(Adrian's Perspective – The Weight of Power and an Unwanted Bride)
The study was silent, save for the slow, rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. The heavy scent of aged wood and expensive whiskey lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of the generations of Devereaux men who had sat in this very chair, wielding power like a weapon.
Adrian Devereaux leaned back, his fingers resting against the smooth surface of his glass. The amber liquid swirled lazily under the dim glow of the desk lamp, but he wasn't drinking. Not yet.
A sharp knock interrupted the quiet.
He already knew who it was before the heavy oak door creaked open.
Victor Devereaux entered with the authority of a man who had long since stopped asking permission for anything. His tailored suit was pristine, his silver hair combed back in an unyielding style that mirrored the discipline he had instilled in his grandson.
Adrian didn't rise. He simply lifted his gaze, meeting the piercing steel of Victor's eyes with an indifference that had taken years to master.
Victor wasted no time. A folder was tossed onto the desk between them, its contents pristine, yet suffocating.
"Your engagement has been arranged," his grandfather announced.
The words were expected, yet still grated against Adrian's patience like sandpaper against stone.
He didn't move, didn't react. Instead, he exhaled slowly and set his glass down with deliberate care.
"To whom?" His voice was calm, edged with a lethality only those who truly knew him could recognize.
"Lydia Sinclair."
The name stirred nothing in him. He had no use for sentiment, no room for distraction.
"The Sinclairs are on the verge of collapse," Victor continued, pacing slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Their desperation makes them easy to control. This marriage will ensure their assets fall under the Devereaux name."
Adrian remained silent, his mind dissecting the situation like a chessboard. A move. A strategy. That's all it was.
"And her?" He asked finally.
Victor's smirk was barely there. "She's a Sinclair. She'll do as she's told."
Adrian tilted his head slightly. A woman thrown to him as part of a deal. Another piece of the machine.
He should have been indifferent.
He would have been—if not for the way Victor hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.
A warning.
"When?" Adrian asked.
"The engagement will be announced in three days. The wedding will follow soon after."
Three days.
Three days before a stranger would be forced into his world, before her life became entwined with his in a way neither of them had chosen.
He reached for the contract, flipping through its pages with a practiced eye. Lydia Sinclair. Twenty-four. Business-minded. Stubborn, according to a brief character analysis. She was fighting to carve her own place outside of her family's name.
A futile effort.
Adrian set the contract down and finally took a slow sip of whiskey.
"Fine."
Victor's smirk deepened.
"I knew you'd see reason."
The door closed behind him, but Adrian remained seated, his gaze unreadable as he stared at the flickering candle on his desk.
Lydia Sinclair.
A woman who would soon bear his name.
A woman who would soon learn that there was no escaping him.
That once something belonged to Adrian Devereaux, it stayed his.