Bound by Fate, Freed by Love

Grace Nwosu liked her mornings quiet, her coffee black, and her plans completely her own. At least until the universe or, more accurately, her mother decided otherwise. She had just finished her second cup when her phone buzzed across the kitchen counter. The screen flashed MOM CALLING, which usually meant one of two things: somebody had died, or somebody was about to. "Morning, Mom," Grace answered, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear while spooning oats into a bowl. "Grace, darling." The silky, measured tone made her stop mid-stir.

Her mother only used darling when she was about to drop a bomb. "Your father and I need you to come home this weekend. There's something important we have to discuss." Grace frowned. "Important like... church fund-raiser important, or important like you've-got-me-engaged-to-a-stranger important?" A pause. A nervous laugh that didn't reach her mother's voice. "Don't be dramatic, Grace. Just come home, okay? Saturday, six o'clock. Dress nicely." Dress nicely. Those two words always meant trouble. After hanging up, Grace stared at her reflection in the window the city skyline gleaming behind her. She had built a life she was proud of in Atlanta: a marketing job she loved, her own apartment, weekends with friends, and no man dictating her choices. Her parents, though, never understood why their only daughter was still unmarried at twenty-seven. "Because I'm busy living," she muttered to her coffee mug. "Not auditioning for Mrs. Somebody." Still, a little part of her it always did felt that familiar tug of obligation. Nigerian parents didn't ask for things; they expected them. And no matter how independent Grace acted, she couldn't ignore them forever. Saturday arrived with too much humidity and too many butterflies. Her childhood home sat on the edge of Buckhead, an expensive testament to her father's real-estate empire. The marble foyer gleamed like it was auditioning for a magazine cover. Her mother, immaculate in white silk, swept forward with a smile that was all teeth and control. "Grace, you're late." "It's 6:05," Grace said, hugging her stiffly. "Traffic." "Excuses." Her mother waved a manicured hand. "Come, everyone's waiting." Everyone? Her heart sank. That meant more than just family. As they entered the dining room, Grace froze. Her father sat at the head of the long mahogany table, two crystal glasses of wine already poured. Beside him, a man she didn't recognize a gray-suited stranger with a gold wristwatch that screamed expensive. And on the table, a sleek black folder. The stranger stood when she walked in, smiling politely. "Ms. Nwosu." Grace's brows furrowed. "Uh... hi. Do I know you?" Her father gestured for her to sit. "Grace, this is Mr. Jacobs. He represents the Cole family." The name made her pulse stutter. She'd heard it before everyone had. Cole Industries: luxury real estate, tech ventures, and, if gossip columns were right, one devastatingly handsome heir named Adrian Cole who collected women like business deals. Grace slowly lowered herself into a chair. "Okay... what does the Cole family want with me?" Her father smiled the way he did when closing a lucrative deal. "To propose an alliance." Grace blinked. "An alliance? Dad, are we opening a trade route or something?" Mr. Jacobs chuckled softly. "Actually, Miss Nwosu, the proposal is rather more... personal. Mr. Adrian Cole has agreed to an arranged marriage between himself and you." For a moment, silence swallowed the room. Then Grace laughed a sharp, incredulous sound. "I'm sorry, I thought you said arranged marriage. Like, in real life?" Her mother's gaze sharpened. "Don't be disrespectful, Grace." "I'm not" Grace looked from one solemn face to another. "You're serious? You've arranged my marriage? Without asking me?" "Grace," her father said calmly, "this is an opportunity of a lifetime. The Coles are influential. They admire our family's integrity. Adrian needs a grounded, respectable woman by his side someone like you." Grace's spoon clattered onto the table. "Respectable? Dad, you make me sound like a Labrador." Her mother's sigh was pure exasperation. "You're nearly thirty. You work too much, date too little. Adrian Cole is a wonderful match handsome, wealthy, educated. Every girl in Atlanta would kill for this chance." "Then maybe let one of them marry him," Grace shot back. Her father's eyes hardened. "You will