Chapter One
I was eleven years old when my life split into before and after. "We're moving to England." Those four words fell from my mother's mouth as casually as if she'd said we were changing dinner plans. I remember sitting at the kitchen table, my feet dangling because they didn't quite reach the floor, staring at her like she had just spoken another language.
"Moving… where?" I asked.
"England," my father repeated, folding the newspaper with finality.
"England," my father answered without looking up from his coffee. "We leave in two months." Two months. That was all the time I was given to say goodbye to everything I loved.
"Why?" My voice came out smaller than I meant it to. My father finally looked at me then. His eyes were cold—not unkind, but distant. Calculating.
"Because this island can't give you the future you deserve."
I wanted to scream that it already had. I came from a small, beautiful island where the ocean wrapped around you like a promise. I didn't just grow up there—I belonged there. Every sunrise felt like home. Every laugh, every memory, was stitched into my bones. I never wanted to leave. But wanting didn't matter. It never did. All my family. All my friends. All my life—left behind without a second thought. No family meeting. No questions. Just decisions made for us. I remember staring at my sisters that night, wondering if they felt the same helpless ache twisting inside my chest. Years passed. England sharpened me. Hardened me.I have two sisters. Ocean, my oldest, is twenty-six and brilliant in every sense of the word. She's majoring in biology, always buried in books, always chasing answers. Naiya , my youngest, is twenty and is still searching for herself, still floating between dreams like she's afraid to choose the wrong one. Then, there's me, the middle child, I'm Amaiyla, " I usually say with a smile. "I own a beauty salon and spa." People's eyes always widen a little at that. At twenty-four, I've built something of my own—something no one handed to me. It's my pride, my escape, my proof that I can stand on my own. It's my sanctuary. The one thing in my life that no one can take from me. Or so I thought. My parents, Patricia and John, are a team. A powerful one. My father is the CEO of Hollingsworth Enterprise Inc., a name that opens doors and silences rooms.
They're respected.
Admired.
Feared.
From the outside, we are the perfect family. And once, we almost were. We used to be close—so close it felt like nothing could ever come between us. Once, I believed love came before ambition. That illusion shattered the night my father called me into his office.
"Amaiyla," he said, gesturing for me to sit. His voice was calm, controlled—the tone he used in board meetings and serious conversations. His tone left no room for argument.
"There's something important we need to discuss." I glanced at my mother. She wouldn't meet my eyes. That's when I knew something was wrong.
"You're going to marry Xander Reyes," my father said. I laughed. I actually laughed, waiting for the punchline.
"Very funny," I replied. "Now what's the real conversation?" My father didn't smile. "You're serious?" I asked, my laughter dying instantly.
"Yes. We've already discussed it with his family."
The room felt too small. The walls pressed in as I stared at my mother, waiting—begging—for her to stop this. She didn't. I stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"No. Absolutely not." Xander Reyes—the son of my father's best friend of seventeen years. His future business associate. Their golden boy. They wanted more than a partnership. They wanted blood ties. Marriage. Loyalty sealed with vows instead of contracts.
"In our world," my father said evenly, "family doesn't betray family."
"So you're offering me up as insurance?" I snapped.
"This marriage will strengthen the company," my father replied. "And secure our future."
"Our?" I scoffed. "Or yours?"
"That's not fair," my mother finally spoke, her voice tight. "What's not fair," I shot back, "is deciding who I marry like I'm a business deal.
"I already had everything I wanted. My business. My independence. And Connor—my fiancé, the man I loved. There is no way in hell I'm marrying Xander Reyes," I said.
My father's jaw tightened. "Watch your language."
"I know him," I continued, my voice shaking now. "He's arrogant, cocky, self-centered, rotten to his core. He treats women like dispo sable toys and he goes through them like he changes underwear. You want that for me? you want him to own me?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
My father stood. "This is not a discussion. It's a decision." That was the moment I realized something terrifying. I wasn't his daughter anymore. I was an asset. And assets don't get a choice. And it was only the beginning.
