Signed Into His World

The Arrangement

CHAPTER ONE

Benjamin Collins hated mornings that began with phone calls.

Not because he disliked mornings.

He disliked people who believed their problems became his simply because they had his number.

At 7:14 a.m., his phone vibrated against the bedside table.

Benjamin opened one eye, glanced at the screen, and considered ignoring it.

Then he saw the name of his finance director.

He answered.

“Tell me this is worth waking me up for.”

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Collins.”

“If it were a good morning, you wouldn’t be calling me before seven-thirty.”

A brief pause followed. “It’s about the Prince account.”

Benjamin sat up.

Outside the bedroom windows, Manhattan was beginning to stir beneath a pale morning sky. The city had barely found its voice, but apparently, someone else’s financial problems couldn’t wait.

“What about it?”

“We’ve exhausted the extensions. The outstanding balance remains unpaid, and the latest deadline has passed.”

“How much time did we give him?”

“Three extensions, sir. The last one was granted two months ago.”

“And he still hasn’t paid.”

“No, sir.”

Benjamin rubbed a hand over his face.

Prince had a talent for turning temporary financial difficulties into permanent disasters. The man borrowed money with the confidence of someone who believed consequences were a problem for other people.

Unfortunately, the latest disaster involved more than Prince.

“The collateral?” Benjamin asked.

“The property is still legally tied to the account. However, there’s a complication.”

“There’s always a complication.”

“The property belongs to his mother as well. Enforcing the agreement could leave her caught in the middle of a dispute she may not have been directly involved in.”

Benjamin’s expression hardened.

“Then find out exactly what she signed before anyone takes another step.”

“Legal is already reviewing the documents.”

“Good. I want the review completed before we make any decisions. If we have a legitimate claim, we’ll pursue it properly. But we’re not putting an elderly woman out of her home because her son can’t manage his finances.”

“Understood.”

“And keep this away from the press. I don’t want a routine debt dispute turned into a public spectacle.”

“Yes, sir.”

Benjamin ended the call and placed the phone face down.

For a moment, he remained seated at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

He had built his career on knowing when to be ruthless and when restraint was the more profitable decision. People often confuse the two. They assumed that because he had money, he could afford to be careless with other people’s lives.

He had never believed that.

Money could settle a debt. It could buy influence, silence, and the illusion of control.

It could not fix everything.

He knew that better than most.

His gaze drifted toward the empty side of the bed.

The silence there was familiar now. Two years had passed since his wife died, and still, there were mornings when the absence felt less like a memory and more like something that had happened yesterday.

For five years, he had watched the woman he loved lie in a hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up.

Five years of specialists, consultations, second opinions, and promises that there might still be a chance.

Five years of learning how to live around a hope that grew thinner with every passing month.

When the end finally came, it hadn’t felt like a decision.

It had felt like surrender.

He had signed the papers that allowed her life support to be withdrawn, carrying a guilt that no amount of time had managed to erase completely.

And then he had gone home to a house that still held traces of her everywhere.

He had learned to work through the silence.

To sleep on one side of the bed.

To attend meetings, sign contracts, and make decisions worth millions without allowing anyone to see the effort it took to keep moving.

People called him disciplined.

They called him composed.

They called him a man who had everything under control.

Benjamin had stopped correcting them.

His phone rang again.

This time, the name on the screen made him sigh.

“Father.”

“Benjamin.”

Richard Collins had never been a man who wasted time on pleasantries when he wanted something.

“I need you at the house tonight,” Richard said.

Benjamin swung his feet to the floor. “Good morning to you too.”

“Seven o’clock.”

“Is there a reason I should rearrange my evening?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“No.”

Benjamin stared at the phone for a moment.

“Then I suppose you’re asking me to attend a mystery dinner.”

“I’m asking you to come home. Seven o’clock, Benjamin. Don’t be late.”

The call ended.

Benjamin lowered the phone slowly.

His father had a particular talent for issuing instructions as though the rest of the world existed to carry them out. It was a trait Benjamin had inherited, although he preferred to call his own version efficiency.

He set the phone aside and headed for the bathroom.

By six-thirty that evening, he had completed two meetings, reviewed a merger proposal, and signed off on a set of documents that would have taken most executives an entire day.

He could have stayed in the office.

He could have sent his father a message claiming an urgent business matter.

Instead, at precisely seven, Benjamin walked into the Collins family residence and found Richard waiting in his study.

His father stood beside the desk, dressed in a dark suit, with a glass of untouched whiskey near his hand.

“You came,” Richard said.

“You sounded as though the family business would collapse if I didn’t.”

“Sit down.”

