DUKE'S UNWANTED BRIDE

Chapter 2 — The Arrogant Heir

Chapter 2: The Will

By the time I reached Blackwood House, I had already decided three things: I hated Oxford, I hated long train journeys, and Alexander Blackwood was going to be the most irritating part of this entire assignment.

The third conclusion had been reached approximately twenty minutes into the silent drive from the station. Alexander sat across from me, scrolling through his phone as if I weren't sitting three feet away. I stared out the window at the rolling green countryside, trying to ignore him.

"Do you always ignore people after deliberately embarrassing them?" I asked.

His eyes lifted. "I didn't embarrass you."

"You let me spend an hour insulting you."

"You were very entertaining."

I narrowed my eyes. "That wasn't an answer."

"It was the only answer you were getting."

Unbelievable.

The car eventually turned through enormous iron gates, revealing Blackwood House. Photographs hadn't done it justice; it was an absolute estate of grey stone, steep roofs, and sprawling gardens.

"Please tell me I don't have to walk to the front door," I muttered.

Alexander glanced up. "You don't. We have cars for that."

I rolled my eyes. A man in a dark suit opened the door, and we stepped inside to a rich mix of polished wood, old books, and faint florals. A woman in her fifties named Mrs. Clarke greeted us, noting that my room was ready and that Mr. Blackwood's assistant would provide the schedule.

My room was ridiculously large, featuring a massive bed, writing desk, and fireplace. Just as I finished taking it in, a young woman named Sophie knocked on the door, handing over a folder with my schedule.

"Meeting at four," I read. "With Alexander."

"There is one small change," Sophie offered sympathetically. "Mr. Blackwood has postponed the meeting. He had an unexpected matter arise."

I stared at her. "So I'm just supposed to sit here?"

"You can begin reviewing the manuscript."

True to form, I grabbed the folder and headed down to the enormous library. For two hours, I lost myself in the work—until I reached the seventh chapter and found harsh, handwritten red notes slashed across the page: Cut this. Too sentimental. The character wouldn't say this. Lazy writing.

"Who writes comments like this?" I muttered.

"Alexander."

I nearly jumped out of my chair. He stood behind me, wearing a dark suit with his tie slightly loosened. He looked tired.

"You cancelled our meeting," I challenged.

"Yes."

"You could have told me yourself."

"I could have."

I sighed, closing the manuscript. "Why did you agree to this arrangement?"

"Because my grandfather insisted."

"The chairman?"

"He doesn't make suggestions," Alexander replied, pulling out the chair opposite mine. "What do you think of the book?"

"It's ambitious," I said, hesitating. "And the middle is weak. The protagonist keeps making decisions that don't make sense—she refuses to leave home because she owes her father something, even though she explicitly wanted nothing to do with him three chapters earlier."

Alexander's expression shifted slightly. "Maybe people contradict themselves."

"Characters can. Authors can't."

For the next forty minutes, we argued fiercely over the manuscript. It wasn't polite or quiet, but for the first time, he looked genuinely interested.

Then his phone rang. The amusement vanished, and his voice turned cold as he answered. "No. I told you I'm not available... I don't care what he wants. I said no."

He ended the call, looking exhausted. Moments later, Sophie opened the library door. "Mr. Blackwood? There's a gentleman asking for you. Mr. Harrington."

Alexander closed his eyes briefly. "Of course. He says it's urgent?"

"Yes."

"I'll deal with it." Before leaving, he looked at me. "Elena. If anyone asks, you haven't seen me."

"You're hiding?"

"Please," he said, his voice dropping the arrogance entirely. I nodded, and he left me alone with my confusion.

Twenty minutes later, Sophie reappeared. "Mr. Blackwood wants you in his office."

I frowned, following her upstairs. Inside Alexander's office, an older man with silver hair and a sharp suit sat near the window.

"Miss Hart," he said, standing up. "I'm Edward Harrington."

I shook his hand, glancing at Alexander, who looked utterly furious.

"Why is she here?" Alexander demanded.

Harrington smiled. "Because she should be."

"I told you I wasn't interested."

"And yet you continue to avoid the matter." Turning to me, Harrington gestured to a chair. "Please sit."

I sat. Alexander remained standing, his jaw tight.

"I assume no one has explained why you were selected for this project," Harrington began.

"Margaret said I was qualified."

"That is true," Harrington said, looking at Alexander. "But that isn't the whole reason. Your family and the Blackwood family have a history."

I blinked. "My family?"

Alexander looked away. "You knew?" he was asked. His silence confirmed it.

"Your grandfather, William Blackwood, and your grandfather, Thomas Hart, were friends," Harrington explained, pulling a document from his briefcase. "They made an agreement many years ago."

"What kind of pact?" I asked.

Harrington looked directly at me. "The kind written into a will. The Blackwood estate has recently faced complications, and the will requires Alexander Blackwood to fulfill certain conditions before he can take complete control of the trust."

"What conditions?" I asked, my heart beating faster.

Harrington paused, glancing at Alexander before turning back to me. "You."

My mouth fell open. Alexander finally looked at me, his eyes full of frustration. "You're part of the condition."

"And what exactly does your grandfather's will want me to do?" I demanded.

Harrington slid the document across the desk. "The will states that Alexander must work alongside Elena Hart for the duration of the project."

"That's it?"

Harrington's voice lowered. "There's more. The final clause states that neither of you can walk away from the arrangement without forfeiting the inheritance."

I stared at the words, then looked up at Alexander. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm not," he said quietly.

"So we're trapped? For the next six weeks?"

Alexander's gaze held mine. "For the next six weeks."

I stared at the will, then back at the infuriating man standing across from me. "This is going to be a disaster."

For the first time all day, Alexander almost smiled. "On that, we agree."