The Unwanted Deal, The Unexpected Love

An Unwanted Arrangement

The delicate clink of fine china was the only sound in the suffocatingly large dining room.

It echoed through the vast space, bouncing off the polished marble floors and the high ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, casting a warm, expensive glow across the long dining table. Everything about the room was immaculate, from the perfectly arranged silverware to the fresh flowers in the centrepiece.

Everything, except the atmosphere.

Lade sat stiffly in her chair, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her napkin. Across the table, her parents wore identical expressions of polite expectation. Her father’s posture was straight, his shoulders squared beneath his tailored suit. Her mother sat with effortless elegance, one hand resting beside her wineglass as she took a slow, deliberate sip.

Neither of them seemed particularly concerned with the fact that their daughter had barely touched her food.

“He will be here momentarily,” her mother stated.

Lade looked up.

Her mother’s eyes briefly met hers before returning to the wine in her glass.

“Do try to look presentable.”

The words were delivered so casually that, for a moment, Lade wondered whether she had heard correctly.

Presentable?

She glanced down at herself. Her dress was elegant, carefully selected for the occasion. Her hair had been styled, her makeup applied, and every detail of her appearance had been scrutinised before she was allowed to leave her bedroom.

She had done everything they asked.

And yet, somehow, she still felt as though she were being prepared for an inspection rather than a dinner.

“What exactly is going on?” Lade asked.

Her father continued cutting his food.

“Your mother has already explained.”

“No, she hasn’t.”

Her voice was quieter than she intended, but the frustration beneath it was unmistakable.

Her mother sighed.

“Lade, this is not the time.”

“Then when is the time? Because neither of you has told me why I’m dressed like this, why we’re having a formal dinner, or why you’ve been acting as though something important is about to happen.”

Her father’s knife paused against his plate.

“Watch your tone.”

Lade pressed her lips together.

She had learned over the years that questioning her parents rarely resulted in answers. More often than not, it earned her a reprimand, a reminder of her place, or a lecture about the privileges she enjoyed.

But tonight felt different.

There was something unsettling about the way they kept glancing toward the entrance, something in their carefully composed expressions that made her stomach tighten.

Before she could ask another question, heavy, measured footsteps echoed through the marble hallway.

Her mother’s posture immediately straightened.

Her father set down his cutlery.

The sound of the approaching footsteps grew louder, each step deliberate and unhurried. Lade turned toward the dining room doors, her heart beginning to beat faster.

Then the heavy oak doors swung open.

And the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

He stepped into the light.

Mateo Romano.

Tall, imposing, and dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that moulded perfectly to his broad frame, he carried himself with the effortless confidence of a man who had never needed to ask permission to enter a room.

His raven hair was flawlessly swept back. His features were sharp, his jaw strong, and his expression unreadable.

But it was his eyes that caught Lade’s attention.

Piercing slate-grey eyes.

They moved across the room with a cold, assessing precision before settling on her.

For a moment, Lade forgot how to breathe.

She knew his name.

Everyone who moved in the world of wealth, power, and corporate influence knew Mateo Romano. His reputation preceded him. He was the man who could dismantle a business empire with a single decision, the man whose presence alone was enough to make powerful executives reconsider their positions.

He was the apex predator of the corporate world.

A man who destroyed dynasties before breakfast.

And now, apparently, he was standing in her dining room.

Her father rose immediately.

“Mr Romano. Welcome.”

Mateo offered him a brief nod.

“Thank you.”

Her mother smiled warmly, the kind of smile she reserved for important guests and people whose approval she desperately wanted.

“We’re delighted you could join us.”

Mateo acknowledged her with the slightest inclination of his head.

He did not return the smile.

Instead, he began walking toward the table.

His movements were calm, controlled, and unnervingly graceful. There was no hesitation in his stride, no uncertainty in his expression. He moved as though he already knew exactly how the evening would unfold.

Lade watched him approach, her fingers tightening around the napkin in her lap.

When he reached her chair, he stopped.

Ignoring her parents’ fawning smiles, he extended a large, impeccably manicured hand toward her.

