2 EPİSODE ❣️
2268 Words
Isabella
I sat in my office as I looked through all of the data spreadsheets of my father's company, 'The Velvet Lounge'. This business had been in my family for three generations now and now, my father expected me to take over it after his retirement as I was his only child. I took a sip of my morning coffee, the bitter taste waking me up, allowing me to focus more on the task at hand.
"This isn't good." I muttered to myself as I watched the numbers of our company stagnate. We needed to find a way to boost our sales up, but how? Just then, my father walked into my office.
"How is it going?" he asked me. I would sugar coat things and tell him that everything was fine but I had already made those mistakes and had suffered for them in the past. I wouldn't make the same mistakes again.
"Our sales are decreasing." I bluntly said. "And soon, we'll be left with nothing. We need to find a way to expand our business."
My father sighed, rubbing his temple as he took a seat across from me. "I know," he admitted, his voice laced with frustration. "That's why I've already taken the necessary steps to ensure our company's survival."
I placed my coffee down, my brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. "We're forming a partnership with Liberty Enterprises. Their resources and influence will give The Velvet Lounge the expansion it needs to thrive."
I nodded slowly. I had heard of Liberty Enterprises—a powerhouse in the business world, known for its strategic alliances and ruthless business acumen. A partnership with them could open doors we could never reach on our own.
But something about the way my father said it made unease settle in my stomach.
"There's one condition," he continued, leaning forward slightly.
I stiffened. Of course there is. "And what might that be?"
He exhaled, as if preparing himself for my reaction. "Their CEO, Logan Mathews, will only agree to this deal if you marry him."
I blinked. My heart stopped for a brief second before hammering in my chest. "What?"
My father remained calm, as if this was just another business transaction. "It's not unusual in the corporate world, Isabella. This marriage will secure both of our companies' futures."
I shot up from my chair, the sound of it scraping against the floor echoing in my office. "You expect me to marry a man I don't even know?" My voice rose in disbelief.
He sighed. "I expect you to do what is necessary for the company."
Anger surged through me. "And what about what I want? What about my life? Do I not get a say in this?"
He stood up as well, his expression suddenly hard. "You are my daughter, and the future of The Velvet Lounge. This isn't about you, Isabella. This is about the legacy your grandfather and I built. If you don't do this, everything we've worked for will be gone."
I felt like the walls were closing in around me. The weight of responsibility had always been on my shoulders, but this? This was something else entirely.
A marriage. A deal disguised as a lifelong commitment.
My mind raced. Who even is Logan Mathews? Would he be as indifferent about this arrangement as my father? Or would he be just as unwilling as I was?
"At least meet him," my father said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. "There's a gala next weekend. You'll be introduced there."
I swallowed hard. This was happening whether I liked it or not. I had spent my whole life trying to prove that I was capable of running this company. But was I willing to sacrifice my own freedom for it?
I had no choice.
With a deep breath, I forced the words out.
"Fine," I said. "I'll meet him."
But in the back of my mind, one thought lingered: I will not let this marriage define me.
The gala was held at one of our hotels, 'Royal Luxury and Hospitality Inn'. The gala was elegant, as usual. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, giving the room a soft, warm glow, the tables were adorned with sequined table cloths.
My red heels clacked against the floor as I entered the room, commanding attention from the guests who were nibbling on exquisite delicacies as they sat on the tables nearby. I grinned as my red evening gown shimmered in the fluorescent lights as I made my way to the refreshment table with my father.
Just then, a man bumped into me, causing my glass plate that had been provided to almost slip from my hands.
"Excuse you!" I snapped at him.
"Yes?" a strong, masculine voice said and I realized that it belonged to the man.
"You almost caused my plate to slip!" I snapped.
"But it didn't so if you will really excuse me," he said smoothly and left. I rolled my eyes as my father and I gathered refreshments from the table that consisted of an array of gourmet cheeses, succulent shrimp cocktails, and delicate canapés arranged on silver platters. I tried to push aside my irritation, but my mind lingered on the audacity of that man. Who does he think he is? The way he had brushed me off so nonchalantly made my blood boil.
My father, seemingly unfazed by the encounter, handed me a flute of champagne. "Compose yourself, Isabella. We have important people to meet tonight."
I exhaled sharply and took a sip of the bubbly liquid, letting the crisp taste calm my nerves. "I know," I muttered. "So, where is this Logan Mathews I'm supposed to meet?"
As if on cue, my father's gaze shifted across the room. "There he is."
I followed his eyes and felt my breath catch slightly. Standing near the grand staircase was the same man who had rudely bumped into me just moments ago.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Exuding an effortless confidence in a sharp black tuxedo.
No way.
The realization dawned on me like a slap to the face. Logan Mathews.
As if sensing my gaze, he turned his head slightly and locked eyes with me. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You," I breathed.
He sauntered over, hands tucked in his pockets, radiating a presence that was both aggravating and... intriguing.
"Ah, so we meet again," he said, his tone as smooth as before.
I straightened my shoulders. "You're Logan Mathews?"
"In the flesh," he confirmed. "And you must be Isabella."
