MARRIED TO FIRE

ELIANA’S POV It was 2:13 am I look around my surrounding. I was in the bathroom of Ethan Carter’s penthouse. My wedding ring lay beside the sink. A bullet lying on the floor. I lowered my gaze to my hands, staring at the thick, crimson liquid staining my skin and soaking through my clothes. My breath caught. Blood. Ethan’s blood. My vision blurred. My heart pounded violently against my chest as a sharp ringing filled my ears. The noises around me grew deafening, each sound blurring into the next. Outside I could hear security personnels calling Ethan’s name as he laid unconscious in before me. I could hear Cole banging on the door, his voice rang through the hallway, followed by the frantic pounding of his fists against the door. “Open the damn door!” My body refused to move. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t understand how everything had gone so terribly wrong. Then my phone vibrated. I flinched. With trembling fingers, I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen. One new message. You did it. Good. I stared at the words, my stomach twisting. Six months earlier. If I had known that agreeing to dinner would be the beginning of one of the most complicated nights of my life I would have stayed home. I moved my hair out of my eyesight as Serena stood in front of me with her arms folded. “You’re going Eliana.” She said with a stern look. “I’m not.” I responded sharply staring at her. I sat cross-legged on my bed, dressed in a sweat set, with my laptop open beside me. Financial statements covered the screen, numbers blurring together the longer I stared at them. Somewhere between reviewing another transactions and receiving a lecture from my best friend, I’d begun to question every decision that had led me to this point. Including answering her request to go on a run earlier. “You’ve been working yourself into the ground for weeks,” Serena complained. “When was the last time you went out and did something that didn’t involve your father’s company?” “ well, I just went on a run with you.” “That doesn’t count.” I laughed despite myself. It was the first genuine laugh I’d had all day. My father’s company was in trouble. Serious trouble. The kind of trouble that made every conversation at home feel like a funeral and every phone call sound like another creditor demanding answers. Nobody wanted to say the word collapse, but it hung over the Sinclair household like a dark cloud. And I hated feeling helpless. “I don’t have time for a date, Serena.” “It’s dinner. Not a marriage proposal.” She replied grabbing her drink from the table. The irony of that statement would have been amusing if I’d known what was waiting for me. “One evening,” she continued. “You dress up, eat something expensive, let a man buy you dinner, and come home. That’s it.” “And if he’s insufferable?” “Leave.” “And boring?” I asked again “Leave.” “If he starts talking about cryptocurrency?” She threw her hands up “Eliana, just throw your drink at him.” I burst out laughing. “You’re a terrible influence.” “I’m a wonderful influence. Your problem is that you spend too much time inside your own head.” She wasn’t entirely wrong. After another ten minutes of relentless persuasion, I finally surrendered. One dinner. That was all I was promising. I didn’t even know the man’s name beyond the first name Serena had given me. Apparently, a friend of hers had arranged the introduction, and the two of them had exchanged enough information to settle on a time and location. Eight o’clock. A restaurant in Manhattan. I could survive that. Couldn’t I? By seven forty-five, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, wondering why I’d agreed to this in the first place. I wore a fitted black dress that fell just above my knees, its simple neckline balanced by delicate gold jewelry. My platinum-blonde hair framed my face in soft waves, and a pair of heels completed the look. I looked good. I was quite aware I looked good but didn’t mean I wanted to leave my apartment. My phone vibrated on the dresser. SERENA: Don’t embarrass me. Have fun. I rolled my eyes. I grabbed my purse and left before she could send another message. The restaurant was exactly the kind of place I would have expected from someone Serena’s friend considered suitable dating material. Soft lighting, polished marble floors, expensive wine displayed behind glass, and waiters who looked as though they had never experienced a bad day in their lives. Everything smelled like money. I checked my phone for the table number Serena had sent me. Table seventeen. Perfect. I followed the waiter through the dining area, scanning the tables until I spotted a man sitting alone near the windows. Dark hair. Black suit. Broad shoulders. He was looking at his phone, one hand resting beside a glass of water. Table seventeen. I approached him. “You’re late,” I said. He lifted his head. For a moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes were dark, almost unnervingly so, and