Adrian Blackwood did not believe in love.
Love, in his experience, was a distraction—an inefficiency masked as emotion. It clouded judgment, weakened resolve, and complicated decisions that should have been governed by logic alone. Love makes people careless. Love makes men predictable. And Adrian Blackwood had built his empire on being neither.
From the forty-second floor of Blackwood International's headquarters, the city looked like a living circuit board—threads of light pulsing through concrete arteries, each movement calculated, each second monetized. Adrian stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his forearms, silver cufflinks glinting faintly under the office lights. Below him, the world obeyed rules. Systems. Order.
Just the way he liked it.
"Sir, the Zurich deal has been finalized," his assistant, Clara Hughes, said from behind her tablet.
"Legal has approved the terms. The board will expect your signature by morning."
Adrian nodded once, eyes still fixed on the city. "Send it to my secure folder."
"Yes, sir." Clara hesitated—a rare thing for someone who had worked beside him for nearly five years. "And… your grandfather called again."
That made him turn.
Adrian's gray eyes sharpened, the calm precision in them giving way to something colder. "Did he leave a message?"
Clara swallowed. "He said it was… personal. And urgent."
Of course it was.
"Clear my schedule," Adrian said after a moment. "I'll go see him tonight."
Clara blinked. "Tonight? You have—"
"I know what I have," he cut in smoothly. "And this takes priority."
Because when Malcolm Blackwood summoned you, you did not refuse.
The Blackwood estate stood far from the noise of the city, perched on a sprawling hill that overlooked acres of manicured grounds. It was old money architecture—stone walls, towering columns, and an air of permanence that refused to bow to modern trends. Adrian had grown up here, learning early that legacy was both a privilege and a burden.
The grandfather clock in the main hall chimed as Adrian entered, its deep echo reverberating through the marble floors. A butler appeared silently to take his coat.
"Mr. Blackwood is waiting in the study," the man said.
Adrian nodded and made his way down the familiar corridor, past oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors who had built the Blackwood name with ambition and ruthlessness. His grandfather's portrait hung at the end—Malcolm Blackwood in his prime, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that brooked no nonsense.
The study door was ajar.
"Come in," Malcolm's voice called before Adrian could knock.
Inside, the room smelled of leather and old books. Malcolm Blackwood sat behind an oak desk, his silver hair neatly combed, posture still commanding despite his age. Time had taken some things from him—speed, perhaps, and strength—but not authority.
"You're late," Malcolm said.
"I came as soon as I could," Adrian replied evenly, taking the chair across from him.
Malcolm studied him in silence, gaze assessing, as if weighing the man Adrian had become against the boy he once was. "You've done well," he said finally. "The company has never been stronger."
Adrian inclined his head slightly. Praise from Malcolm was rare and never free.
"You didn't call me here to congratulate me."
A thin smile crossed the older man's lips.
"No. I called you because you've neglected something important."
Adrian's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "If this is about succession planning, the board has—"
"It's about family," Malcolm interrupted. "And the future of the Blackwood name."
Silence settled between them, heavy and expectant.
"You are thirty-four years old," Malcolm continued. "You have power, wealth, influence. Yet you live alone. No wife. No heir."
"I have no intention of marrying," Adrian said flatly. "Not for appearances. Not for tradition."
Malcolm's eyes hardened. "That is not your decision alone."
Adrian leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "With respect, it is."
Malcolm stood.
The movement was slow, deliberate, but it carried weight. He walked around the desk until he stood directly in front of Adrian. "Everything you have—everything you are—exists because of this family. Blackwood International is not just a company. It is a legacy. And legacies require continuity."
"I can appoint a successor," Adrian replied coolly. "Marriage is unnecessary."
"Marriage is stability," Malcolm snapped. "Marriage is an image. Investors trust a man who can commit."
Adrian's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Then perhaps investors should reevaluate their priorities."
Malcolm's cane struck the floor sharply. "Enough."
Adrian straightened.
"You have six months," Malcolm said. "Marry—or you lose full authority over Blackwood International."
The words landed like a calculated blow.
"You wouldn't," Adrian said quietly.
Malcolm met his gaze without flinching. "I already have the legal framework in place. The board will support me. This is not a threat. It is an ultimatum."
Adrian stood abruptly. "You're asking me to turn my life into a transaction."
"I'm asking you to secure your future," Malcolm replied. "Love is irrelevant."
That word—love—hung between them like a challenge.
Adrian laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "You of all people preaching about love?"
Malcolm's expression flickered, something unreadable passing through his eyes. "I am preaching survival."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Adrian reached for his jacket. "Six months," he repeated. "Fine."
Malcolm exhaled slowly. "Good."
But as Adrian turned to leave, his chest felt tight—not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.
Anger.
Back in his penthouse overlooking the river, Adrian poured himself a glass of scotch he barely tasted. The city lights shimmered beyond the windows, but tonight they offered no comfort.
Marriage.
The word felt foreign. Absurd.
He had watched love destroy his parents—his mother's quiet misery, his father's eventual betrayal. He had learned early that attachment bred weakness. Control was safe. Distance was power.
And yet, in six months, he would be expected to choose a woman.
Not a partner.
A solution.
Adrian took a slow sip, eyes dark with resolve.
If marriage was a requirement to keep what he had built, then he would approach it the same way he approached everything else.
Strategically.
Emotionlessly.
Love had no place in this equation.
Or so he believed—until fate decided otherwise.
Next: Chapter 2 – Coffee, Chaos, and a Stranger
A spilled coffee.
A ruined morning.
And a stranger who would change everything Adrian Blackwood thought he knew about control.
Tonight | 11:30 PM – 12:30 AM