Married To My Rival

Chapter Three: The Beginning of the Spectacle

The envelope lay in my hand like a hot coal. The simple paper felt heavier than anything else I had touched that day. My name was written in small, deliberate letters across the front, as if whoever sent it enjoyed taking their time.

*He is hiding something from you.*

My breath trembled in my throat. I stared at the words until they blurred. This was not a coincidence. This was not sabotage from a random competitor or a bored enemy. Someone was watching me closely. Someone had been near my suite without making a sound.

Someone had slipped inside the most secure residence in the city.

I closed the envelope slowly, my hands refusing to stop shaking. Before I could think about anything else, there was a knock on the door.

Not soft. Not hesitant. Sharp.

I jumped.

Adrian walked in without waiting for permission. He did not look irritated or amused this time. He looked alert. Focused.

His eyes swept my face. “You look pale.”

“I am fine,” I replied automatically.

“You’re not.”

“It’s nothing.” I lied.

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Isabella.”

The way he said my full name made my heart twist. Firm. Patient. Not quite gentle. More like someone who expected the truth and would not accept a lie.

I hid the envelope behind my back. “I am tired. Today was a lot.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp and calculating. He probably knew I was lying. He always seemed to know. But he did not press further.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“You meet my parents.”

A shock ran through me. “Tomorrow? Already?”

“Yes.” He loosened his tie and rolled his sleeves up just a little. The movement felt deliberate, as if he knew I was watching. “My mother is very excited. She enjoys planning events. Weddings are her sport.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“That is because it is.” His lips curved. “But she will love you. Or pretend to. Hard to tell sometimes.”

I stared at him, unsure whether to be amused or anxious.

“You should rest,” he repeated.

He left the room without looking back.

When the door clicked shut behind him, I held the envelope again. I looked at the neat handwriting and a cold shiver ran down my spine.

He is hiding something from you.

I pressed the envelope under a stack of documents on the small desk near the balcony. I did not want Adrian to find it. Not yet.

Sleep came slowly that night. My thoughts twisted into knots. Images of Adrian’s face. The strangers in the boardroom. The reporters outside. The elegant hallways filled with silent portraits.

And the warning.

The danger.

***************

When morning finally came, it brought no relief.

I woke early, dressed carefully, and stepped into the hallway. The Blackwell mansion was quieter than expected. The air carried a faint scent of lavender. Staff moved in silence. The moment I walked downstairs, I saw him.

Adrian stood near the front door, coat perfectly fitted, hair styled in that effortless way that probably required effort he would never admit. He glanced up at me. His eyes trailed over me from head to toe.

“You look presentable,” he said.

I frowned. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“It was a compliment.”

“It didn’t sound like one.”

“It was implied.”

I sighed. “Are all your compliments implied?”

“Only when I’m trying to avoid inflating your ego.”

I almost burst into a laugh. Almost. He was impossible.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As I will ever be.”

We walked out to the car. His private driver held the door open for me. Adrian sat across from me again, one leg casually crossed over the other. He watched me with a calm confidence that made me want to shift in my seat.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

“Is that an observation or a judgment?”

“Both.”

I narrowed my eyes. “This is not a normal situation.”

“You are marrying into a family known for two things. Wealth and intensity. My mother lives for perfect events. She has been planning parties since she was fifteen. A wedding is her chance to prove to the world that she is still the queen of spectacle.”

“That isn’t helping me relax.”

“You don’t need to relax. You only need to survive.”

“I’m starting to think you enjoy scaring me.”

He smiled again, small and infuriating. “Only when it works.”

The car pulled up in front of a tall estate surrounded by magnolia trees. The Blackwell family home made his mansion look modest. The gates opened slowly. The building itself was a masterpiece of glass and white stone. It had a quiet power to it, the kind of place built not to impress guests but to remind the world of legacy.

The moment I stepped out, a woman walked briskly toward us.

She was beautiful. Elegant. Confident. Taller than most women I had seen, dressed in a white suit that looked custom tailored. Her silver hair was pinned in a simple twist. Her eyes were sharp and assessing.

This was Lorette Blackwell.

Adrian’s mother.

She looked at me once. Only once. Yet that one glance was enough to feel like she read everything about me.

Then she smiled.

“Isabella. Finally.” Her voice was warm, smooth, and firmly controlled. “I have been waiting to meet you.”

“Thank you for having me,” I said.

She took my hands with a quick squeeze. “We have a lot to do. A wedding this large cannot be planned late. We should have started yesterday.”

Adrian snorted quietly beside me.

She glanced at him without turning her head. “Do not make that sound. You know it is true.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She led us inside. The house smelled like fresh flowers. Several staff members carried boxes and documents across the foyer. Lorette clapped her hands once and everyone stopped moving.