Benjamin remained standing.

“What is this about?”

Richard studied him for a moment before gesturing toward the chair opposite the desk.

“Your life.”

Benjamin’s expression went flat. “My life is not a family meeting.”

“It becomes one when you insist on living as though yours ended two years ago.”

The words landed harder than Benjamin wanted them to.

He moved to the chair and sat, his posture rigid.

“My life did not end.”

“No. You simply stopped living it.”

“Careful, Father.”

Richard didn’t flinch. “You buried your wife two years ago. I know what you lost. I watched you spend five years hoping she would open her eyes. I watched you come apart in ways you refused to acknowledge. And when she died, you buried everything else with her.”

Benjamin looked toward the window.

He hated conversations like this. Not because his father was entirely wrong, but because Richard spoke about grief as though naming it made it something that could be managed.

“I went back to work,” Benjamin said.

“You went back to hiding in work.”

“Collins Energy & Petroleum employs thousands of people. Someone has to run it.”

“And you do. No one questions your ability to run the company.” Richard paused. “But when was the last time you did something that wasn’t an obligation?”

Benjamin said nothing.

“When was the last time you went somewhere because you wanted to? When was the last time you allowed yourself to enjoy anything without looking for a reason to leave?”

“Are we finished?”

“No.”

Richard opened a drawer and removed a slim folder.

Benjamin watched him place it on the desk.

“What is that?”

“An opportunity.”

“I have enough opportunities.”

“This one concerns your future.”

“My future is doing quite well without your intervention.”

Richard leaned back against the desk. “You need a wife.”

For several seconds, Benjamin didn’t respond.

Then he gave a short, humourless laugh.

“I’m sorry. I thought you called me here to discuss something serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Then you should know better than to suggest I get married because you think I’m lonely.”

“I didn’t say you were lonely.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Richard’s jaw tightened, but he continued in a measured voice. “You are thirty-five years old. You have spent two years shutting everyone out. You have no interest in meeting anyone, no plans beyond the company, and no life outside the walls of your home.”

“I have a life.”

“You have a schedule.”

Benjamin’s eyes narrowed.

Richard pushed the folder closer to him.

“I’m not asking you to forget your wife. No one could reasonably expect that of you. But you cannot keep using her memory as a reason to refuse every possibility the future offers.”

“You have no idea what you’re asking of me.”

“Perhaps not. But I know what I’m asking you to consider.”

Benjamin glanced at the folder without touching it.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Emma.”

The name meant nothing to him.

“And what exactly makes you think a woman I’ve never met would agree to marry me?”

“That’s something you would have to discuss with her.”

Benjamin looked up sharply. “So this has already been arranged?”

“No. Nothing has been agreed to. But a conversation has taken place, and there may be a way for both sides to get what they need.”

“Both sides?”

Richard nodded toward the folder. “There are circumstances surrounding her family that make this arrangement possible. And there are reasons it could work for you, too.”

Benjamin’s gaze returned to the papers.

He could already see the shape of the conversation his father was trying to have. A marriage built on convenience. Terms negotiated before feelings had the chance to complicate them. A woman was selected because the circumstances made her suitable.

It was absurd.

He had spent years learning to recognize a bad deal before it reached his desk. This one sounded like a bad deal dressed in expensive clothes.

“I won’t be pressured into marrying a stranger.”

“Then don’t agree to anything until you’ve heard her side.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you refuse.”

Richard’s answer came without hesitation, which made Benjamin look at him again.

His father continued, “But at least make the decision yourself. Don’t dismiss her before you know who she is simply because the idea makes you uncomfortable.”

Benjamin looked down at the folder.

He didn’t open it.

He wasn’t interested in a new wife, a carefully negotiated arrangement, or a stranger brought into his life to satisfy his father’s concerns. He had spent two years constructing a life that required nothing from him beyond the ability to keep it running.

It was quiet.

Predictable.

Safe.

He had no intention of surrendering that peace to anyone.

“I’m not promising anything,” he said.

“I’m not asking for a promise.”

“Good.”

Benjamin rose from his chair.

The folder remained untouched between them.

He had no reason to believe a woman named Emma could change anything about his life. He had no reason to believe his father’s plan would survive a single serious conversation.

And yet, as he walked out of the study, the name followed him.

Emma.

He didn’t know her face, her voice, or what had brought her into his father’s orbit.

He knew only that someone had placed her name on his desk as though it belonged beside his.

Benjamin Collins had spent two years making sure nothing unexpected could get close enough to hurt him again.

He had no idea that the woman in that folder might be the first person in a long time capable of making him question whether a life without surprises was a life worth keeping.