Marriage for convenience

CHAPTER 2

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the black silk dress that hugged my curves.

It was elegant and understated, perfect for the occasion.

Another meeting with the board of directors at my father’s company, the empire he had built from the ground up.

But today, I wasn’t going in as the daughter of the late Charles Banks, I was going in as a woman fighting for everything her family had lost.

My father had been murdered in cold blood less than a month ago, and my world had fallen apart.

The media had swarmed, and the police had swiftly arrested my brother, Andrew, for the crime.

It was a nightmare, Andrew was the last person who would have harmed our father.

But the evidence was damning: his fingerprints on the weapon, his heated arguments with their father the night before, and a slew of financial irregularities linking him to embezzlement.

But I knew better. My brother was no murderer.

Someone had orchestrated this, and I'm determined to find out who.

Yet, the first obstacle in my path was an unexpected one: my father’s will.

It was simple, absurd, and devastatingly clear.

If I wanted to assume control of the company, I had to be married. No exceptions. No loopholes.

The will had been crafted by my father as a safeguard, a way to ensure stability in the company and his legacy, but it felt like a cruel joke.

I had no time for romance, no desire for marriage.

My father’s murder and Andrew’s imprisonment were all-consuming.

But without control of the company, I had no leverage to continue investigating, no way to protect Andrew from the mounting legal battles, and no path to the truth.

I gripped the edges of the polished wooden table in the conference room, my knuckles turning white.

It had been less than a month since my father’s death, but here I was, surrounded by his board members, facing down the very people who had betrayed my family.

“Miss Banks,” one of them said, his tone clipped, “as per your father’s will, you cannot assume control of Banks Enterprises unless you’re married.”

The words stung. I’d heard them at least a dozen times since the reading of the will, but the cold finality of the condition still felt like a slap in the face.

“So you’re saying my father’s legacy is going to...to outsiders?” My voice trembled with barely controlled fury.

The man across the table, a smug executive who had been my father’s right-hand man for years barely shrugged.

“Those are the terms, Miss Banks.”

I clenched my teeth, swallowing my rage.

“Fine. Then I’ll get married,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

“Expect to see me back here soon.”

I walked out of the conference room, my heels clicking against the marble floors, each step a reminder of how far I still had to go.

The moment I stepped outside, the cold New York air hit me, biting through my thin coat.

I pulled it tighter around herself, feeling the weight of everything on my shoulders.

My father’s death, my brother being locked up for a crime he didn’t commit.

And now the company slipping through my fingers.

I couldn’t let it all happen. I Wouldn't.

I looked at my phone. My best friend Sara had texted me earlier, suggesting we meet up for drinks to "blow off some steam."

I didn’t usually entertain distractions, but tonight was different. Tonight, I didn’t just need a distraction; I needed to forget.

One night, I told myself. One night to drown out the rage, the grief, and the hollow ache that had taken root in my chest.

I typed a quick message to Sara, asking her to set something up.

Sara had set me up with someone. A call boy, discreet and no strings attached.

My thoughts swirled as I glanced at the clock. I had hired someone. A call boy, to help me forget the weight of my reality for one night.

It was reckless and out of character, but I needed the distraction.

A few hours where I didn’t have to think, where I could lose myself in something else, someone else.

With a sigh, I grabbed my purse and keys, heading toward the door. The room felt stifling, the grief suffocating.

If my father had known how much his will would complicate my life, would he have done things differently?

I stepped into the elevator, pushing the button for the ground floor of my Manhattan penthouse.

It didn’t matter now. I was going to find a way, even if it meant making the hardest choices of my life.

Later that Night

I entered the hotel lobby, the luxurious atmosphere doing little to soothe my nerves.

I clutched the key card, reminding myself that this was just one night.

One mistake. I wouldn’t even look at him again after tonight.

The elevator dinged as it opened, and I stepped inside.

Room 812. That was where my one-night distraction waited. But when I pushed open the door, I was greeted not by the young call boy I had expected but by a man who was undeniably in a league of his own.

Tall, brooding, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her.

Fred Price.

The billionaire whose name seemed to be in every news headline.

I recognized him instantly. He was the enigmatic billionaire who had recently lost his wife in a tragic accident.

He was known for his cutthroat business tactics, but there was something magnetic about him, something that made my breath catch in my throat.

“I’m sorry, I—” I began, but Fred held up a hand, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t apologize. You’re not the first to walk into the wrong room,” he said with a smirk, his eyes scanning me.