Terms Of Us

Chapter 3

ISABELLA VANCE'S POV

There was something particularly unsettling about being summoned home by your parents.

Especially when your father used the words we need to talk.

It was never good news.

Sometimes, it was a family emergency. Other times, it was an announcement about some distant relative getting married. Occasionally, it was my mother deciding that my life needed restructuring because, apparently, being twenty-nine and unmarried was a personal failure.

But tonight felt different.

Perhaps it was the strange seriousness in my father's voice.

Or perhaps it was the fact that he already knew about Damian Blackwood's proposal before I had even told him.

Either way, I wasn't looking forward to dinner.

The Vance residence stood behind enormous iron gates, surrounded by manicured gardens and expensive landscaping. It was the kind of house that made visitors lower their voices without knowing why.

I had grown up there.

Yet sometimes, standing outside its magnificent entrance, I felt like a visitor myself.

"Welcome home, Miss Isabella."

"Thank you, James."

I handed him my handbag and walked into the living room.

My mother sat on the cream-coloured sofa, looking effortlessly elegant in a silk blouse and tailored trousers.

"There's my beautiful daughter."

"Hello, Mother."

She kissed my cheek.

"Your father is in his study. He'll join us shortly."

I narrowed my eyes.

"That sounds ominous."

She laughed.

"Must everything be a conspiracy with you?"

"Only when people start summoning me home without explanations."

She shook her head.

"Come. Sit with me."

I sat beside her.

For a moment, I studied her face.

"Mother?"

"Hmm?"

"How long have you known Damian Blackwood?"

Her fingers paused around her teacup.

And there it was.

That tiny hesitation.

The kind people made when they were deciding how much truth to tell.

"Your father has known his family for years."

"That's not what I asked."

She sighed.

"Isabella, the Blackwoods and Vances have shared business interests for a very long time."

I leaned back.

"And nobody thought to mention that to me?"

"Your father intended to explain."

"Convenient."

Before she could respond, my father entered.

Richard Vance was a man who had spent most of his life being listened to. Even now, in his late sixties, he possessed the sort of presence that made people reconsider interrupting him.

"Good evening, sweetheart."

"Good evening, Daddy."

He kissed my forehead before taking the armchair opposite us.

"Shall we talk?"

I crossed my legs.

"Please. I'm dying of curiosity."

He exchanged a glance with my mother.

I hated that glance.

It was the look parents gave each other when they had rehearsed a conversation and were hoping their child wouldn't notice.

My father folded his hands.

"Damian's proposal wasn't entirely unexpected."

I stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

"The Blackwood family approached us several weeks ago."

I went still.

"Several weeks?"

"Yes."

"And you knew?"

"We were discussing the possibility of an alliance."

I let out a short laugh.

"An alliance."

My father nodded.

"Blackwood Global has been looking to expand its infrastructure investments in Aurelia. Our family's connections would make that considerably easier."

"And my company?"

"Blackwood has the resources to support your development project."

I stared at him.

For a moment, I couldn't find the right words.

Then they came.

"So while I've been working myself half to death trying to save my company, the two of you have been sitting in this house discussing my marriage?"

"Isabella—"

"No, Daddy. Please. I'd like to understand."

My voice was quieter now.

Somehow, that made the anger worse.

"Did either of you think to ask me what I wanted?"

My mother reached for my hand.

"We were trying to protect you."

I pulled my hand away.

"From what? Making my own decisions?"

Silence settled over the room.

My father sighed.

"Your company is in a difficult position. We know how much you've sacrificed for it. This arrangement could help you."

"I didn't build Vance International Group so that I could hand over my personal life in exchange for financial assistance."

"Nobody is asking you to hand over your life."

I looked at him.

"Daddy, the man proposed marriage."

"And we believe it could be beneficial."

I laughed bitterly.

"Of course you do."

My father leaned forward.

"Isabella, listen to me. You and Damian would be entering this arrangement as equals. Neither family intends to take control of your company."

