Amara Collins walked briskly down the crowded streets of the city, her bag slung over her shoulder, mind heavy with thoughts she had tried—and failed—to push aside all day. She had barely recovered from the shock of her parents' arrangement, and the looming public engagement made her chest feel tight with dread.
She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she trusted most.
Cassandra Monroe.
Cassandra had been her best friend since childhood—feisty, fearless, and unafraid to tell Amara exactly what she thought, no matter how harsh. She had always been the voice of reason when the world became too heavy.
Amara typed a quick message:
Need to see you. Can you meet me at our coffee stand? Now?
Within moments, her phone buzzed with a reply:
I'll be there in ten. Don't panic before I arrive.
Amara smiled faintly, grateful. Cassandra's confidence was a lifeline.
The small coffee stand where they agreed to meet was nestled between two larger buildings, the kind of place that didn't notice the passing rush of people, but felt alive in its own quiet way. Its warm aroma of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries was comforting, like a small bubble of normalcy amid the chaos of Amara's life.
Cassandra was already there when Amara arrived, leaning casually against the counter, a steaming cup in hand. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her green eyes sparkled with curiosity and concern.
"About time," Cassandra said lightly, though her eyes betrayed worry. "You look like you've carried a week's worth of storms on your shoulders just getting here."
Amara forced a weak smile. "Feels like more than a week."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Talk to me, Amara. I can handle the truth. Whatever it is, I promise I won't judge."
Amara took a deep breath and sat down across from her, clasping her hands around her cup. "It's my parents," she began. "They… they've made some sort of arrangement for me. With a man I barely know. To… to save everything for them. The company. The house. Everything."
Cassandra's brow furrowed, her grip tightening slightly on her coffee cup. "An arrangement? What kind of arrangement?"
Amara hesitated, then lowered her voice. "They… arranged for me to marry him."
The words seemed to hang in the air, thick and heavy. Cassandra's eyes widened, and she leaned closer. "You're joking. You can't be serious. They can't do that to you. You're… you're not an object!"
"I know," Amara whispered, staring into the swirling coffee in front of her. "But the alternative is worse. If I refuse… we lose everything. Everything my parents have worked for. They're begging me to accept. They think it's for them. But…" She paused, her voice faltering. "I feel like a hostage."
Cassandra's hands reached across the table, squeezing Amara's. "You don't deserve that. No one deserves that."
Amara lifted her gaze. "I know. But it's already decided. I have to go along with it… whether I want to or not."
The café door chimed, letting in the sound of the city outside, but neither of them noticed.
Later that evening, her phone buzzed. The screen displayed an unknown number: Lucian Blackwood.
The message was short. Simple. Cold.
"The engagement will be announced in two days. Prepare accordingly. Black card enclosed."
Attached was an image of a sleek black card, embossed with her name and the Blackwood emblem.
Amara's chest tightened. The black card—exclusive, formal, unmistakable—meant everything was real. No more time to think. No more delays.
She showed Cassandra the image. Her friend's eyes widened at the card.
"That's… terrifying," Cassandra said softly. "He's… he's serious."
Amara nodded, swallowing hard. "I have to prepare. Not just my appearance… my mind. For everything he expects. For everything the world will see. For everything I have no choice over."
Cassandra squeezed her hand. "I'll help you. I'll be there every step. You're not alone in this."
Amara forced a small, grateful smile. "Thank you… I just… I don't know if I can survive this."
Cassandra's eyes were firm. "You will. I promise."
Amara slid the black card into her wallet, fingers brushing the embossed edge as if touching it might steel her resolve.
And deep inside, beneath fear, dread, and frustration, a quiet thought took root:
This is only the beginning.