HIS UNWANTED FIANCÉE

CHAPTER:-1 ELENA BENNETT The first time I heard Adrian Blackwood's name that night, my father was begging him not to involve me. The second time, he was offering him everything we had left. And by midnight, I would discover that the most dangerous man in London had already decided what he wanted from me. Unfortunately, it wasn't my permission. It was my engagement. Rain swept across the windows of our London townhouse, blurring the city lights into silver streaks. I stood outside my father's study, holding a cup of coffee that had gone cold in my hands. It was eleven fifteen. My father had been in there for nearly three hours, and for the past twenty minutes, I'd heard nothing but the occasional sound of papers being moved. Then his voice broke through the silence. "Please. Give me another week." I stopped. There was a long pause. "I understand the agreement, Adrian, but my daughter has nothing to do with this." My fingers tightened around the cup. Adrian? As in Adrian Blackwood? I had heard that name often enough to recognise it without needing an introduction. Everyone in London's business world knew the Blackwoods. Their investment empire stretched across Europe, their influence reached into circles most people never knew existed, and their family name carried a reputation that money alone couldn't explain. People admired them in public. In private, they were careful about what they said. Especially about Adrian. At thirty, he was the youngest head of Blackwood Global, a man whose business decisions could make fortunes or destroy them overnight. But rumours followed him, too. Whispers about private meetings, unexplained alliances, and a family legacy that went far beyond legitimate business. Some called him a ruthless businessman. Others believed he was the heir to London's most secretive mafia empire. Nobody seemed brave enough to ask him which story was true. "I said I'll handle it," my father snapped. The call ended. I waited a few seconds before knocking. "Come in." I opened the door. My father sat behind his mahogany desk, his reading glasses resting beside a stack of financial reports. His silver hair looked untidy, and the lines around his eyes seemed deeper than they had been a month ago. He was staring at a document as though he could somehow change its contents by looking at it long enough. "You're still working?" I asked. He immediately closed the folder. "Just finishing a few things, sweetheart." "At eleven fifteen?" "Time gets away from me." "Apparently, it takes your dinner with it." I placed the coffee on his desk and tried to smile. He returned it, but his expression didn't quite reach his eyes. For years, my father had been the man everyone turned to when things went wrong. He had built Bennett Industries from a small family business into a respected international company, and he had always made success look effortless. Lately, however, he seemed to be fighting a battle he couldn't afford to lose. And he was fighting it alone. I pulled out the chair opposite him. "Dad, what's happening with the company?" His expression changed. "Nothing you need to worry about." I sighed. "Please don't give me that answer again." "What answer?" "The one where you pretend everything is fine while looking like you've aged ten years in a month." "Elena—" "I'm serious." He removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. "The company is going through a difficult period. That's all." "Then let me help." "You have your own life to build." "And you're my father. I'd like to know when something is wrong with yours." For a moment, he said nothing. Then he reached across the desk and took my hand. "Whatever happens, I need you to promise me something." A strange chill passed through me. "What?" "Don't trust everything people tell you about the Blackwood family." I stared at him. "Why would I have anything to do with the Blackwood family?" He released my hand. "Just promise me." Before I could answer, his phone lit up. One name appeared on the screen. ADRIAN BLACKWOOD. My father looked at it as though it were a warning. Then he declined the call. I stood. "Dad, what exactly is going on?" "Go upstairs, Elena." "No." His eyes lifted to mine. "Please." It was the word that stopped me. My father rarely asked for anything. He certainly never begged. And something about the quiet desperation in his voice frightened me more than an explanation would have. I left the study. But I didn't go upstairs. I had barely reached the staircase when his voice followed me through the half-open door. "She knows nothing about October seventeenth." Silence. Then, more quietly, "And she must never find out." By morning, Bennett Industries was on the front page of every major financial newspaper in London. BENNETT INDUSTRIES FACES COLLAPSE AMID SECRET DEBT CRISIS. BLACKWOOD GLOBAL POISED TO ACQUIRE LONGSTANDING RIVAL. I read the headlines twice. Then a third time. My coffee sat untouched beside my laptop as I called my father. Straight to voicemail. I called his assistant. "Where is he?" "Mr Bennett is attending a meeting this morning." "With whom?" There was a pause. "Blackwood Global." Of course he was. Forty minutes later, I was standing in the lobby of the tallest building on the Thames, regretting every decision that had led me there. The Blackwood headquarters looked less like an office and more like a declaration of power. Black marble covered the reception desk, discreet security cameras watched every entrance, and the employees moved with the quiet efficiency of people who knew better than to ask unnecessary questions. I approached the receptionist. "I need to see Adrian Blackwood." "Do you have an appointment?" "No." "I'm afraid Mr Blackwood doesn't accept unannounced visitors." "That's unfortunate. I don't accept mysterious business arrangements involving my family's future." The receptionist's expression remained professional, but her fingers paused above the keyboard. "Your name, please?" "Elena Bennett." That changed something. She glanced at me, then quickly picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she put it down. "Mr Blackwood will see you now." I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned. Probably both. The private elevator carried me to the forty-second floor. When the doors opened, a woman in a charcoal suit was waiting. "This way, Miss Bennett." She led me down a corridor lined with dark paintings and discreet security doors. At the end stood a pair of black double doors. "Mr Blackwood is expecting you." Then she left. I pushed the doors open. Adrian Blackwood stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the rain-soaked city. He wore a black suit, a white shirt, and a watch that probably cost more than my first car. