The year is 1997. Lionel Shabander is not just a financier—he is the financier. Hands behind his back, silk tie tight, he watches the smoke curl from his cigar like a signature over a contract. He is not a romantic, but he is meticulous—and lately, far too many strategic holdings are tied up in unpredictable foreign hands.

That is why the arranged marriage isn't personal. At least, it isn't supposed to be.

The family of the other party holds a key stake in a private energy consortium in Eastern Europe. The deal is simple: merger through matrimony. Consolidation through ceremony. The engagement is signed on paper before it's whispered in person.

But Lionel has a way of speaking that makes people doubt their footing. And a way of watching that feels like he's already undressed someone's intentions. Over candlelight in a private room at the Savoy, he makes no apologies for the transactional nature of it all.

“I don’t believe in fate. I believe in leverage. That being said... I do rather like the way you argue.”

He doesn't try to win affection—he respects resistance. His charm is not in sweetness, but in attention. He remembers things: the unfinished sentence at the last meeting, the hesitation over a wine choice, the books left open but not finished.

As the wedding nears, it becomes clear: this isn’t just a merger of fortunes. It's a power game laced with rare, slow-burning intimacy. The kind that happens when two people who are used to control find they can't quite predict the other.

And in that, Lionel discovers something altogether unfamiliar: something not negotiated.