His Brother's Bride

CHAPTER ONE Everything in the room spoke of tradition, prestige, and a life lived by rules written long before she was born. She had grown up here—in this mansion, in this world. The sound of the clock ticking on the far wall echoed louder than it should have in a lavishly silent room. Isla Adeyemi stood close to the tall windows of the family's drawing room, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Afternoon light streamed through the glass, casting golden lines across the velvet curtains and the antique furniture. Yet the walls felt foreign now. Like a museum where her life had been framed and preserved but never truly lived. She heard the door behind her click open. She knew immediately who it was without even turning around. He was always the first to appear; he was quiet, certain, and had a gravity about him that drew everyone in whether they wanted to or not. “Adrian,” she said without turning. “Isla.” His voice was like smooth marble—polished, precise, cold. She finally turned to face him. Adrian Obasi stood tall, tailored to perfection in a charcoal grey suit that probably cost more than the average person’s monthly income. His expression was unreadable, as always. Those dark eyes of his gave nothing away. “Your father says everything is ready,” he said. “For what?” she asked, even though she already knew. He tilted his head, just a fraction. “For the engagement announcement. The venue’s booked. The press will be there. All that’s left is for us to smile and pretend it’s what we both want.” Her lips twitched—somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You make it sound like a funeral.” Adrian didn’t smile. “Only because one of us is about to bury their freedom.” The words hit her harder than she’d expected. But she didn't show it. That was the first lesson you learned when born into a powerful family: never let them see you bleed. “I didn’t realize you valued your freedom that much,” she said. “You’ve always seemed… comfortably obedient.” Adrian stepped further into the room, his footsteps soft against the Persian rug. “And you? Are you still pretending this is what you want?” “I’m not pretending anything,” she said. He paused a few feet from her, studying her with that intense gaze. “Aren’t you?” Isla straightened. “Look, let’s just get through this. We both know why we’re doing it. Our families want the merger, your father wants influence in Lagos, my father wants to make a statement. We’re just the beautiful bow on the gift.” “Speak for yourself,” he muttered. She glanced away, feeling heat rise in her chest. Not from anger. From frustration. From the suffocating awareness that everything in her life had already been decided without her input. “You could still back out,” she said, softly this time. “You have more power than I do.” Adrian was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed. It was lower. Less rehearsed. “If I back out now, I lose more than the deal. I lose my father’s trust. I lose the future I’ve been building since I was sixteen.” He looked at her, his tone sharp. “And don’t pretend you don’t understand that.” She did. All too well. “I’m just tired of pretending that this is normal,” she said. “That it’s okay to marry someone for the sake of business.” Adrian stepped closer, close enough that she could see the way the sunlight picked up flecks of gold in his otherwise dark eyes. “We don’t have to pretend,” he said. “We just have to perform.” “Same thing.” He gave her a long look before abruptly stating, "You're not ready for this." Isla recoiled from the remarks because they were so direct and definitive. "What is the intended meaning of that?" "It indicates that you continue to believe in romantic tales," he remarked. "In happy-ever-after scenarios." You continue to believe that someone will save you from all of this. Isla started to complain, but she didn't say anything. Adrian went on, "I'm not that man." "I'll tell you the truth. I'm not going to tell you a fairy tale. I'm not the right man for you if you're waiting for something more than duty. The silence between them was heavy now. Like a third person in the room. Finally, Isla spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do I have a choice?” Adrian’s jaw tensed. He didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “You always have a choice. But choices come with consequences.” A lump formed in her throat. “And what about your choice, Adrian? Why are you really going through with this?” His answer came too fast. “Because I stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago.” He turned toward the door, but hesitated at the threshold. “If there’s something I should know—something that could ruin this arrangement—tell me now,” he said without looking back. Isla's heart pounded in her chest. Her mind flashed with an image—*him*. The man who knew her heart in ways Adrian never would. The one she had left behind to become who she was expected to be. But she swallowed it down. “There’s nothing,” she said. The lie slipped from her lips like silk. Adrian nodded once, then left, the door closing behind him with a soft click that felt far louder than it should have. Isla stood in place, her arms still crossed, though now it felt like she was holding herself together. She inhaled deeply and let the silence fill her up. In three days, the world would watch her say yes to a man who didn’t love her. In three days, she would smile for the cameras and wear the family heirloom ring like it meant something. But in the deepest part of her heart, she knew. She had already said yes to someone else. And that yes was the one she could never take back.