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his posture suggested that he had never entered a room without knowing exactly what he wanted from it. He turned at the sound of the door. I had expected someone intimidating. I hadn't expected someone so infuriatingly composed. His eyes were a cool, unsettling grey. "Miss Bennett," he said. "You're late." I glanced at my watch. "I'm four minutes early." "Then I suppose we're both disappointed." I stared at him. "Is being unpleasant a requirement for working here, or is it something you practise at home?" One dark eyebrow lifted. "You've been here less than a minute, and you're already insulting your potential business partner." "Potential? That's a relief. I was worried we'd reached the part where you acquired my family and sent me an invoice." For the briefest moment, amusement flickered in his eyes. Then it disappeared. "Sit down." "I'd rather stand." "Of course you would." He returned to his desk and opened a folder. My father's name was printed across the first page. I stepped closer. "What have you done?" "An interesting choice of opening question." "Answer it." "I've reviewed your father's financial position." "And?" "And Bennett Industries is three weeks away from insolvency." The words hit me harder than I expected. "That's impossible." "Your father has outstanding loans, unpaid obligations, and several creditors who have grown tired of waiting." "Then why hasn't he told me?" "Perhaps he didn't want you to see him fail." I looked at the documents scattered across his desk. The numbers were real. So were the signatures. My father had signed agreements he could never fulfil. "How much does he owe?" Adrian gave me the figure. For several seconds, I couldn't speak. Our family had money. Property. Investments. Years of work and a reputation we had spent generations building. But none of it was enough to cover that debt. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because your father has asked me to intervene." I looked up. "Intervene how?" "By acquiring Bennett Industries and restructuring its debts." I shook my head. "My father would never willingly hand his company to you." "He already has." Adrian pushed a document towards me. I recognised my father's signature at the bottom. A cold feeling settled in my stomach. "What do you want in return?" "That depends." "On what?" "Whether you're willing to listen." I crossed my arms. "I'm listening." He opened a second folder. This one contained a single page. At the top, in clean black lettering, were four words. PROPOSED ENGAGEMENT AGREEMENT. I stared at it. Then I looked at him. Then back at the paper. "Is this a joke?" "No." "You want me to become engaged to you?" "That is generally what an engagement agreement implies." I laughed in disbelief. "You cannot be serious." "I rarely waste time on things I don't intend to do." "Find another woman." "I don't want another woman." The answer came so quickly that I fell silent. He watched me for a moment before continuing. "Your father needs financial protection. My family needs an alliance with yours. An engagement would secure both." "Your family?" For the first time, something in his expression changed. It was subtle, but I noticed it. "Yes." "I thought this was a business arrangement." "It is." "Then why does your family need an engagement?" "Because some agreements are stronger when they become personal." I studied him. There was something he wasn't telling me. Something that had nothing to do with business. "You're not simply trying to acquire Bennett Industries, are you?" His gaze sharpened. "You're more observant than I expected." "And you're avoiding my question." "Perhaps." I took a step back. "I won't marry a stranger to rescue a company." "Nobody has asked you to marry me." "You've literally put an engagement agreement in front of me." "An engagement isn't a marriage." "That's supposed to make me feel better?" "No. It's supposed to make you understand the offer." I looked at the document again. The arrangement included financial protection for my family, a public announcement, and a six-month engagement period. There were clauses about public appearances, confidentiality, and the consequences of terminating the agreement. It was absurdly detailed. And nowhere did it mention love. Of course it didn't. Adrian Blackwood didn't look like a man who believed in love. He looked like a man who believed in leverage. "What happens if I refuse?" His expression became unreadable. "Then I withdraw my offer." "And my father's company?" "Will face its creditors without my assistance." I hated him for saying it so calmly. "You expect me to sell my future to save his business." "No, Elena." He leaned forward slightly. "I expect you to make an informed decision." "By threatening my family?" "By explaining the consequences of your choices." "You make it sound so reasonable." "Reasonable decisions are rarely comfortable." I picked up the agreement. For a moment, I considered tearing it in half. Instead, I put it back on the desk. "I'm not signing this." "I assumed you wouldn't." "Then why offer it?" "Because I wanted to meet you before you decided what kind of man I was." I let out a humourless laugh. "And what have I learned?" "That you're angry, stubborn, and considerably less frightened than your father expected." "My