Four Years Before the Wedding
Zeke sat in his grandfather's study at the expansive Salvador estate—classic, old-world, dignified. The walls were lined with oil paintings, antique books, and above the fireplace hung the proud family crest: Salvador Pharmaceuticals, Est. 1897.
Bastiano Salvador, despite being in his late sixties, stood tall, sharp-eyed, and commanding as ever. His voice carried weight, and when he spoke, it echoed with decades of power and pride.
"You're thirty, Zeke," he said as he set his teacup down with a distinct clink. "Thirty. And still single. What exactly are you waiting for?"
Zeke leaned back in the leather chair, calm as always.
"I've been busy. The company—"
"Don't you dare give me that excuse," Bastiano cut in sharply. "You think I wasn't busy when I was your age? I had three children, two companies, and a boardroom war. But I still managed to get married and secure this family's legacy."
Zeke exhaled quietly. He didn't want to argue, but he also had no desire to get married out of pressure.
"We've got over fifty thousand employees, Grandpa. The company's running smoothly. I'm building out the research division, pushing FDA—"
"Zeke," Bastiano's voice was stern, his gaze unwavering, "you're not the only one keeping this empire afloat. You think you're irreplaceable? No one is. Not even me. What this family needs is stability. You settling down sends a message—to the market, to the world—that we are unshakeable."
Zeke ran a thumb along his temple, silent.
He knew where this conversation was headed.
And sure enough, seconds later, Bastiano pulled a thin file from his desk drawer. The ancient carved wood had seen countless deals... and now, another arrangement was unfolding.
"I've been speaking to the Calistas," Bastiano said, voice shifting to businesslike calm. "Good bloodline. Old money. Their daughter—Cassidy—is suitable. Educated. Composed. The kind of woman who knows her place. Their manufacturing network could be a strategic asset, especially for our Asia expansion."
Zeke arched a brow. Cassidy Calista. He'd only heard of her in passing—once, maybe twice—during business talks.
"So you want me to marry for business?"
"I want you to make a smart move," Bastiano replied, sitting back in his chair. "You're not a boy anymore, Zeke. It's time to think like a Salvador. Not just a CEO. But a man who builds something lasting—beyond stock prices and quarterly reports."
Zeke's eyes wandered to the tall pine trees outside the window, swaying in the cold breeze. He didn't answer—neither agreeing nor refusing.
Bastiano watched him closely. And when Zeke remained silent, his grandfather gave a small, satisfied nod.
"Good. I'll take that as a yes."
***
After the divorce was finalized—quietly, without any family intervention—Cassidy Calista moved into a new luxury apartment she had just purchased in Midtown Manhattan. A sleek, high-rise unit with full glass windows and a breathtaking view of Central Park. Paid in full. No assistance. No shared assets.
It was her way of saying, I'm fine on my own.
She filled the empty space with soft lighting, warm tones, and racks of fabric samples. It didn't take long before the place stopped feeling like a hotel suite and started feeling like her studio. Her sanctuary.
This was where she spent most of her time now: sketching designs for the upcoming fall collection. Piles of concept boards, garment mockups, and raw materials stacked neatly in every corner. Her mind buzzed with ideas, her fingers worked like they had a purpose again.
Yes—Cassidy was a fashion designer. But no one knew.
Not her parents. Not her friends. Not the endless stream of media still trying to label her as the billionaire's ex-wife. To the public and even her inner circle, Cassidy was nothing more than the Vice Manager at one of her family's global manufacturing companies—one of the biggest in the world.
And that lie worked just fine.
Design was her truth. Her escape. Her rebellion in silence. Her secret world where she wasn't just someone's daughter or someone's wife.
Sometimes, she found it ironic. The world only saw the polished version of her—the graceful, composed Cassidy who married Zeke Theodore, the heir of a pharmaceutical empire. They never saw the sleepless nights, the calloused fingers, or the sketches she buried in drawers when someone came to visit.
Her marriage had been a performance. This? This was real.
And yet, no matter how far she tried to run from her past, there were nights when memory crept back in—uninvited, unrelenting.
***
Flashback
Three weeks before her 26th birthday.
Cassidy sat stiffly in the family library, fingers curled into the soft hem of her knit sweater. The room smelled of aged mahogany, leather, and the faint trace of her father's cologne.
Julian Calista stood near the window, his back half-turned to her as he sipped his scotch. He had barely looked at her when he said it:
"There's been a proposal. From the Salvadors."
Cassidy's breath caught in her chest, but she didn't say anything.
Her silence didn't stop him.
"You know how much weight their name carries. Salvador Pharmaceuticals is the largest private medical company in the world. Partnering with them means solidifying our influence, expanding our networks, stabilizing the future of our holdings."
He turned now, calm but certain. "This marriage is the most strategic move we've seen in decades."
She swallowed hard, voice hoarse.
"And what about me?"
Julian raised a brow, almost amused.
"You'll be married to one of the most powerful men of your generation. Ezekiel is young, intelligent, and well-bred. He won't make your life difficult."
Cassidy looked down at her lap, where her fingers had tightened into a fist.
"But I don't love him."
"Cassidy," her father said, taking a step closer. His voice lowered, not unkind, but firm. "In families like ours, love has never been the foundation of marriage. Compatibility, status, loyalty—those are the currencies we trade in. You know that."
"But I don't even know him," she whispered.
"You'll have time," Julian replied. "You're not losing anything with this arrangement. In fact, you'll gain more than most women your age ever dream of."
She looked up at him then, her jaw trembling slightly.
"So that's it?"
"This isn't a punishment, Cassidy. This is opportunity. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
He paused, then added with quiet finality:
"We're not asking you to fall in love. Just to do your part."
She didn't cry. She didn't argue.
Because deep down, Cassidy had known the answer long before she walked into that room.
It was never a question. It was an order.