Bound by Decree

(Angela’s POV) “Angela Kings?” The lawyer’s voice sliced clean through the boardroom like a scalpel. Heads turned. Eyes settled. Not just family—this was bigger than that. Executives. Stakeholders. Power players handpicked by my father, all invited here for a spectacle dressed as a legal formality. Every stare was a story—jealousy, ambition, and that sharp gleam people get when they sense a crown slipping. He wanted witnesses. Proof. A legacy cemented not just in ink, but in obedience. I didn’t flinch. “Present,” I said, my tone sharp enough to draw blood. Uncle Silas shifted beside me. His navy pinstripe suit puffed with smugness. His Rolex caught the light like a threat. Mr. Brown, our family’s long-suffering lawyer, cleared his throat and reached for a wax-sealed envelope. “As per the last will and testament of the late Brian Kings…” I already knew something was wrong. “…the entirety of Kings Estate will pass to his only child, Angela Kings, with one binding condition—” “What condition?” I cut in, my voice slicing through the room like a blade. Mr. Brown didn’t flinch. He peeled his gaze from the document and delivered it without a drop of mercy: “That Angela Kings must marry William Briggs within seven days of this reading. Until then, full executive control of Kings Enterprises transfers to Mr. Silas Kings.” “What the hell?” I stood so fast my chair screeched. “Angela—” Silas began, faux-calm. “Don’t,” I snapped, “don’t pretend like you’re surprised.” Silas chuckled, slow and cruel. "Did you think he’d hand it all over without a leash? Come now, Angela. Even your father knew you needed… structure." I stared at him, the heat rising up my neck. “You call this structure? Forcing me into a merger disguised as a marriage? That’s manipulation.” He spread his hands, all false innocence. "It’s strategy, my dear. Something you usually admire. Just not when it's pointed at you." "You’ve been circling that chair for years, waiting for him to die. Don’t pretend this is about the company." His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Maybe not. But it is about legacy. Stability. Things you seem willing to risk for a little… romance." “I’ve run this company since I was twenty-two. I negotiated Lisbon. I sealed the Hawkins deal. And I have to marry someone to keep what’s mine?” Mr. Brown coughed. “Your father believed—” “My father hated William’s family!” “Yes,” Silas cut in, “but he hated the idea of you with Jonathan more.” My heart jerked. Jonathan. He wasn’t here. My father had drawn the guest list like a battle map—only allies and stakeholders allowed. Jonathan had never made the cut. “Is this legal?” I demanded. “Yes,” Brown said. “It was signed, notarized, and witnessed.” “This is a hostage situation,” I muttered. Silas smirked. “Or an opportunity.” “For you.” “For you, too, if you play smart.” “I’m not marrying a stranger.” “Then you’re not keeping the company, it’s that simple.” Brown interjected, “You can still receive personal assets—homes, trusts—” “I beg your pardon,” I spat. “I want what I earned.” The air thickened. People began filing out, some too polite to meet my eyes, others smugly avoiding them. I stayed frozen. When the room emptied, I turned to Brown. “Why William?” “Your father said he was strong enough to stand beside you, and smart enough not to stand in your way.” I laughed. Bitter. “Sounds like a line from a mafia movie.” He didn’t disagree. I stormed out, past towering portraits and gleaming floors that reeked of legacy and control—relics of a world built to outlast anyone who dared challenge it. Outside, the air hit cold and hard. Clouds hung like a noose over the city skyline. My phone buzzed. Jonathan. “Angela?” His voice cracked with worry. “How did it go?” “You won’t believe it.” “Try me.” “I have to marry William Briggs or lose everything.” Silence. "You have to what?" A beat. Then, quieter—more disbelieving: "Tell me you're joking." “I wish I was.” “Where are you?” “Just outside the firm. I need—” A low hum cut through the air as a black luxury car glided to the curb. The back door opened slowly, smooth and deliberate. I stopped mid-sentence. A man stepped out. Tall, sharp lines, colder eyes. Suit cut so clean it looked painted on. “Angela Kings,” he said. Not a question. A statement. “William Briggs,” I replied, voice flat. He extended a hand. “I heard the news.” I shook it. Cold fingers. Firm grip. Like shaking hands with an arranged future. “You and I need to talk,” he said. “I have nothing to say.” “Well, then let me talk.” His smile was all teeth. “You really need to hear all I have to say.” Jonathan’s voice came through the phone. “Angela? Who’s that?” I stepped back from William, pressing the phone tighter. “No one. I’ll call you back.” William raised an eyebrow. “Quite the gathering in there.” I didn’t answer. He stepped closer, voice low. “You look surprised to see me.” “I wasn’t told you’d be here,” I said tightly. “Not officially, no,” William said, his tone too casual. “But I’ve always had this… intuition. A feeling this day would come.” I narrowed my eyes. “How?” His lips twitched in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Your father wasn’t as careful as he liked to think. Whispers in the right rooms. Papers left where they shouldn’t be. And let’s be honest—deals like these don’t stay buried forever.” “You had someone feeding you information,” I said, voice tightening. “One of the board members?” He tilted his head, amused. “Let’s not ruin the mystery.” I folded my arms. “Why now? Why you?” He smiled like it was obvious. “Because our fathers made a deal. You just never knew you were part of it.” He reached into his coat pocket and handed me a folded document. “What’s this?” “The prenup. My lawyers drafted it few days ago.” I blinked. “You were that sure I’d say yes?” “I was that sure your father would get his way.” I stared at the document. I hadn’t even caught my breath from the will, and he was already two steps ahead. “I don’t play games,” I warned. “Neither do I,” he said calmly. “I just win them.” The wind howled down the street. William adjusted his coat collar and added, like it was the weather forecast, “We have seven days. The countdown had already started.” He turned, casual as ever, and stepped off the curb. I stood frozen on the marble steps of Kings Tower, the city thrumming behind me, my phone buzzing in my hand. Jonathan. Again. But then— A c***k. Sharp. Deafening. Gunshot. William staggered. Blood sprayed across the sidewalk like a violent signature. He dropped to one knee, eyes wide with stunned confusion, then collapsed flat on the pavement. People screamed. Cars screeched to a halt. Panic tore through the crowd like wildfire. I dropped beside him, shaking. “William? William—!” His eyes flickered. His lips parted, struggling to form a sound. But nothing came. Only a shallow breath. A strained groan. Then—stillness. Total. Terrifying. Stillness.