His Wife by Contract. His Obsession by Choice

Eleanor From the moment I was born, my father only ever spoke to me about business. Not lullabies. Not childhood stories. Not dreams. Business. Numbers, contracts, negotiations, expansion strategies, alliances. As if my life was already mapped out in spreadsheets and boardroom decisions before I even learned how to write my own name. My mother, on the other hand, always spoke to me about ethics, grace, and the proper manners of a lady. How to sit properly. How to speak without sounding "too sharp." How to smile in a way that looked natural but controlled. As if I was supposed to be soft. As if I was supposed to be obedient. As if I was supposed to fit into a version of myself they both designed but never agreed on. But neither of them seem to realize it now. Instead of turning me into a proper grown lady…they turned me into something else entirely. Something sharper. Something colder when needed. Something that doesn't break easily anymore. At twenty-three, I am legally old enough to take over the De Guzman Empire. I have studied it for years. I know every branch, every investor, every rival company trying to sink their teeth into what we built. I know the empire like I know my own reflection. And still, every time I bring it up, my father looks at me like I've said something wrong. Like I'm asking for something I was never meant to have. Frustration builds in my chest again as I stand in his office. The city skyline burns behind the glass walls, lights stretching endlessly like the world outside is moving forward while I'm stuck in the same conversation. My father sits behind his desk, calm as always. Too calm. "Father, why not? I have learned every-" "Eleanor," he cuts in immediately, not even looking up from the document in his hands. "Now is not the time. Go rest. We have business tomorrow." I stop mid-sentence. Again. Same words. Same tone. Same refusal that never explains anything. My hands curl slightly at my sides as I take a step forward. "What is it, Father?" My voice sharpens before I can control it. "What am I missing? Am I lacking something?" The words leave me faster now, like they've been sitting in my chest for too long. "I've been trained for this my entire life. Every meeting, every lesson, every expectation...you built me for this. So why are you stopping me now?" My voice echoes slightly in the office. Too loud for the space. My mother moves first. She always does. She steps closer, her heels soft against the marble floor, and gently cups my face in her hands. Her touch is warm. Familiar. But today, it feels heavier than comfort. "My dear…" she says softly, her voice calm in a way that feels almost painful now. "It's not that you're lacking anything." I search for her face immediately. Then what is it? If I'm not lacking anything, then what is stopping me? Why are you stopping me? "It's just…" she hesitates. Just for a second. "You need someone to be with you." I blink. The words don't make sense at first. "What do you mean?" I asked slowly. "You're both here. We can run it together. Like always." But something shifts in the room. The air changes. It becomes quieter in a way that feels unnatural, like even the walls are waiting for what comes next. My father finally sets his coffee cup down. The sound is soft. But it lands like a final decision. He leans back slightly in his chair, fingers interlocking as he looks at me properly for the first time in this entire conversation. And I don't like the way he's looking at me. "Eleanor," he says carefully, like each word has already been weighed. "This is exactly what I've been trying to tell you." My stomach tightens. A warning. "I've been trying to prepare you for this moment for a long time." My brows furrow slightly. "Prepare me for what?" Silence stretches again. Longer this time. He exhales slowly. "We're humans, Eleanor. Not everyone can be here forever." The words don't immediately process. For a second, my brain refuses to accept them. "What?" My voice drops. "What do you mean yo-" But he doesn't let me finish. "You need a partner," he continues, steadily. "Someone who will make you stronger. Someone who can stand beside you when we are no longer here to guide you." A partner. Not advice. Not suggestion. A requirement. My chest tightens. I had no idea how father could stay so reserved, despite at the fact he's trying to make right now. "That's not an answer," I say quickly, stepping closer to his desk now. "You've been avoiding this for years. Every time I ask, every time I try, you shut it down. Why?" My voice cracks slightly at the end, not from weakness… From frustration. From years of being ready for something I'm suddenly being told I cannot have. "If you want me to marry," I say sharply, "I'll find someone myself. Someone who loves me. Not someone you assign like a contract." I brush past my mother's hands gently, but firmly. "I don't need to be paired like some political agreement." I huffed. My father finally looks at me fully now. And I see it. This isn't hesitation. This is inevitability. "Not just any man, Eleanor," he says quietly. My heart slows. Something in his tone makes my skin feel colder. "What do you mean… not just any man?" I ask, my voice lowering without meaning to. A pause. Then- "Lucian Marquez." The name hits differently than anything else. Mother simply just kept her face down, looking at her feet. None of them may know about that night, but this...this is exactly what I've been trying to avoid. Years of trying to avoid him. Everything in me goes still. My mind doesn't need time to search for him. It already knows. The first time I met him wasn't supposed to matter. A mistake I made without thinking- one night, one moment, one decision I've tried to bury since. Too quiet. Too intense. Too unforgettable. The second time was worse. A formal gala. High security. Powerful families pretending not to hate each other. And across the room, him. Lucian Marquez. Standing like he belonged to every shadow in the room. Watching without ever needing to look obvious. And somehow… I knew he remembered me too. Ever since then, I avoided him. Not because I feared him. But because I couldn't figure out what staying near him did to me. And now- My father continues. "You are to be engaged to Lucian Marquez." The words land fully this time. No confusion left to buffer them. Engaged. My breath catches. I let out a short laugh, broken, sharp, completely empty. "Engaged?" I repeat slowly. My hands shake slightly now, though I refuse to let them. "This is what you've been avoiding telling me?" My voice rises. "All of this… for an arranged engagement?" Lucian Marquez. The man I never understood. The man I avoided. The man tied to a world I was warned about my entire life. And suddenly everything makes sense. The pressure. The secrecy. The way my father never answered directly. Because this was never about whether I was ready. It was about whether I had a choice at all. And now, I realize I never really had a choice. Not when it comes to me deciding my future life, or the future of the empire our families spent to build.