His gaze locked onto her wide, panicked eyes.

“Mateo Romano,” he introduced himself.

His voice was a low, velvet baritone, smooth and controlled.

“I trust you’ve been informed of our arrangement.”

Lade stared at his outstretched hand.

Our arrangement?

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

She looked at her parents.

Her father avoided her eyes.

Her mother lifted her wineglass again, as though the conversation were nothing more than a routine social exchange.

Something inside Lade snapped.

She pushed her chair back.

The scrape of its legs against the marble floor sounded unbearably loud.

“I’m not getting married to you.”

Silence descended over the dining room.

Mateo’s hand remained extended, unmoving.

For a moment, his expression did not change. Then a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed his features before disappearing behind that impenetrable mask.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were a specimen under glass.

“Your father disagrees.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, almost bored.

“The contracts are signed. The merger is finalized.”

Lade felt the blood drain from her face.

Contracts?

Merger?

She turned toward her father.

“What is he talking about?”

Her father remained silent.

Mateo finally withdrew his hand, sliding it into his pocket with practised ease.

“Your opinions on the matter are noted and irrelevant.”

The words struck harder than a slap.

Lade stared at him, struggling to comprehend the sheer arrogance with which he had dismissed her.

He continued, entirely unbothered.

“We leave for my estate tomorrow morning at seven. Pack light. I’ll provide everything else.”

Her mother gasped softly.

“Mr Romano—”

Mateo glanced at her.

The single look was enough to silence whatever protest she had been preparing.

Lade’s heart hammered against her ribs.

Tomorrow morning?

His estate?

She had not agreed to anything. She had not even been given the courtesy of knowing what was happening before this man walked into her home and announced that her future had already been decided.

“I never agreed to this,” Lade said.

Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.

For the first time, Mateo’s expression shifted.

It was subtle. A slight narrowing of his eyes, a faint tightening around his mouth.

“Agreement,” he said slowly, “was not a condition of the deal.”

Lade felt a cold wave of disbelief wash over her.

She looked between him and her parents, waiting for someone to speak. Waiting for her father to explain that this was some terrible misunderstanding. Waiting for her mother to tell Mateo that their daughter would not be treated like an item on a contract.

But neither of them said a word.

Her father’s silence was particularly devastating.

He had always been a man of few words, but she had never imagined that he would sit across from her and allow a stranger to dictate the course of her life.

“Father?” she whispered.

He finally looked at her.

“Lade, this arrangement is important for the family.”

The family.

Not her.

Not her happiness.

Not her future.

The family.

She swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.

“So that’s it? You’ve decided that I’m going to marry him, and I don’t get a say?”

Her mother set down her wineglass.

“Please don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Lade let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“More difficult for whom?”

Neither parent answered.

Mateo glanced at his watch.

“I have other matters to attend to.”

He turned toward the doors, apparently satisfied that the conversation was over.

Lade stared at his retreating figure.

He had walked into her home, informed her that she was to become his wife, dismissed her objections, and announced that she would be leaving the following morning.

And he expected her to accept it.

“Mateo.”

The name left her lips before she could stop herself.

He paused.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Lade stood beside her chair, her hands trembling at her sides.

“I am not your property.”

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

Mateo looked at her in silence.

Then his gaze sharpened.

“Tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

He turned and continued toward the hallway.

The heavy oak doors closed behind him.

Lade remained standing, staring at the space where he had been.

Her parents sat in silence.

The crystal chandelier glittered overhead. The silverware remained perfectly aligned. The untouched food began to cool on the plates.

Everything in the room was exactly as it had been before Mateo Romano arrived.

Everything except her life.

Lade slowly turned toward her parents.

“You sold me.”

Her mother’s face tightened.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

But Lade could barely hear her.

The words echoed inside her head, louder than the footsteps that had carried Mateo away.

Tomorrow morning.

Seven o’clock.

She had less than a day to come to terms with the fact that her future had been decided without her.

And for the first time in her life, she understood just how little her own wishes mattered to the people who were supposed to protect her.