his expression suggested that the world had personally offended him. He looked me over once, slowly enough to irritate me. Then his gaze returned to my face. “Excuse me?” I pulled out the chair opposite him. “You’re supposed to say hello before complaining about my punctuality.” One dark eyebrow rose. He didn’t say a word. “I wasn’t aware I was waiting for you.” I paused. Then I checked my phone again. Table seventeen. I looked at the number engraved on the small metal stand beside us. Seventeen. Unless Manhattan had developed a new numbering system in the last twenty minutes, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. “Well,” I said, settling into the chair, “someone’s waiting for you, and I doubt they’re going to appreciate that attitude.” His eyes darkened. “Is that so?” His mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile. But it was close. “Yes.” I replied irritably “And who, exactly, are you?” I gave him my name. “Eliana.” He watched me for another second. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Interesting .” I narrowed my eyes. “What is?” “Nothing.” “You’re a strange man.” “And you’re remarkably comfortable talking to strangers.” “I thought we were on a date.” That did it. He laughed. Not loudly, but enough to change his face completely. It was an unexpected transformation. The severe expression softened, and for the first time since I’d approached the table, he looked less like a man preparing to fire someone and more like someone capable of enjoying himself. I found that irritatingly attractive. He glanced at the empty chair beside him before returning his attention to me. “Tell me, Eliana. Who arranged this date?” “Serena’s friend.” “And you didn’t think to ask for the man’s name?” “I did. Apparently, I was supposed to receive a message with the details, but my friend has bad organizational skills.” The waiter arrived before I could ask another question. “Good evening. Would you like to begin with drinks?” I picked up the menu. “Water, please.” The man opposite me glanced at the waiter. “Bring us the wine list.” I looked up. “I said water.” “And I heard you.” “Then why are you ordering wine?” I asked “Because I want wine.” “Fascinating. Perhaps you should order for yourself instead of assuming the rest of us share your preferences.” The waiter stared very hard at his notepad. I suspected he was trying not to smile. The stranger, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Water for the lady,” he told the waiter. “And the wine list for me.” “Thank you,” I said sweetly. “You’re welcome.” He replied his dark demeanor shifting. “I wasn’t thanking you for your existence.” His lips curved. “Careful. You might hurt my feelings.” “Do you have any?” “Very few.” “That explains a lot.” The waiter hurried away. I opened my menu, determined not to look at the man across from me. It lasted approximately six seconds. “What?” I demanded. “I’m observing.” He chuckled. “So,” he said, “what do you do, Eliana?” I hesitated. It wasn’t a particularly complicated question, but I had spent so much time discussing my family’s business problems lately that I didn’t want to spend another evening thinking about them. “I help my father with his company.” “Help him how?” “Business operations. Financial matters. Whatever needs doing.” His attention sharpened. “Interesting.” “That’s twice you’ve said that. Do you have a limited vocabulary?” “Do you always have this much to say?” “Only when someone gives me a reason.” He smiled into his glass of water. I looked away before he caught me smiling, too. For a while, the conversation drifted into safer territory. Restaurants, bad experiences with people, and the peculiar misery of dealing with men who thought confidence and arrogance were interchangeable. He had a surprisingly dry sense of humor. I discovered that he disliked small talk, hated being interrupted, and apparently considered patience a virtue other people should practice around him. I also discovered that he listened. Really listened. When I spoke, he didn’t glance at his phone or interrupt to steer the conversation back toward himself. He watched my face, occasionally asking questions that suggested he’d been paying attention to details most people missed. It unsettled me more than his arrogance did. “What about you?” I asked eventually. “What do you do?” “Business.” He responded as the question bounced off him. I blinked. “That’s quite vague.” “It’s an accurate description.” I shook my head. “You know, if you’re trying to make yourself mysterious, it’s not working.” Actually he was mysterious. I didn’t know if he decided to put in so much effort to be or it just came easily. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” “I think you’re used to people asking questions and accepting whatever scraps of information you decide to give them.” For the first time, his smile faded slightly. There it was. A c***k in the armor. I wondered what I’d touched. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. I took a peak at his hands. Fair. A tattoo; i couldn’t quite see the rest. “And what do you think I should tell you?” I lifted my gaze and met his. “The truth would be a refreshing start.” Something passed through his expression, too brief for me to identify. Then he smiled again. “Perhaps next time.” I scoffed. “You’re assuming there’ll be a next time?” “You’re still here, aren’t you?” Unfortunately, I had no immediate answer to that. The waiter returned, saving me from having to invent one. We ordered dinner. And somehow, despite my best intentions, the evening continued. By the time our plates were cleared, I had learned three things about the stranger sitting opposite me. First, he was infuriatingly intelligent. Second, he enjoyed provoking me far too much. Third, I was attracted to him. The third discovery was the most inconvenient. He had long fingers, an immaculate watch, and a habit of tilting his head when I said something that amused him. His dark hair was styled neatly, though a few strands had fallen out of place during the evening. He looked like a man who had never been told no. I wanted to be the first person to say it to his face. Preferably several times. “So,” he said, turning his glass between his fingers, “was the evening worth leaving your house for?” “Ask me again when I’m safely home.” “That bad?” “I haven’t decided whether you’re tolerable yet.” “And what would help you decide?” I pretended to consider it. “Silence.” “That’s unfortunate. I was thinking of asking you to stay for another drink.” I looked at him. He looked at me. And there it was again—that strange little pause in which the world seemed to narrow to the space between us. I could have said no.I probably should have. Instead, I smiled. “One drink.” His answering smile was slow and infuriating. “Of course.” An hour later, we were still there. We talked about ambition, family expectations, and the strange pressure of being expected to become someone other people could be proud of. I told him that I hated being underestimated. He told me that people often mistook silence for weakness. I asked whether that was a personal experience. He said, “More often than you’d imagine.” For a moment, I wondered what kind of life had taught him to speak that way. Then I remembered that I barely knew him. Perhaps that was the appeal. He was a stranger. No family expectations, no financial statements, no uncomfortable conversations about what would happen if my father’s company failed. Just one evening in which I could exist without carrying the weight of everything waiting for me at home. When the conversation drifted toward relationships, I found myself unexpectedly honest. “I’m not looking for anything complicated,” I admitted. His expression turned thoughtful. “Most people don’t look for complications.” “Then why do they keep finding them?” “Perhaps they don’t recognize them until it’s too late.” I studied him. “That sounds like experience talking.” “Perhaps.” He responded dropping his glass “You’re very good at avoiding questions.” “And you’re very good at asking them.” “Someone has to keep this conversation interesting.” He laughed quietly. Then his gaze dropped to my mouth. It happened so briefly that I might have imagined it. Almost. My stomach tightened. Oh, this was dangerous. Not because he seemed threatening, but because I was beginning to forget that I had come here intending to eat dinner and go home. Was he a p*****t? Eventually, I checked my phone. Eleven twenty-three. My eyes widened. “Oh, no.” He glanced at the time. “Something wrong?” “I was supposed to be home hours ago.” “Are you expecting someone?” “No. I just have things to do tomorrow.” “Important things?” “Very.” “More important than this?” I stared at him. He looked entirely serious. I laughed. “You’re unbelievably arrogant.” “And yet you’re smiling.” I immediately stopped. His smile widened. Then he leaned back in his chair, completely satisfied with himself. “Don’t look so offended,” he said. “You’re the one who stayed.” “I stayed because I was being polite.” “Of course you did.” “I did.” I narrowed my eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.” “There you go again, acting like you’re clever when you’re really just irritating.” His brows lifted. “I’m irritating?” “Painfully.” I replied already done with the conversation. I needed to leave before he vexed me more. “And yet you’re still sitting there.” I glanced toward the exit. “I’m leaving now.” That was my cue to leave. “Because I said something you didn’t like?” “Because it’s late.” I responded grabbing my things. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” I pushed my chair back. He didn’t move to help me. Good, i didn’t need his help. I stood, smoothing down my dress and reaching for my purse. He watched me with that same infuriating calm, as though he had all the time in the world and I was the one making a scene. “You could at least pretend to be sorry for being rude!.”I said. “I wasn’t rude.” “You ordered wine after I asked for water, interrogated me all evening, refused to tell me what you do, and then implied I have no self-control because I stayed for dinner.” “I never implied you had no self-control.” “You didn’t have to. Your face did.” His mouth twitched. That only made me angrier. “Are you laughing?” He leaned back, studying me with open amusement. “You are very arrogant.” I said angrily with a scoff. I turned away from him. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Home.” From the corner of my eyes I could see him signaling to the waiter. The follow me. “I don’t need an escort, quit following me.” I stopped walking. He stopped, too. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Under the soft lights outside the restaurant, he looked even more handsome than he had inside. He straightened, looking taller than I had sized him up to be. It was deeply unfair. I folded my arms. Angry that Serena set me up to this. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there brooding. I stared at him. He looked down at me with little amusement. He had the audacity to look pleased. “You really do enjoy getting on my nerves, don’t you?” His jaw tightened. The change was subtle, but I noticed it. For the first time all night, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. Then his gaze dropped to my mouth. The irritation in my chest tangled with something warmer. He stepped closer. Not enough to touch me, but enough that I became acutely aware of the distance between us. “Hmm, are you always this feisty?” It caught me off guard. I looked at him, searching his face for the teasing smile I expected. It wasn’t there. For once, he seemed genuinely interested in my answer. I should have asked for his full name. I should have asked what he did for a living, where he lived, and why a man like him was sitting alone at a restaurant on a Friday night. But I didn’t care. I didn’t want to meet him again. I’m sure there wasn’t going to be a second date. I rolled my eyes. His smile widened. I hated his cockiness. It irked me! He laughed under his breath. Then his expression changed. Only slightly. But I caught it. “Goodnight,” I whispered. I turned before he could respond and walked toward my car, refusing to look back until I reached the door. When I finally did, he was still standing beneath the restaurant lights, watching me. Our eyes met. I shook my head, and got into the car. I didn’t know his surname. I didn’t know what business he was involved in. I didn’t even know whether I would ever see him again. But for the first time in weeks, I drove home without thinking about my father’s compan I turned again. This time he was without his suit now. Just his white shirt and waist coat. I could see clearly now. He had a tattoo sleeve. Covered the entire one of his hands. With a men close to him. I thought about dark eyes, infuriating smiles, and a man who had somehow turned an ordinary dinner into something I wasn’t ready to name. I had no idea that, somewhere behind me, he was already making a phone call. “Mr. Carter.” Ethan held his phone to his ear, his gaze fixed on the road where Eliana’s car had disappeared. “Go ahead.” “Your meeting for tonight has been cancelled. The gentleman’s assistant confirmed it nearly two hours ago.” Ethan’s expression hardened. “Two hours ago?” “Yes, sir.” The security personnel answered. He glanced toward the restaurant entrance. The woman who had mistaken him for her date had arrived shortly after that. He should have corrected her immediately. Instead, he’d spent hours entertaining a stranger who argued with him over wine, questioned his profession, accused him of lying, and kissed his cheek as though she hadn’t just turned his evening upside down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed someone’s company so effortlessly. “What was the name of the person who was supposed to meet me?” he asked. His assistant gave him the name. Ethan barely listened. He was still thinking about Eliana. “Send me the details of the meeting that was cancelled,” he instructed. “And find out who arranged the reservation.” “Of course, sir.” He ended the call. For a moment, he considered asking his security team to identify the woman. Then he dismissed the thought. He didn’t need to know everything about her.Not tonight. He slid into the back of his car and loosened his tie. “Home, sir?” his driver asked. Ethan looked once more toward the restaurant. “Yes.” The car pulled into traffic. He had no idea that the woman he’d just met was Eliana Sinclair, daughter of Thomas Sinclair. He had no idea that the Sinclair family was about to become central to a deal that could change the future of his empire. And he certainly had no idea that, before long, he would be expected to marry her. For now, she was simply the beautiful stranger who had mistaken him for someone else. And Ethan Carter, a man who rarely thought about anyone twice, found himself wondering whether he would ever see her again.