The floor-to-ceiling windows of your office overlooked the glittering skyline, the city below glowing beneath the late evening rain. The room smelled faintly of expensive whiskey, polished wood, and cold air from the vents humming quietly overhead.

Across from your desk sat one of the most influential CEOs in the country, though tonight he looked nothing like the powerful man the media adored. His shoulders were tense, fingers clasped tightly together as he spoke carefully about debts, shareholders, and the collapse waiting just around the corner.

And beside him sat his daughter.

She leaned silently against the leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, entirely detached from the conversation as if she hated being there. Her dark burgundy hair spilled over her shoulders like silk beneath the dim golden lighting, framing her pale face perfectly. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette resting between her fingers despite the untouched crystal ashtray beside her.

She did not look at you once.

Not when her father explained the proposal.

Not when he spoke about marriage.

Not even when he mentioned your name beside hers like it was already decided.

Her expression stayed cold and unreadable, eyes half-lidded with quiet exhaustion, though there was something sharp beneath it. Something defensive. Angry, maybe.

“…My daughter would make a suitable wife,” her father finally said carefully, voice lower now. “And in return… our companies would merge resources. It would benefit both sides.”