At the Reyes Mansion
Xander stormed into the massive study, his blazer swinging, his dark eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell, Dad? Have you lost your damn mind? You honestly think I'm gonna marry a spoiled brat," he barked, his voice echoing off the marble walls.
His father, seated behind a polished oak desk, didn't flinch. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, a smug smile creeping across his face. "First off, I couldn't care less about what you think," he said smoothly. "And second, she's not a brat compared to the hussies you keep messing around with. She is educated, polite, professional… self-made. The real brat here is you, you ungrateful child."
Xander's jaw tightened. "This isn't the 18th century. I decide who I marry, not you. I'm sure Mum will feel the same." He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over his mother's contact, ready to call her.
"Don't," his father interrupted with a sharp gesture. "Your mum came up with the idea, son." Xander froze, then slowly lowered his hand. His father's smug smile widened, full of satisfaction.
Xander's fists clenched at his sides. "You're insane," he muttered under his breath. "Absolutely fucking insane."
"And you," his father replied calmly, "will do as you're told." Xander's dark eyes flicked to the doorway as if daring someone to stop him. Inside, he seethed. He hated arranged marriages—especially ones forced on him. But he hated being made a pawn more.
"And this brat," he muttered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue, "thinks she's some self-made goddess. Let's see how spoiled she really is."
Back to Amaiyla's Pov:
I had spent all day at the salon, hands slick with lotion and hair dye, my feet aching but my mind finally drifting into quiet. The familiar rhythm—the hum of dryers, the scent of citrus shampoo, the soft chatter of clients—usually grounded me. Today, it felt like freedom. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about expectations, or my father's voice, or the invisible cage I'd been born into. I was just Amaiyla—not a daughter to be traded, not a future wife chosen by someone else. But then, reality struck in when my phone buzzed. A text from my father. "Dinner. Tonight. 7 PM. You're meeting Xander Reyes."
My stomach dropped.
My breath caught.
My fingers went cold.
I read it again. And again. Meeting. Xander. Reyes. My stomach dropped. I felt the floor beneath me vanished. I knew exactly who he was—the son of my father's best friend, heir to one of the most powerful business families in England. A name whispered with respect and fear in the same breath.
And apparently… my new fiancé.
Engaged.
Just like that.
I slid my phone back into my pocket as if it had burned me, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure the last client could hear it. What made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that I already had a fiancé.
Connor.
Connor Jackson.
Twenty-eight. Tall, devastatingly handsome, with eyes that shifted between blue and green depending on the light. Skin the color of warm golden sand, always kissed by the sun no matter the season. His body looked sculpted by a Greek god—broad shoulders, strong arms, confidence in the way he moved without ever needing to show off.
An engineer. A businessman. Driven, brilliant, disciplined.
His family was wealthy, yes—but modest. Kind. The kind of rich that didn't need to announce itself. The kind that welcomed me with warmth instead of calculation.
Connor loved me.
And he had no idea what was happening.
I leaned against my station, memories crashing in—Connor's laugh when I teased him about his obsession with work, the way he rested his forehead against mine when words weren't enough, the quiet certainty in his voice when he talked about our future.
A future I was now betraying without his knowledge.
My phone buzzed again. This time, his name lit up the screen.
Connor
"Hey love. Still at the salon? Want me to pick you up for dinner?"
My chest tightened. I stared at the message for a long moment before typing back.
"Long day. I'm heading home soon. Rain check tonight?"
The reply came almost instantly. "Of course. Get some rest. I'll call you later. I love you."
I closed my eyes. "I love you too," I whispered to an empty room, the words tasting like guilt. This—all of this—was a secret I wasn't ready to say out loud. Not to Connor. Not to anyone. Because once I did, it would become real. Irrevocable. I finished closing the salon on autopilot, my hands shaking as I turned the key. The sky outside had darkened, clouds heavy and low, mirroring the weight pressing down on my chest. At home, I stood in front of my closet, staring at dresses that suddenly felt like costumes. How do you dress for a dinner where your life is decided without you? How do you walk into a room knowing the man you love has no idea you're being handed to another?
