grayson called his best friend.
Beckett Rowe.
She didn't know it yet?
But that man would be the one to ruin everything.
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