Being Mr CEO's Bride

Chapter 3

Freddy's Pov

Some people inherit jewelry. Others, maybe an old cottage in the hills or a box of war medals.

Me? I inherited a billion-dollar hotel empire, a boardroom full of jackals, and a lifetime subscription to family dysfunction.

Montgomery Hotel Group wasn’t just a legacy—it was a leash. My grandfather built it from a single downtown inn to a global name, my father, on the other hand, nearly ran it into the ground with his mergers and vanity projects, and now it is mine to fix.

Or choke on it.

If someone had told me five years ago that I would be the CEO of the Montgomery Grand Hotel Group, I would have laughed in their face, probably with a glass of Scotch in one hand and a model in the other. Back then, my life was a rotating carousel of private jets, red-carpet events, and a list of flings long enough to make the tabloids salivate.

Now? My life is spreadsheets, board meetings, and dodging my father’s matchmaking attempts like they’re sniper fire.

Well, welcome to responsibility, Freddy.

Sighing, I scrolled through a series of emails from the accounting department, ignoring the ache building behind my eyes. Red flags everywhere. Too many subsidiaries bleeding cash. Inflated invoices. Vendor overlaps. Someone’s laundering money through our books, I could feel it. But calling out corruption in a board built on back-scratching and veiled threats? That was the kind of thing that gets you voted out. Or worse.

I looked up from the screen to the skyline view outside my office. The Montgomery Grand towered high above the rest of downtown San Francisco, all steel and glass and polished stone. A monument to our family name.

A monument that’s starting to rot beneath the marble.

A knock sounded on my office door, jerking me out of my inner musings.

I did not even bother to look up. “If it’s about the Pierce merger again, tell my father I’ll call him when I’m dead.”

“It’s about your two p.m. board prep, sir,” my assistant said crisply. “But I’ll pass on the message.”

I sighed. “Thanks, Hannah. Give me ten.”

She left and I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my face.

Pierce Hotels.

Of course.

It is the father’s new obsession. He thinks marrying into the Pierce family will save our reputation, secure the merger, and make everyone on the board feel warm and fuzzy. He wants me to marry Demi Pierce, the heiress with the perfect pedigree and the emotional depth of a cereal box.

It was laughable.

No—scratch that. It was laughable until I found out just last week that my father has been calling board members behind my back. Whispering things. Setting expectations.

Now?

It’s suffocating.

Not to mention that the only relationship I had ever been in, had been nothing short of a nightmare. It had been brief and messy.

And now, the very thought of being shackled to another manipulative Barbie for life was enough to make me consider an extended sabbatical in the Swiss Alps. Or a coma.

Which brings me to the blind date.

Lilyanna Russo.

I almost didn’t go. I hated setups. Hated pretending. Hated anything that feels like another string being tied around my neck.

But something in the tone of the message from her parents’ assistant had sounded... desperate.

And it had piqued something inside me.

Curiosity, maybe. Or sheer boredom.

I just wasn't sure.

****

The elevator doors closed as I pressed the button for the top floor, already regretting the decision to go through with this blind date. I wasn’t going to show up. Hell, I put on my jacket twice and tossed it back onto the couch both times.

But something about the silence in my penthouse tonight made me restless.

My father’s voice still echoed in my head from this morning: “The merger with Pierce Hotels goes through, or you lose the board. You lose everything”

Translation: Marry Demi Pierce, or watch your Legacy be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

I was getting bored with that, honestly.

So now, I was here. On a rooftop I owned, heading to a table I dread, about to meet a woman handpicked by someone with an agenda.

Fantastic.

The elevator dinged again as the door opened with a soft swish. And as I stepped out, I took one moment to observe everything and everywhere.

Candlelight. Soft jazz. San Francisco sprawled in lights below us. The restaurant buzzed with wealth and quiet exclusivity, the kind that costs more than most people's rent.

My world.

My cage.

Shaking my head, I walked up to my usual table which was waiting in the corner with the perfect skyline view.

Perfect for a blind date if you ask me.

I had barely settled in when I saw her as she stepped out. I wasn't sure how I knew it was her considering the fact I had never seen her before her pictures.

But I recognized her. And she was not what I expected.

The woman crossing the rooftop looks like she crash-landed from a different universe. Tight burgundy dress, glitter for days, blonde wig that’s just this side of chaotic. She moves like someone wearing heels for the first time—or the first time in years. But there’s something in the way she squares her shoulders like she’s marching to war instead of a date.

She’s stunning. Not polished. Not poised. But magnetic.

She spotted me, froze, and then quickly recovered and marched toward the table like it was a dare.

“Lilyanna?” I ask.

She nods. Slightly too fast.

Interesting.

She practically collapsed into the chair across from me and in no time she was babbling about UFOs. Allergies to the color orange. A neighbor fleeing Latin-whispering dolls. It was unhinged, and yet… It was perfect. She was perfect. Not for me, but for the chaos I needed to derail my father’s merger.

And when I got home that night, I replayed the whole event of the evening in my head. The contract sat on my desk, unsigned. Twenty million dollars.

I was most likely going to spend a year of my life with a woman who might actually believe that bigfoot was real.

What was I really thinking?

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Hannah.

“Your father called again. He's demanding an update on the Pierce merger.”

I smirked. “Let him know I'm working on it.”

If “working on it” meant gambling on a wildcard to save my company, then sure. I was all in.

I poured myself a drink, the city glowing beneath the windows, unaware that I may have just turned my life into a PR nightmare with legs and a haunted doll collection.

And the worst part?

I want her to say yes.

God help me, I want to see what kind of chaos she brings next.