do this for the family. The contract benefits both sides. It's already in motion." "Contract?" she echoed. "You mean there's paperwork? Like I'm a merger?" Mr. Jacobs opened the black folder and slid it toward her. Legal pages, embossed with gold lettering, filled her vision. Her name. His name. Signatures waiting. Grace pushed the folder back as though it burned. "Absolutely not." Her mother's expression turned icy. "You're behaving like a child." "No," Grace said, standing, "I'm behaving like a woman who deserves a choice." Her father's voice dropped to a warning tone. "Grace, sit down." She met his gaze squarely, heart pounding but chin high. "I love you both, but I'm not marrying a stranger just because he's good for business." Mr. Jacobs cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should return another time." "No," her father said firmly. "She needs to hear the rest." Grace crossed her arms. "Fine. Enlighten me." Mr. Jacobs hesitated, then spoke gently. "Mr. Cole has agreed to meet you next week. He wishes to keep this civil. If, after meeting him, you still decline, the families will withdraw." Her father glared but said nothing. Grace's pulse quickened. "So all I have to do is meet this Adrian guy, say no thanks, and it's over?" Her mother frowned. "At least be polite. The Coles are old friends." Grace smirked. "I'll be the picture of politeness, Mother. I'll even wear pearls." Later that night, back in her apartment, Grace tossed her purse onto the couch and flopped down beside it, groaning. "Arranged marriage. Seriously? What century are we in?" Her phone buzzed again this time a text from her best friend, Maya: Girl, dinner tomorrow? You sound stressed. Spill. Grace typed back: My parents want to sell me to a billionaire. Bring wine. Maya's reply was instant: Wait, like Adrian Cole billionaire?? 👀 Girl, SAY YES! Grace rolled her eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She opened her laptop and typed the name into Google. And there he was. Adrian Cole. The first image made her inhale sharply. Dark hair that looked soft enough to grip, gray eyes cool and unreadable, jawline cut from marble. He was sitting at a charity gala, tuxedo perfect, expression somewhere between boredom and danger. Grace stared longer than she intended. Then scowled. "Figures. Of course he's gorgeous. Even his smirk looks expensive." She clicked another article Adrian Cole: America's Most Elusive Bachelor. Elusive, right. Probably because no one could survive his ego. Still... her heart gave a stupid little flutter she refused to acknowledge. She slammed the laptop shut. "Not happening," she told the empty room. "I don't care if he looks like sin in a suit. No one tells Grace Nwosu who to marry." But somewhere, under her irritation, curiosity whispered: What kind of man agrees to marry a woman he's never met? And why did the thought of meeting him make her pulse race? Grace did not intend to meet Adrian Cole. She intended to cancel the meeting, block the family lawyer, and book a one-way ticket to anywhere with decent Wi-Fi and no parental interference. But her mother had a gift for emotional blackmail. "You don't even have to like him," she'd said that morning. "Just meet him. For the family's sake." Which was why Grace now found herself in the gilded lobby of The Halston Hotel, clutching her purse like a lifeline and silently praying that "for the family's sake" wouldn't ruin her life. The elevator doors opened with a discreet ding, and there he was. Adrian Cole. Every carefully rehearsed insult fled her brain. He stood near the lounge bar, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his body. His tie was loosened just enough to suggest rebellion against perfection. When he turned toward her, those infamous gray eyes swept the room and landed on her. Time hiccuped. Grace had seen photos, but photos hadn't prepared her for the quiet power of him in motion. The air seemed to shift, as if even oxygen respected his space. He crossed the room with measured steps. "Grace Nwosu?" She nodded, forcing her spine straight. "Adrian Cole, I presume. The man my parents think I should marry." One dark brow lifted. "I see subtlety isn't part of your charm." "Neither is obedience," she said sweetly. The corner of his mouth twitched almost a smile. "Good. I dislike obedience." A spark zipped through her stomach, annoying and electric. She looked away first, pretending to study