“Bring the planning materials to the main dining room,” she said. “And someone bring Hazel in when she arrives.”

My eyes widened. “Hazel is coming?”

“Of course she is,” Lorette said. “She is your assistant. She knows you better than I do. She will help.”

Adrian leaned slightly toward me. “She likes Hazel. That is a good sign.”

“I noticed.”

We walked into the dining room. It was massive. A long polished table stretched across the space. On it were stacks of binders, color palettes, venue sketches, flower catalogs, menu layouts, and what looked like fabric samples draped over the chairs.

Lorette clasped her hands with excitement. “We begin.”

I stood there frozen.

Adrian smirked. “Overwhelmed?”

“A little.”

“My mother does not do small.”

“I can see that.”

Hazel rushed in through the side entrance with her tablet. Her eyes widened as she took in the room. “Oh. Wow. This is a war room.”

Lorette responded brightly. “Weddings are battles for beauty. We must win.”

Hazel laughed softly and moved to stand beside me. She took one look at my face and whispered, “Stay calm. I will save you if things get out of hand.”

“You cannot save me from everything.”

“I can try.”

Lorette motioned for all of us to sit. Adrian took the seat at the head of the table.

“I didn’t mean you.” Loretta said looking in his direction.

“You may leave sweetheart. This is a field for the women.” She said “I’ll let you know when we’re done, so you can come pick up your wife.”

Wife.

I am soon to be someone’s wife. Someone I do not know. Someone I do not love.

“Let us begin with the essentials,” Lorette said as Adrian made his way out of the room. “Colors.”

I blinked. “Colors?”

“Yes. Your wedding palette. Gold is already expected since you are both from legacy families. White is traditional. We can add a third color. Something elegant. Navy perhaps.”

Hazel leaned in. “You like emerald. Would you like it to be the third color?”

I cleared my throat. “Emerald is nice.”

Lorette nodded slowly. “Emerald works. It photographs well. It symbolizes strength.”

Next came the ceremony location.

“You will marry in St. Aurelia Cathedral,” Lorette declared. “There is no debate. It is the only venue dignified enough.”

Hazel whispered again. “Do you even know what St. Aurelia looks like?”

“No.”

“It is huge. Like a castle disguised as a church.”

“Oh.”

Lorette glanced toward us. “You will like it. It is dramatic. It suits the family you come from and the one you are marrying into.”

The planning session continued for hours. We discussed floral arches, guest lists, seating charts, the orchestra, the choir, the photographers, and the security protocols. Lorette moved at a blistering pace. Hazel typed everything. I tried not to drown.

At one point Lorette paused and looked directly at me.

“Isabella,” she said gently. “How do you feel about this?”

I had no answer.

“I know this is not a normal engagement,” she continued. “But your wedding is still your day. You should feel part of it.”

I swallowed. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Lunch arrived. We kept working. After a while, Lorette placed a large book in front of me. “Your gown.”

“My gown?”

“A designer will create it. You choose the style. They will fit it to perfection.”

I opened the book. Dresses filled each page. Silk. Lace. Satin. Long veils. Beaded bodices. My chest tightened.

This was real.

A wedding.

My wedding.

To a man I barely knew.

A man who irritated me more than anyone I had met. A man who watched me too closely. A man who might be hiding something.

The thought made my hands freeze.

Hazel spoke quickly. “We can take a break. Maybe Isabella needs air.”

Lorette nodded. “Yes. A walk in the garden is good.”

The garden was quiet. Fresh air eased the pressure in my chest. For a moment I forgot the envelope. The warning. The strange stalker hiding in the shadows of my life.

Everything was happening so fast. And I felt so alone.

Hazel stood behind me quietly, she was the closest thing I had to family now that my father was dead.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” I asked turning back to face Hazel.

“Are you having doubts?” She asked.

“‘Doubt’ would have been the term to use if I was ever on-board with this. I never truly agreed to this. I’m only doing this because I have no choice.”

“If I don’t do this, I’ll be the selfish heiress who chose to sell her father’s company off to the rival company rather than making a sacrifice for the betterment of her family’s business.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

“I’ve always pictured my wedding day being a day of joy and happiness. This is nothing like I pictured. The wedding feels like it’s more of Lorette’s than it is mine. I feel like a stranger in my own wedding plans.”

“Many people aren’t as strong as you are. You’re marrying a man you do not love for the good of your family’s business. That’s what real leadership is all about, sacrifice.”

“I hate this.”

“I know”

“I hate this, and I hate him.”

“I hate how confident he is. Sometimes, I wish I could slap that smug smile off his pretty face.”

“Well, here I am.” It was Adrian.