Isabella Cortez was not supposed to be getting married today.
Yet there she stood, dressed in white, staring at a man she hated.
"This is insane," she said under her breath, her fingers tightening around the bouquet. "You can't force me into this."
Her father didn't even look at her.
"You don't have a choice."
The words landed like a verdict.
Across the room, Adrian Volkov stood near the window, calm, composed… watching her.
Always watching her.
Even now, there was no emotion on his face. No anger. No hesitation.
As if this marriage meant nothing to him.
That alone made her blood boil.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she snapped, turning toward him.
Adrian's lips curved slightly.
"Not particularly."
Liar.
Everything about him screamed control. Power. Calculation.
This wasn't a man dragged into a deal.
This was a man who owned it.
The officiant cleared his throat nervously. "Shall we begin?"
"No," Isabella said sharply. "We shall not—"
Her father's voice cut in, low and dangerous.
"If you walk out of this room, Isabella… everything we've built collapses. Your mother's legacy. Your future. Everything."
Silence.
Her chest tightened.
He wouldn't bluff about that.
He never did.
Slowly… painfully… she turned back.
Adrian was still watching her.
Waiting.
As if he already knew what she would do.
That was what unsettled her the most.
Not the marriage.
Not the deal.
But the feeling that she had already lost a game she didn't know she was playing.
"I hate you," she said quietly.
Adrian stepped closer.
Close enough that only she could hear him.
"Good," he murmured.
His voice dropped, dark and deliberate.
"It'll make this marriage more interesting."
Her breath caught—
And then he added, almost lazily:
"You'll learn to love me anyway."
The vows felt like a blur.
Words were spoken. Rings were exchanged. Applause filled the room.
And just like that—
Isabella Cortez became Isabella Volkov.
The name alone made her stomach twist.
"Smile," Adrian murmured beside her, his hand firm around hers as cameras flashed. "Unless you want the headlines to say the marriage is already failing."
She forced her lips into something that resembled a smile.
"You seem very concerned about appearances for someone who claims this is just business."
"It is business," he replied calmly. "And appearances are part of the deal."
Of course they were.
Everything with him was calculated.
Every move. Every word.
Every glance.
The reception was worse.
Politicians, elites, and power brokers filled the grand hall, watching them like vultures circling fresh prey. Conversations paused when they passed. Eyes followed them everywhere.
This wasn't a wedding.
It was a spectacle.
A transaction dressed in white.
"You look tense," Adrian said, guiding her through the crowd.
"I am trapped," Isabella replied sweetly. "Forgive me for not enjoying it."
His grip on her waist tightened slightly.
"To the outside world," he said quietly, "you are not trapped. You are the woman who secured an alliance powerful enough to save your family."
"And to you?"
His gaze flickered to hers.
"You're exactly where you need to be."
Her breath caught for just a second.
Not because of what he said—
But how certain he sounded.
Hours later, the crowd finally thinned.
The moment the last guest left, Isabella dropped the smile she had been forcing all night.
"Let go of me."
Adrian did.
Immediately.
No hesitation.
No argument.
That surprised her more than anything.
"Good," she muttered, stepping away. "Now that the performance is over, let's make something clear."
She turned to face him fully.
"This marriage means nothing to me. We will live separate lives. Separate rooms. Separate everything."
Adrian removed his cufflinks slowly, as if her words didn't matter.
"You're free to believe that."
"I'm not asking for your permission."
"And I'm not offering it."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You don't get to control me."
He looked up then.
And for the first time that night—
Something dangerous flickered in his expression.
"Control?" he repeated softly.
He took a step closer.
Then another.
Instinctively, Isabella stepped back.
Bad idea.
Her back hit the wall.
Adrian stopped just inches away.
Close enough that she could feel his presence. His warmth. The quiet intensity radiating off him.
"You think this is about control?" he asked.
"Isn't it?"
His gaze dropped briefly—to her lips—before returning to her eyes.
"No," he said quietly.
"Then what is it?"
A pause.
A long one.
And then—
"Patience."
Her brows furrowed. "What does that even mean—"
"You'll understand soon."
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down her spine.
Before she could respond, he stepped back, breaking the tension as if it had never existed.
"Your room is down the hall," he added casually. "I had your things moved there."
Her heart pounded.
"Of course you did."
"Get some rest, Isabella."
She hesitated.
Watching him.
Studying him.
Trying to figure him out.
But he had already turned away.
Conversation over.
Just like that.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
The mansion was too quiet.
Too unfamiliar.
Too… his.
Isabella sat up in bed, frustration building in her chest.
Something wasn't right.
This whole thing—
It didn't feel like a rushed political arrangement.
Everything was too prepared.
Too smooth.
Too controlled.
As if…
As if it had been planned long before today.
Her eyes narrowed.
Slowly, she got out of bed.
If Adrian thought she was going to sit quietly and play the obedient wife—
He didn't know her at all.
The hallway was dimly lit as she stepped out.Silent.
Still.
She moved carefully, barefoot against the cold marble floor.
One door caught her attention.
Unlike the others—it was slightly open.
Adrian's study.
Of course he'd have one.
She hesitated only for a second—
Then slipped inside.
The room was dark except for a faint glow from the desk lamp.
Papers. Files. A laptop.
Everything neat. Organized.
Controlled.
Just like him.
She moved closer, her eyes scanning the desk.
At first, nothing seemed out of place.
Until—
She saw it.
A file.
Her name on it.
Isabella Cortez.
Her breath hitched.
Slowly… cautiously… she opened it.
And what she saw made her blood run cold.
Photos.
Documents.
Dates.
Records.
Not recent.
Not from this week.
Not from this month.
From years ago.
Detailed information about her life.
Her movements.
Her habits.
Her relationships.
All carefully documented.All collected.
All studied.
Her hands trembled slightly as she flipped through the pages.
This wasn't about marriage.
This wasn't about politics.
This was something else.
Something far more dangerous.
A soft sound behind her made her freeze.
"You shouldn't be in here."
Her heart slammed against her chest.
Slowly—
She turned.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
Watching her.
No surprise on his face.
No anger.
Just that same calm, controlled expression.
As if…
He had been expecting this.
Her voice came out barely steady.
"How long?"
A pause.
Then—
"How long have you been watching me?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
The sound echoed.
Final.
Deliberate.
And then he said:
"A long time."