I crossed my arms. "You could have introduced yourself properly earlier instead of nearly making me drop my plate."
His smirk deepened. "I didn't realize we were being graded on first impressions."
I scoffed. Unbelievable. This was the man I was supposed to marry?
My father chuckled beside me, clearly oblivious—or perhaps amused—by the tension crackling between us. "I see you two have already had a little introduction."
Logan's gaze never left mine as he raised his glass. "To new beginnings, then?"
I narrowed my eyes but clinked my glass against his. If he thinks I'm going to make this easy for him, he's in for a surprise.
I heard the clearing of a throat on the microphone.
"May I have everyone's attention, please? These violinists have been so kind to perform for us this on this fine evening. May we please give them a round of applause?" the emcee said as we did so.
"I will not marry this arrogant man." I hissed underneath my breath to my father and glared at Logan, who was clearly looking at a guest's wife with lust clouded in his eyes.
"You have no choice, Isabella. Our company will be in trouble if you don't." he whispered.
"I will be in even greater trouble if I marry him." I muttered.
"So, Isabella. Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Logan asked. "What is it that you do besides going shopping and pampering yourself at the local salon?" I glared at him, unamused by his baseless assumptions about me.
"First of all, I have all of my outfits measured and tailored for me by a professional seamstress at home." I said. "Therefore, I do not feel the need to go 'shopping'." I said as he raised an eyebrow.
"Second of all, I hardly ever pamper myself at the salon. I am too busy helping my father with his business and using my Doctor of Business Administration to apply my theories and knowledge to our company so I am of aid to my father."
"A Doctor of Business?" he asked. "Yes, it is a Ph.D in business, the highest degree for studies in business." I replied.
Logan tilted his head slightly, as if reevaluating me. I caught the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before his smirk returned.
"Impressive," he admitted. "I suppose I underestimated you."
"You suppose?" I scoffed, taking a sip of my champagne. "Maybe next time, try not to make assumptions about a person before you actually know them."
Logan let out a low chuckle. "Duly noted."
I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to the violinists, their delicate melodies filling the grand hall. I should have been enjoying the music, but my mind was still reeling from my father's ultimatum. How could he expect me to marry him?
"So, Isabella," Logan continued, clearly not done tormenting me. "If you're so deeply involved in the company, why haven't you taken over yet?"
I clenched my jaw. "Because my father still holds the final say in all major decisions," I said. "I handle operations, strategy, and expansion. But the final stamp of approval? That's still his."
Logan hummed as if considering my words. "And let me guess—this little arrangement is his way of securing the company's future?"
I shot a glare at my father, who was conveniently too engrossed in a conversation with a business associate to notice. "It seems so."
Logan sipped his drink, his gaze unreadable. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Dr. Isabella, but neither of us are getting out of this deal easily."
My fingers tightened around the stem of my champagne flute. "I refuse to be a pawn in a business transaction."
"Then you'd better find a way to make this work on your terms," Logan said, his voice low and deliberate. "Because like it or not, we're in this together."
I hated that he was right. But even more than that, I hated the way his piercing gaze sent a strange, unwelcome thrill down my spine.
Dinner was soon served which consisted of a lavish spread of gourmet dishes, each plated to perfection. Silver trays carried filet mignon topped with herb butter, delicate lobster tail drizzled with garlic sauce, and a selection of roasted vegetables seasoned with exotic spices. There were baskets of freshly baked bread, bowls of rich bisque, and an assortment of fine wines handpicked to complement each dish.
I sat stiffly at the grand dining table, my father on one side, Logan on the other. The chatter of high-profile guests hummed around us, but all I could focus on was the tension in the air. Logan, despite his insufferable arrogance, handled himself with the ease of someone who belonged in such an environment. He exchanged pleasantries with investors and made polite conversation with my father, all while maintaining that ever-present smirk.
"So, Isabella," he said, cutting into his steak with effortless precision. "Tell me, what's your vision for The Velvet Lounge?"
I swallowed a bite of my meal before meeting his gaze. "Expansion," I answered confidently. "I want to take our brand beyond hotels and fine dining. I envision a luxury experience—boutique resorts, elite wellness retreats, and exclusive clubs that redefine hospitality."
Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Ambitious."
I set my glass down. "You say that as if ambition is a flaw."
His lips twitched in amusement. "Not at all. It's admirable. Though I wonder... do you truly want this for yourself, or is this just another way to prove something to your father?"
My grip on my fork tightened. "Excuse me?"
Logan leaned back slightly, watching me with a knowing look. "I've been around enough boardrooms to recognize when someone is fighting for control. You're brilliant, capable—but are you leading this company for your own dreams, or because you refuse to let your father dictate your future?"
The question struck deeper than I wanted to admit. I opened my mouth to snap back, but my father's voice interrupted.
"Logan," he said smoothly, lifting his wine glass. "I believe you and Isabella will make a formidable pair. Both in business and in marriage."
I nearly choked on my drink. Logan, however, lifted his own glass in response, that insufferable smirk still in place. "I suppose time will tell," he said, his gaze never leaving mine.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to remain composed. Over my dead body.
- Writer
