Nicholas's POV
Bored. That was the word that immediately came to mind as I watched the girl the agency hired sway her hips as she walked seductively towards me with a knowing smirk on face.so fucking bored.
Time to wipe off that smirk.
I had already explained to her yesternight that I didn't do the same thing twice but she probably thought I was joking.
"Out", I nodded towards the door, my expression cold and distant, taking my laptop from the bedside to check if I had missed any important emails. "Come on, don't be like that…." she said, biting her lower lip and pouting at me while toying with the bottom of her night gown that covered almost nothing of her voluptuous body and was see through. She laid on my bed and stretched making the impossibly short gown hitch upwards exposing a thigh and giggled. Fucking giggled like a high school girl with a crush.
Oh for fuck's sake
I would have to speak to the manager about my strict emphasis on obedient sluts. I thought inwardly and looked at….. Natasha?Natalie? or was it Samantha? who was still eyeing me like a forbidden dessert she had liked to get her hands on.
Making sure not to show a flicker of the irritation rising within me, I leaned back, held my laptop with one hand, my phone with the other, and told her my voice, colder than the pacific …..
"You have ten fucking seconds to pack whatever trashy belongings you have and get out before I have security help you do it. "
Natasha/Natalie visibly paled and stared at me like I had killed her favorite puppy… yeah get used to it.
"Do you have legs?" I asked in a flat voice with no emotion. She nodded rapidly like a terrified rabbit.
"Use them" I snapped harshly and watched with satisfaction as she grabbed whatever she could of her things and scurried out while muttering something as she left. The butler was stationed at the door to escort her to an already waiting cab outside the estate. That might have seemed harsh to any onlooker but I didn't care. Never did.
I was about to hit the gym just as a notification pinged on my phone. I glanced down at my phone already in a sour mood at being interrupted when I saw who it was from.I exhaled aloud.
Arnold Blackwood
I don't like being interrupted. Least of all by my father.
But when Arnold Blackwood sends a message, you don't ignore it, not because you respect him, but because ignoring him tends to bring consequences you'd rather not waste time cleaning up.
The text had been vague: Dinner tonight. Come alone. We need to discuss something important.
That was it. No warmth, no detail. Classic Arnold.
So I skipped the gym.
I could've gone, could've thrown a few punches at a bag and bench-pressed the irritation out of my system, but something told me this was bigger than usual. He never used the word "important" lightly. And if he was calling me to that cold, polished mansion with his frozen wife (no exaggeration here) at his side, then whatever he had planned wouldn't be pleasant.
I made sure my room was spotless, as always, before I left. Everything in its place. The floor was clean enough to eat off, the dark curtains perfectly aligned, the air smelling faintly of oud and cedar. Some people say that kind of order is obsessive. I say it's survival.
Chaos outside, calm within. That's the rule.I took my sweet time getting undressed for the shower as I knew my father hated to be kept waiting.
But as hot water slid down my back, I couldn't stop thinking about the message.
It wasn't company related. Blackwood International Holdings was still at the top, despite the endless dogs trying to sabotage us at every turn. And if it was something that needed my attention, it would've gone through my assistant or the board.
No. This was personal.
And I hate personal things .
By the time I parked at the mansion, I'd run through every possibility in my head, none of them promising. The place looked exactly as I remembered it…. grand, cold, and lifeless. The kind of house that never really felt like a home, just a work of art to control and image.
A butler I didn't know opened the door without a word. Not that I was worried…. I had already lost count of how many they hired. I stepped inside.
The air was heavy with silence, the kind that wasn't peaceful, just… dead. The chandeliers sparkled overhead like they were trying too hard, the wallpaper unchanged since I was a teenager.
How I hated the colour. Creamy, gold, perfectly measured. The smell of wax polish and Margaret's usual rose perfume made my jaw clench.
She was here.
Of course she was. I doubted she wasn't surgically attached to his side.
I found my father exactly where I expected in the formal dining room, drink in hand, posture perfect, looking like a man who still believed he ruled the world.But not me. Not anymore.