At 6:45 PM, I took one last look at my phone. No missed calls. No explanations sent. No truth told. Just silence. And at 7 PM, I would step into a restaurant where my freedom would be negotiated—while the man who already held my heart remained completely in the dark.
Before I got out of the car, I just sat there.
Minutes stretched into something heavier—like hours, like days, like weeks collapsing into one suffocating moment. The engine was off, the world outside muted, but my heart was anything but quiet. It slammed against my ribs, frantic, as if it already knew what I was about to walk into would change everything.
I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers ached.
This was going to end badly. For everyone.
No matter how hard I tried to focus on my breathing, my mind betrayed me—drifting back to Connor. Always Connor. His face, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something precious instead of something negotiable.
How was I supposed to get out of this?
Marrying Xander was still out of the question. Completely unthinkable. I loved Connor—he was the only man for me. The idea of a future without him felt wrong, hollow, like trying to imagine the sky without air. Connor wasn't just someone I loved; he was woven into who I was.
We had been together since we were teenagers—back when life was simpler and choices felt real. I had been almost sixteen when we went on our first date, both of us still in high school, awkward and nervous and hopeful in that innocent way you can only be once. He'd shown up early, hands shoved into his pockets, pretending not to be terrified.
And somehow… he never stopped showing up.
Through university stress, long nights, career pressure, distance, and growth—Connor had always been steady. Honest. Loyal. Not once had he betrayed me. Not once had he lied. Not once had he hidden anything from me.
And here I was—hiding everything.
The irony was crushing.
Tears burned behind my eyes as guilt wrapped itself around my chest. He had spent years making me feel chosen, protected, special—while I was sitting in a parked car, moments away from being offered to another man like a business deal.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, my breath shaky.
"I can't do this," I whispered.
But the clock on the dashboard glowed relentlessly, reminding me that time didn't stop just because my heart was breaking. My father was inside. Xander was inside. Decisions were already in motion—whether I agreed to them or not.
Still, I stayed there a little longer.
Because once I opened that door, there would be no pretending this wasn't real. No turning back. Only forward.
And no matter what happened next… I already knew the cost would be Connor.
I finally forced myself out of the car. Each step toward the entrance felt like I was walking into my own sentencing. The glass doors reflected a version of me I barely recognized—shoulders tense, eyes guarded, heart already bruised. I smoothed my dress out of habit, even though nothing about this night could be made presentable. Inside, the restaurant was hushed and elegant, the kind of place where conversations stayed polite and truths stayed buried.
My father was already seated, posture straight, expression unreadable. Beside him stood a man I knew—without being told—was Xander Reyes. He turned the moment he sensed me. And for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. Xander was tall, composed, dressed in a tailored dark suit that spoke of old money and quiet authority. His presence filled the space effortlessly, not loud or demanding, just… certain. His eyes—dark, sharp, observant—met mine and didn't look away. He studied me the way someone studies a storm approaching—aware of its beauty, but cautious of its damage.
Then he spoke. "You're late," he said calmly. Not accusing. Not annoyed. Just factual. My father opened his mouth, but Xander lifted a hand, stopping him without even looking away from me. "It's fine," Xander continued, his gaze still locked on mine. "If I were in her position, I'd sit in the car too." My chest tightened. That wasn't what I expected. He stepped closer, lowering his voice—not intimate, but deliberate. Controlled. "I imagine you're wondering how your life got rearranged without your consent," he said. "And how many people already know—while the one who matters most doesn't." The blood drained from my face.