"Then why does it feel like everybody has already made a decision except me?"

Nobody answered.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than an argument would have.

Dinner was served shortly afterwards.

I barely touched my food.

My mother attempted to discuss an upcoming charity gala, while my father occasionally glanced at me with the expression of a man who knew his daughter was considering committing murder with a dinner fork.

Eventually, I put my cutlery down.

"Does Damian know about these discussions?"

My father looked up.

"Of course."

I stared at him.

"Wonderful. So I'm the only person who didn't receive the invitation to my own future."

"Isabella, please."

"No, Mother. I'm genuinely curious. Did you also discuss the wedding date? Perhaps the colour of my dress? Should I start practising my signature with the surname Blackwood?"

"That's enough."

My father's voice was firm.

I looked at him.

And for a moment, I was twenty years old again, sitting at this same dining table while he explained why my business degree was more useful than the creative career I had once wanted.

But I wasn't twenty anymore.

I wasn't a little girl waiting for permission.

"I need you both to understand something," I said, rising from my chair. "I will not marry Damian Blackwood because either of you believes it's a brilliant business decision."

My father remained silent.

"If I ever agree to this arrangement, it will be because I have decided that it's what I want. Not because you've made it convenient for everyone else."

I picked up my handbag.

"Goodnight."

And walked away.

The night air was cool against my skin when I stepped onto the terrace.

I needed somewhere quiet.

Somewhere without expensive furniture, family expectations or conversations about the future of my womb.

My phone vibrated.

CHARLOTTE HAYES.

I answered.

"Please tell me you're free."

"Depends. Are you planning a murder?"

"Possibly."

"Excellent. Whom are we killing?"

I laughed, resting my elbows against the balcony railing.

"My parents."

"Again?"

"Charlotte."

"Alright, alright. What happened?"

I told her everything.

The family discussions. The business alliance. The fact that Damian's proposal had apparently been circulating between our families long before our meeting.

By the time I finished, Charlotte was quiet.

Then she said, "That's actually quite serious."

"Thank you for that groundbreaking observation."

"Isabella, I'm being serious. How do you feel about it?"

I watched the garden lights shimmer below.

"I don't know."

And that was the truth.

I was angry. Embarrassed. Frustrated.

But beneath all of that was something I hated admitting.

Fear.

My company was struggling, and Damian Blackwood possessed exactly what I needed to save it.

I hated that my circumstances had made his proposal worth considering.

"I don't want to lose my company, Charlotte."

"You won't."

"You can't promise that."

"No. But I can remind you that you've survived worse things than a difficult business negotiation."

I smiled faintly.

"Thank you."

"Now, please tell me something."

"What?"

"Is he handsome?"

I closed my eyes.

"Goodnight, Charlotte."

She burst into laughter.

I ended the call.

Unfortunately, the image of Damian Blackwood's irritatingly composed face remained in my mind.

When I finally returned to my apartment, I found a message waiting.

DAMIAN BLACKWOOD.

I understand you've spoken with your family.

I frowned.

Of course he knew.

I typed:

You seem remarkably informed about my movements.

His reply came a minute later.

Your father contacted me.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message arrived.

I'd like us to meet again. Somewhere outside the office.

I considered ignoring him.

Instead, I replied.

Why?

His answer was brief.

Because I suspect we have considerably more to discuss than marriage.

I placed my phone on the bedside table.

For several seconds, I simply stared at the ceiling.

My parents had known.

His family had known.

And somehow, I had become the final person to discover that my future was being discussed over private dinners and business meetings.

I didn't know whether I was more offended by the arrangement or by the fact that I was beginning to consider it.

One thing was certain.

If Damian Blackwood wanted me to become his wife, he was going to have to understand something first.

I wasn't an acquisition.

I wasn't a family investment.

And I certainly wasn't a woman who could be bought with a few billion dollars.

If we were going to negotiate a marriage, then we would negotiate it on my terms.

Every single one of them.

END OF CHAPTER THREE. 💜