father is not the one you should be worrying about." "No," Adrian said quietly. "I suspect he isn't." Something in his voice made me pause. Before I could ask what he meant, a discreet knock sounded at the door. A tall man in a dark suit entered. He looked to be in his late thirties, with a small scar near his eyebrow and the kind of stillness that made me instinctively straighten. "Sir." Adrian didn't look away from me. "Not now, Marcus." "It's about the docks." The room went silent. Adrian's expression changed so quickly that I almost missed it. The businessman disappeared. In his place stood someone colder. Someone who didn't need to raise his voice to make another man reconsider his next words. "What happened?" Adrian asked. "Someone breached the east perimeter. The shipment is secure, but they left a message." Adrian rose. "What message?" Marcus glanced at me. It was brief. But it was enough. Adrian noticed. "Speak." "They said the Blackwood heir should stop looking into October seventeenth." For the first time that morning, Adrian looked genuinely dangerous. "Find out who sent it." "We're already working on it." "Then work faster." Marcus nodded and left. I stood perfectly still. October seventeenth. The same date I'd heard my father whisper the night before. Adrian turned back to me. His expression had settled into its familiar calm, but the atmosphere in the room had changed. I could feel it. "Who are you, Adrian?" He studied me. "That's a complicated question." "Try giving me a simple answer." "I'm the man offering to save your family." "And the docks?" "None of your concern." "The message mentioned October seventeenth." His jaw tightened. "You heard more than you should have." "Perhaps you should stop having conversations in front of people." "Perhaps you should learn when to leave a room." I took a step towards him. "My father mentioned that date last night. Now someone is threatening you over it. Tell me what happened." For several seconds, he said nothing. Then he walked around his desk and stopped in front of me. He was close enough that I could see the faint tension in his jaw. "Eight years ago," he said, "my mother died in a car accident." I swallowed. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. You don't know her." His voice was flat, but something beneath it sounded painfully old. "The official report called it an accident. My family accepted that explanation." "And you didn't?" "No." "Why?" "Because the brakes had been tampered with." My stomach tightened. "Then it wasn't an accident." "That was what I wanted to prove." He looked towards the window. "Your father was the last person to speak to my mother that night." I stared at him. "No." "You don't even know what you're denying." "My father wouldn't hurt anyone." "Perhaps not." He looked back at me. "But he knows something. And for eight years, he's refused to tell me what it is." I suddenly understood why Adrian had chosen my family. The debts. The engagement. The careful agreement. None of it was a coincidence. "You don't want an alliance," I whispered. "You want access to my father." "I want the truth." "And I'm your way of getting it." He didn't deny it. Anger rose in my chest, hot and immediate. "You really are a bastard." "I've been called worse." "I won't help you destroy my father." "Then don't." His answer caught me off guard. He stepped away, giving me room to breathe. "Go home, Elena. Speak to your father. Ask him about October seventeenth." "And if he tells me nothing?" "Then you'll have to decide whether you trust him enough to keep living with his secrets." I picked up my bag. I would never accept his proposal. I would never allow him to use me as a weapon against my family. And I certainly wouldn't let Adrian Blackwood decide what happened to my future. I reached the door. "Elena." I turned reluctantly. He stood behind his desk, one hand resting on the engagement agreement. "If you discover that your father has lied to you, don't come here expecting me to be surprised." I left without answering. But before the elevator doors closed, I heard Marcus speaking to someone in the corridor. "She doesn't know?" Adrian's voice followed. "No." "And if she finds out who her father made the agreement with eight years ago?" A pause. Then Adrian answered. "Then she'll understand why I need her to wear my ring." I was halfway home when my phone buzzed. An unknown number. You met Adrian Blackwood today. I stopped walking. Another message arrived. Did he tell you why he chose you? I typed a reply. Who is this? The answer came immediately. Someone who knows what happened on October seventeenth. My pulse quickened. A photograph appeared on the screen. It showed my father standing beside a woman outside an old country estate. The woman was elegant, with dark hair and the same grey eyes I'd seen in Adrian's face. His mother. Behind them stood a younger Adrian, perhaps twenty-two, watching the photographer. I zoomed in. My father was holding an envelope. On its front, written in dark ink, were two words. ELENA BENNETT. I had never seen that photograph before. I had never heard that my father knew Adrian's mother. And I had absolutely no idea why my name was written on an envelope in their possession eight years ago. My phone vibrated again. Your father didn't promise Adrian a business alliance. A second message appeared. He promised him you. I read it once. Then again. My hands had gone cold. Before I could respond, a final message arrived. Ask Adrian Blackwood what his family was supposed to do when you turned eighteen. I looked up at the passing cars, suddenly aware of how alone I was on the pavement. Somewhere across London, Adrian Blackwood was waiting for my answer. But I wasn't going to give him one. Not yet. First, I was going to confront my father. Because if even half of what I'd learned that morning was true, then my entire life had been built around a secret I had never been allowed to know. And Adrian Blackwood wasn't the only person who had been keeping it. End of Chapter One.