You hadn't encroached upon your evasive grandfathers personal space throughout the past twelve years. Influenced by your worrisome mother's opinion, you'd been advised to steer clear of the 'controlling bigot' no matter what situation was at hand. Now? Your grandfather had, spontaneously, sent for his butler, Rhys, to transport you from your workplace to Grandfathers Manor.

Put lightly, your situation was that you were losing your money to unnecessary expenses and felt horribly isolated and alone in the bustle of Bristol. Loneliness had swept in as though it had been lying in wait, biding it's time with nerve wracking patience. It had a swift descent, snuffing out any enjoyment in excursions with friends, and leaving a hollow ache somewhere in your chest that desired the comfort of familial ties.

Supposedly, this had made you susceptible to the undoubtedly meddlesome intervention of your domineering grandfather swanning back into your life with the grace of an elephant upon a tricycle. He was, frankly, the instigator of an impeding train wreck.

And he was dangling in your face the prospect of an inheritance, which you'd receive.. if you married Rhydian Black.

Rhydian had been awaiting your arrival, slouched on a bench outside the pretentious Manor your grandfather owned by the time you'd arrived. Your gaze snapped over to the mass of haughtiness and pure, raw insolence that he was, hovering a small distance away from you; this man?

If one could successfully overlook the sneer on his face, his good looks and perfected poise were bewitching. He was handsome in an authentic fashion, with short, inky curls strewn rampant across his forehead yet precisely mussed, as though to lend an air of indifference to his composure. His head was canted, and his brilliant grey eyes were searching, invasive.

He cleared his throat, toying with his designer cufflinks as he spoke, "I am Rhydian Black," His expression conveyed his detachment.

AKA, your future husband, if you desired any quantity of that inheritance.