My father stiffened. "Xander—"
"I know," Xander interrupted, finally glancing at him. "This isn't how you wanted the conversation to start." Then his eyes returned to me, softer now. Dangerous in a different way. "You're not the only one being lied to tonight," he said quietly. "And you're not the only one who doesn't want this." My heart slammed against my ribs. He pulled my chair out—not as a demand, but an invitation. When I hesitated, his voice dropped even lower. "For what it's worth," he added, "I already know about Connor." The world tilted. Every sound faded—the clinking glasses, the murmured conversations, even my father's sharp inhale. My fingers trembled as I gripped the back of the chair.
"You… what?" I whispered.
Xander leaned in just enough for only me to hear. "And before you ask," he said, "no. I'm not here to replace him." Then he straightened, his mask back in place, composed and unreadable. "I'm here because our parents made promises years ago," he continued aloud. "Promises they intend to keep. Whether we cooperate… or not. "
I sank into the chair, my heart racing. Because somehow, impossibly—Xander Reyes wasn't my enemy. And that scared me more than if he had been.
I wasn't alone in that room.
I realized it not because anyone spoke, but because the weight of what was happening was too heavy for one person to carry. Pain has a way of sharpening awareness—and suddenly, I felt every pair of eyes on me.
My sisters were there.
Ocean sat close, her posture rigid, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like she might crack a tooth. She didn't need words to tell me she felt it—every humiliation, every unspoken fear. Ocean had always been my shield, even when she couldn't step in front of the blow.
Naiya, my little sister, sat quietly beside her. Too quiet. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers twisting together as she stared at the table. She understood enough to know this wasn't right—but not enough to fight it. Her pain was silent, internal, and somehow that made it worse.
Across from us were the Reyes siblings.
Xander stood at the center of it all, composed and immovable, his presence controlled and sharp. Nothing about him suggested doubt—not yet.
Emry sat slightly apart, his shoulders heavier than the suit he wore. Thirty years old. A single father. The exhaustion in his eyes wasn't just from responsibility—it was from years of choosing caution over desire. His phone lay face-down near his plate, no doubt hiding a photo of the child who depended on him. His gaze drifted to Ocean more than once—always brief, always restrained. No one noticed. Or pretended not to.
Near the window stood Aras.
He leaned casually against the glass, arms crossed, feigning detachment. But his attention betrayed him every time Naiya shifted in her chair. Every glance was measured, stolen, carefully hidden. Whatever existed between them lived in the quiet spaces—unnamed, untouched, and dangerous.
Cleo and Vaier—Xander's sisters—sat together.
Cleo's expression was tight, anger simmering just beneath the surface. She watched me with something close to empathy, her fingers tapping restlessly against the table. Vaier, softer, more observant, had angled her body toward Naiya, their knees almost touching. Their friendship was evident in the way Vaier's presence alone seemed to steady my sister.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
This wasn't a family dinner. It was a transaction dressed in elegance.
I felt Ocean shift beside me, her knee brushing mine—grounding. A silent reminder that I wasn't alone. Her presence grounded me.
Xander finally broke the silence.
"This arrangement," he said evenly, "is not optional."
Something in me snapped.
"I am not an arrangement," I said quietly.
His eyes flicked to me, sharp. Assessing. Waiting.
"You walked in expecting resistance to matter," he replied.
"I walked in expecting decency."
Cleo inhaled sharply, then stopped herself. Emry's jaw tightened. Aras straightened just slightly—barely noticeable.
"This ends lives," I continued, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "Maybe not yours. Maybe not mine. But someone else's."
Xander's gaze didn't waver. "Sacrifices are unavoidable."
Ocean's fingers curled into fists.
Naiya swallowed hard.
Vaier's hand brushed Naiya's arm—brief. Comforting. Invisible to anyone not watching closely.
Emry finally spoke, his voice calm but strained. "Xander… enough."
Xander didn't look at him. "You chose caution."
"I chose responsibility," Emry replied. His eyes flicked, just once, to Ocean. Then away.
Aras shifted again, the tension between him and Naiya tightening like a wire pulled too far.
I closed the folder slowly, deliberately.
"I will not sign this," I said.
