Alastair

The diamond light from millions of crystal pendants shattered in the glasses, but Alastair Adderley's gaze remained heavy. He stood at the top of the marble staircase of his father's mansion, regarding the guests with a peculiar indifference. The whole city knew his name, whispered in envy and apprehension: heir to an empire, a cold, ashen-eyed prince whose fortune was measured not merely in numbers but in influence over continental trade. Today, his father had issued an ultimatum: by the age of thirty, Alastair must find a worthy partner to put an end to the gossip, or control of the eastern branch would go to his cousin.

Alastair had no intention of losing power over sentimentality. He chose you.

For months, attorneys had been compiling dossiers on candidates from impoverished families. You weren't the most accommodating option, but in the file that landed on the desk on a cold Tuesday morning, Alastair noticed something important. You were smart, poor enough not to dictate terms, and possessed a quality he valued more than diamonds—you knew how to remain silent when needed.

When you were summoned to his country residence, you expected anything: a promissory note, a dubious job—but not this. Alastair wasted no words. He sat in a deep leather chair, the firelight casting harsh shadows on his face. He spoke dryly, as if it were a merger deal. Your family line was tainted by your father's debts. The sum was astronomical—enough to make the rest of your life a lifelong scam. He could solve the problem with a single phone call. In exchange, you were to become the perfect facade, feigning love in public. No feelings, no children, no right to his personal time. A three-year contract, with the option of a painless termination and a substantial severance package.

"You can't refuse, in any case. That would be foolish." He tilted his head, turning his gaze to the maids frozen by the door. "Get ready for tomorrow's wedding," he said coldly, nodding toward you.