Are you sure about that? A voice in my head whispered back. I ignored it.
Margaret was seated next to him, her expression polite, empty. Her eyes flicked over me with the warmth of a scalpel.
"Nicholas," my father said, not bothering to stand. "You're early."
"You said it was important," I replied, sliding into the chair across from him. "So let's skip the wine and get to it."
Margaret's smile didn't move. Just her lips, tight and practiced.It was uncanny.
"You're turning thirty next month," Arnold said.
I blinked. "That's hell of a way to open a conversation."
"It's time you got married."
I stared at him And stared some more.
And then I laughed.
Laughed like he'd just told a joke with a dark punchline.
"You dragged me across the city to tell me I need to settle down? What is this, the 1980's?"
His expression didn't shift.
"It's not a suggestion," he said. "It's a contract. One I made years ago."
Something twisted in my stomach. bad sign.
"A contract," I repeated. "As in… a deal?"
"Yes. With the Devereux family. Their daughter turns twenty-five this week. You're to marry her."
I leaned back in my chair slowly. The weight of those words pressed against my chest like a vice.The surname sounded familiar but I didn't know how or why.
"You made a deal with a stranger," I said, "and used me as the bargaining chip?"
"It was strategic."
"You don't get to use that word when we're talking about people." You cold, slimy bastard… I wanted to add but that will just prove he's got me rattled. I could not afford to show any weakness now.
Arnold didn't flinch. "You've known since you were a boy that your future would serve this company."
"I thought I'd serve it by being the best damn executive you've ever had, not by walking down an aisle like some sacrificial goat." In a freaking suit!!.
Margaret sipped her wine, satisfied with the tension in the air. I wish I could just wring her slim neck and make her choke on her expensive wine.
"You'll meet her," she said. "Her name is Ariella Devereux".
My expression didn't even shift. My dislike for the person already growing in me despite not having met her. Yet.
"I believe you have some questions?" Arnold asked.
"Not really, "I said coolly. "Seeing as it wouldn't be of any relevance as I won't be marrying her... but", I continued "I've come across the name in passing. Her father's firm handles luxury investments. Real estate, I believe." I ended, narrowing my eyes and keeping my expression bored. Wanting to show him I will always be a step ahead.
Arnold nodded. "It's a good match. Her family's influence combined with ours will secure—"
"I'm not interested."
"You don't have a choice." Like fuck I don't old man.
That was it. That was the final straw.
I stood.
"You know, it's funny," I said, voice calm, controlled. "You've always preached discipline. Strategy. Staying one step ahead. But what you forget, old man, is that even chess pieces can learn to flip the board."
Arnold raised a brow. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a reminder."
I was almost out the door, my fists clenched when I heard his voice deceptively soft and clear across the dinning.
"Like I said, " I turned to face him and saw him smirking. His eyes were glassy and held a warning.... "you don't have a choice",he paused for effect, "if you ever want to get your pathetic hands on your inheritance".
I stared silent and stunned speechless.
"You can't do that", I said through gritted teeth nearly exploding.
"Oh yes I can", He said, no longer looking pleased but bored, as if he was dealing with an insolent child and not a full grown man close to thirty. "Now off you go and make sure to meet your bride soon. The wedding is the month after your birthday.
"Happy Birthday in advance son". The good will message sounding more like a threat.
He picked up his fork and began savoring his food. You are dismissed, that is what he meant.
I stared at him for a second, spurned on my heels and left. Checkmate.
GOD DAMMIT!! … I gripped the steering till my knuckles turned out and did my breathing technique.
Ariella Devereux. The name bounced in my head as I reversed out of the lot….. Why was the deal made? I wondered silently.
I don't trust easily. And I sure as hell don't like being told what to do.
Marriage?
To a woman I've never met?
No. This wasn't going to be a love story.
This was war.
And if Ariella Devereux was the battlefield, then the Blackwoods and Devereux were about to see just how far I was willing to go to burn the board.