the chandelier. "So, how does this work? Do you usually order fiancées off a menu, or am I your first?" He chuckled, low and unexpected. "First time. My mother insisted. She seems to think a wife will make me more... approachable." Grace tilted her head. "And do you think so?" He shrugged, eyes gleaming. "I think I don't need a wife. But I'm curious why you fascinate her enough to arrange one." Curious. The word rolled over her like a slow caress. "Well," Grace said, finding her footing again, "maybe she read my résumé. I make great coffee and refuse to be controlled." "Dangerous combination." He gestured toward a table. "Sit? I promise I don't bite unless provoked." She ignored the shiver that traveled down her neck and sat. "I'll keep that in mind." A waiter appeared with champagne. Adrian didn't order; apparently, people simply knew what he wanted. Grace took a sip just to buy time, tasting bubbles and nerves. "So," she said finally, "why agree to this circus?" He leaned back, studying her like she was both a puzzle and a challenge. "Because my father believes stability impresses investors. Because your family's name is clean. And because saying no would've caused a scandal." "Wow," she said dryly. "You make romance sound so thrilling." His smile flashed brief, wicked. "And you? Why are you here instead of running for your life?" Grace opened her mouth, then closed it. Honesty won. "Because my mother would hunt me down with holy water and guilt." He laughed outright this time, the sound rich enough to make her chest ache. "At least we're honest." "Honesty's cheaper than therapy," she muttered. Their gazes met again his calm, hers defiant. Something unspoken stretched between them: attraction laced with irritation, recognition wrapped in denial. Adrian broke it first. "Tell me, Grace Nwosu, what do you actually want from life?" She hesitated. No one ever asked that like they meant it. "Freedom," she said softly. "To live on my own terms." He nodded, almost respectfully. "Then you and I have that in common." "Really?" she scoffed. "Because you seem perfectly comfortable being told what to do by your family." "Appearances," he said simply. "I let them think they win. They rarely do." Grace frowned. "So this marriage you'll pretend to go along?" "Depends." His voice dropped. "Some things are worth pretending for. Others aren't." The intensity in his eyes pinned her to her chair. Heat crawled up her throat; she broke the stare by grabbing her glass again. "You talk like every sentence is a dare." "Maybe it is." He leaned forward slightly. "Maybe I want to see if you'll take it." Grace's pulse stumbled. For a man she'd sworn to dislike, he had an unfair advantage: charisma sharpened into challenge. "Careful," she said, forcing a smirk. "You'll make me think you're flirting." "Would that be so terrible?" "Yes," she said too quickly. "I'm not flirting back." He smiled lazily. "You're doing an excellent job convincing me." Before she could retort, her phone buzzed. Mom. She declined it without looking away from him. "Well, Mr. Cole, consider the meeting civil and complete. I've met you, and I'll be telling my parents this is a hard no." He regarded her for a long moment, then stood, buttoning his jacket. "Do that, if it makes you happy. But something tells me we haven't finished talking." Grace rose too, refusing to be intimidated by his height. "That sounds like a threat." "An observation." His gaze softened, just barely. "You strike me as someone who runs from cages but doesn't notice when she builds her own." Her breath caught. "Excuse me?" He smiled, slow and knowing. "Until next time, Ms. Nwosu." And then he walked away, leaving her surrounded by polished marble and the echo of her racing heartbeat. Grace sank back into the chair, staring at the untouched champagne. "What the hell just happened?" She wanted to hate him should hate him but instead she felt... alive. Annoyed, intrigued, maybe even a little unsteady. No. She shook her head hard. Do not even start, Grace. He's infuriating. And smug. And entirely too good-looking. Her phone vibrated again. This time a text from her father: Dinner tomorrow with the Coles. Confirmation of engagement terms. Be ready. Grace typed back: Not happening. But even as she hit send, she couldn't shake the sound of Adrian Cole's voice or the way his eyes had lingered on her as if he already knew the ending to a story she hadn't agreed to start.