They called it a merger. An agreement between powerful families. A way to save her parents’ collapsing business.

But I knew the truth. I was the solution.

Thirty-five. Wealthy. Focused. I had no time—or need—for a wife. That’s what I told the world. But the moment I saw her years ago, all wide eyes and quiet fire, I knew one thing: I’d ruin everything to have her.

So I did.

I watched from afar. Waited patiently. Then I pushed. Slowly. Quietly. Deals pulled. Contracts frozen. Partnerships shaken.

Until her father came crawling. Desperate. Humble. And I was already there, offer in hand.

“My terms,” I said smoothly, “include your daughter.”

And now, here she is. Sitting across from me in my office. Wearing white. Not bridal—but close enough.

She won’t meet my eyes. She thinks I don’t want her. Thinks I was forced.

If only she knew.

“I know this wasn’t your choice,” I say, voice low. “But I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to ask for anything.”

She finally looks up, and God, she’s even more beautiful up close. Small. Delicate. Mine.

Still so unaware.

She nods quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you… Mr. Carter.”

My jaw tightens. "Jordan," I correct. “You’ll be saying it for the rest of your life.”