Xander stepped closer. "Then prove you're not exactly who my father thinks you are."
Ocean leaned toward me, whispering, "We'll figure this out."
Naiya nodded faintly, eyes shining but determined.
Xander turned away, his voice low and final. "We'll see."
And as the silence settled back over the table, one truth became painfully clear:
Every single person in that room was hiding something.
And if even one secret surfaced—
Everything would burn.
The restaurant had a quiet hum to it, soft chatter, the clink of glasses, the faint scent of wine and roasted meat filling the air. I was still reeling from the confrontation with Xander when the door opened, and the atmosphere shifted without a sound.
Connor walked in, unaware of who was waiting inside. Tall, golden-skinned, moving with that effortless confidence that had always made my heart skip, completely unaware that he had just stepped into a lion's den. He scanned the room, eyes lighting up when he spotted Ocean sitting with me, and he waved, unaware of the tension surrounding us.
Emry, sitting near Xander, noticed immediately. His posture shifted subtly, protective but cautious. He watched Connor with interest, like a general measuring an unexpected player on the field. He had always been the type to assess situations before acting, and right now, the presence of my fiancé—even unknown to him—triggered every instinct he had for keeping the room under control.
Ocean's hand brushed mine under the table, and her eyes flicked toward Emry. A question, a silent warning: Do you see this?
"Yes," Emry whispered back, just enough for her to hear. "We need to remain calm."
Connor had made his way to the hostess stand, chatting politely, his natural charm making him completely disarming. That's when Aras noticed him.
The smirk that curved Aras' lips wasn't friendly. He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp, a predator sizing up another predator. No one—including Connor—could intimidate him, and he made it known silently. His gaze lingered, assessing, calculating, daring anyone to step out of line. He wasn't one to follow rules, and he wasn't going to let anyone decide what happened in his space.
Naiya, sitting beside Ocean, noticed Aras' stare. She didn't flinch, didn't lower her eyes. Her chin lifted slightly, her fingers tightening around her napkin. She wasn't one to oppose father lightly, but she also wasn't someone to be dismissed. A quiet but firm presence, her strength radiating in a way that seemed small—but deadly to those who underestimated her.
Connor moved closer to the table, smiling warmly as he greeted Ocean and me. "Hey," he said casually, completely oblivious to the layers of tension in the room.
Ocean gave him a polite smile but didn't break her composure. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Emry, who gave a small nod. Stay calm. Do not say anything. Do not react.
Connor, sensing the intensity but not understanding it, laughed softly. "Everything okay?"
Before I could answer, Aras stepped forward, leaning casually against the table. His voice was low, just for Connor. "You look familiar."
Connor smiled, oblivious to the undercurrent. "Small world."
Aras' smirk widened. "Or maybe I just remember faces. Don't assume anyone here is harmless."
Connor tilted his head, intrigued rather than intimidated. "I don't scare easily."
Aras' eyes gleamed. He liked that. A challenge. He didn't let anyone set the rules. Not his father, not his siblings, not even Xander. He thrived in pushing boundaries, and Connor's unwitting defiance was enough to pique him.
I felt Ocean tense beside me, glancing at Emry again. "This isn't good," she whispered.
Emry's jaw tightened. "It's exactly what I expected."
Naiya, observing Connor and Aras silently, didn't move. She didn't need to. Her quiet strength filled the space around her. If anyone tried to bully her, she wouldn't resist with force, but she also wouldn't bow. She had her own way of protecting those she cared about—and that included her sister.
Connor's smile faltered slightly as he caught the tension, but he had no idea what he had just walked into. Every pair of eyes on him was hiding secrets, judgments, and agendas—some dangerous, some protective. He was completely unaware that one wrong move could unravel everything, that he had stepped into a room where family loyalty, old grudges, and forbidden love were tangled in a way he could never predict.
And I… I sat frozen, heart pounding, trapped between the man I loved, the man I was to marry, and the duties my family had forced upon me.