Bound by Fate, Freed by Love

nished her second cup when her phone buzzed across the kitchen counter. The screen flashed MOM CALLING, which usually meant one of two things: somebody had died, or somebody was about t

n turned icy. "You're behaving like a child." "No," Grace said, standing, "I'm behaving like a woman who deserves a choice." Her father's voice dropped to a warning tone. "Grace, sit down." She met his gaze squarely, heart pounding but chin high. "I love you both, but I'm not marrying a stranger just because he's good for business." Mr. Jacobs cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should return another time." "No," her father said firmly. "She needs to hear the rest." Grace crossed her arms. "Fine. Enlighten me." Mr. Jacobs hesitated, then spoke gently. "Mr. Cole has agreed to meet you next week. He wishes to keep this civil. If, after meeting him, you still decline, the families will withdraw." Her father glared but said nothing. Grace's pulse quickened. "So all I have to do is meet this Adrian guy, say no thanks, and it's over?" Her mother frowned. "At least be polite. The Coles are old friends." Grace smirked. "I'll be the picture of politeness, Mother. I'll even wear pearls." Later that night, back in her apartment, Grace tossed her purse onto the couch and flopped down beside it, groaning. "Arranged marriage. Seriously? What century are we in?" Her phone buzzed again this time a text from her best friend, Maya: Girl, dinner tomorrow? You sound stressed. Spill. Grace typed back: My parents want to sell me to a billionaire. Bring wine. Maya's reply was instant: Wait, like Adrian Cole billionaire?? 👀 Girl, SAY YES! Grace rolled her eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She opened her laptop and typed the name into Google. And there he was. Adrian Cole. The first image made her inhale sharply. Dark hair that looked soft enough to grip, gray eyes cool and unreadable, jawline cut from marble. He was sitting at a charity gala, tuxedo perfect, expression somewhere between boredom and danger. Grace stared longer than she intended. Then scowled. "Figures. Of course he's gorgeous. Even his smirk looks expensive." She clicked another article Adrian Cole: America's Most Elusive Bachelor. Elusive, right. Probably because no one could survive his ego. Still... her heart gave a stupid little flutter she refused to acknowledge. She slammed the laptop shut. "Not happening," she told the empty room. "I don't care if he looks like sin in a suit. No one tells Grace Nwosu who to marry." But somewhere, under her irritation, curiosity whispered: What kind of man agrees to marry a woman he's never met? And why did the thought of meeting him make her pulse race? Grace did not intend to meet Adrian Cole. She intended to cancel the meeting, block the family lawyer, and book a one-way ticket to anywhere with decent Wi-Fi and no parental interference. But her mother had a gift for emotional blackmail. "You don't even have to like him," she'd said that morning. "Just meet him. For the family's sake." Which was why Grace now found herself in the gilded lobby of The Halston Hotel, clutching her purse like a lifeline and silently praying that "for the family's sake" wouldn't ruin her life. The elevator doors opened with a discreet ding, and there he was. Adrian Cole. Every carefully rehearsed insult fled her brain. He stood near the lounge bar, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his body. His tie was loosened just enough to suggest rebellion against perfection. When he turned toward her, those infamous gray eyes swept the room and landed on her. Time hiccuped. Grace had seen photos, but photos hadn't prepared her for the quiet power of him in motion. The air seemed to shift, as if even oxygen respected his space. He crossed the room with measured steps. "Grace Nwosu?" She nodded, forcing her spine straight. "Adrian Cole, I presume. The man my parents think I should marry." One dark brow lifted. "I see subtlety isn't part of your charm." "Neither is obedience," she said sweetly. The corner of his mouth twitched almost a smile. "Good. I dislike obedience." A spark zipped through her stomach, annoying and electric. She looked away first, pretending to study the chandelier. "So, how does this work? Do you usually order fiancées off a menu, or am I your first?" He chuckled, low and unexpected. "First time. My mother insisted. She seems to think a wife