Bound By Fate

Chapter Five

Alexander

I had barely shut the door of my penthouse behind me when the weight of my father's words came crashing back into my chest.

Marriage.

I scoffed, throwing my keys onto the marble counter and loosening the top button of my shirt. The city lights blinked beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, mocking me with their calm indifference.

Of all the things my father could’ve demanded, marriage was the condition he attached to my inheritance. Not just any marriage — a real one. Within two weeks.

I sank into the leather armchair in the living room, dragging a hand down my face.

“I swore I'd never fall in love,” I muttered to myself, “let alone marry someone.”

For over a decade, nothing had shaken me — not business rivals, not backstabbing shareholders, not my brother’s endless schemes. But this? This was the first challenge that made me hesitate.

Where the hell was I supposed to find a woman who'd be willing to marry me in two weeks?

As if the universe had a sense of humor, a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I called, my voice colder than I intended.

The door opened, and my ever-composed secretary, Cole, stepped in with his usual neat posture and tablet in hand.

“Good evening, sir. You called for me?”

“Yeah. Eric pissed me off again. I need you to handle the Petrova case and follow up on the Singapore files. I’m done wasting energy on his childish games.”

Cole arched his brow. “Sir, may I ask what this is really about?”

I stood up abruptly and paced toward the window, my hands clenched at my sides. I don’t know why he won’t just give me what belongs to me. "I’ve worked harder than anyone in this family, and yet—he’s still playing games.”

Cole waited in silence, his expression unreadable, something I appreciated about him. He never interrupted, just observed.

“He said I won’t get the full share of the inheritance unless I marry in less than a month,” I finally blurted.

There was a beat of silence.

Cole blinked. “Ah. So, it’s that serious.”

“That man knew exactly what he was doing,” I snapped. “He knows I don’t believe in love, don’t care for marriage, don’t even date.”

Cole shrugged slightly. “Well, for someone like you, this might actually be... difficult.”

I turned sharply toward him. “Excuse me?”

“I mean no offense, sir,” he said, trying not to smirk. “But you're not exactly the cuddly type.”

Despite myself, I chuckled bitterly. “So what do I do? Grab the next woman I see on the street and say, ‘Marry me, I’ll make it worth your while?’”

He gave me a look. “Not the worst idea you’ve had.”

I sighed and slumped back onto the couch. “This is madness.”

“You’re Alexander Voss. Girls would kill for the chance to be in your arms, even if it’s just a formality.”

That made me raise a brow. “Well, I do have a very charming face.”

He gave me a dry look, unimpressed by my vanity.

“But seriously,” he said, stepping closer, “what if you don’t look for a real marriage? What if you create one?”

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“A contract marriage,” he said smoothly. “Strictly business. You choose someone, lay out the terms, she signs, you get married, and when the time’s up, you part ways. Simple.”

I tilted my head, slowly considering it. “A... contract marriage.”

“Yes. You don’t have to love her. You just have to marry her. Your father didn’t say anything about it being a romantic union.”

My eyes narrowed in thought. “That... could actually work. No emotions, no strings. Just terms.”

“Exactly.”

“But where do I even find a woman desperate—or crazy—enough to marry me in two weeks?”

“We’ll dig,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “We can go through the background files of all employees and external partners. You never know, someone might stand out.”

I gave a small nod. “Alright. Get it done. I want options on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

“Of course, sir.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “And, sir… maybe try not to scare them away with your usual charm.”

“Ha-ha,” I said dryly.

As he left, I stood by the window, staring into the darkened skyline. The city never slept — and apparently, neither would I, not until I found a woman willing to pretend to be my wife.

Well, a contract marriage isn’t love… and love is the only thing I promised I’d never fall into.

I walked toward the kitchen, poured myself a drink, and whispered to no one,

“This just might work.”

The next morning, the sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, warming the marble floors. I stretched, ran a hand through my hair, and got ready for my usual weekend routine. A quick change into workout gear, and I headed down to the private gym before taking a long jog around the gated neighborhood.

It helped clear my head. A little.

Marriage. That ridiculous word still sat heavy on my mind.

When I got back, sweat clung to my shirt and neck, and the cold splash of the shower did little to wash off the weight I felt. I tossed on a hoodie and joggers, fixed myself a quick omelet, and walked to my study with a cup of black coffee in hand.

I barely sat before my phone buzzed.

Cole.

“Sir, I sent some of the files this morning. Top candidates only,” he said the moment I picked up.

“Alright. Thanks,” I replied and ended the call.

I opened the file on my laptop and began scrolling through the names of several women — some were employees, others were outsiders with impressive family histories or business ties. But none of them caught my eye. Too polished. Too perfect. Too strategic. I didn’t need a trophy wife for show. I needed someone… convenient. Someone who wouldn’t complicate things. Someone who had something to gain.

And then I saw her.

Sophia Adams.

Her name sounded familiar, probably from the staff directory — but her file was what made me pause.

Single. Background: stable academic history. Family: financially struggling. Current position: Junior executive assistant. No notable scandals. Quiet. Hardworking. Clean record.

My lips curved into a smirk.

“Just what I needed.”

She wouldn’t have a reason to say no. She needed the money, and I needed the marriage.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Cole.

“Cole, get me Sophia Adams’ contact info,” I said.

“You literally have the company directory, sir,” he replied, sounding mildly annoyed.

“So?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Most of the girls on that list are already your employees. You have their numbers. You’re the CEO, remember?” he said, dry as ever. “Anyway, I’m busy. Bye.”

The call ended before I could respond.

Employees? That hadn’t even registered. How many people work for me again?

I sighed, pulled up the internal database, and typed in Sophia Adams.

There it was. I stared at her number for a moment. Something about this felt… oddly serious, even though it wasn’t supposed to be.

I shook it off and sent a simple message.

“Meet me, Miss Sophia, once you get to work on Monday.”

No explanation. No pleasantries. She’d show up, they always did when I called.

I leaned back in my chair, drumming my fingers along the edge of the desk.

“She should accept this contract, right?” I said aloud to no one in particular.

I glanced at her photo again.

Maybe.