In The Name Of Forever

BEFORE THE VOWS

Brian's POV

New York hadn't changed much. Same relentless skyline, same chaotic rhythm. But the moment i stepped off the plane a week ago, something in the air felt....different.

Maybe it was because this time, I wasn't back for a board meeting or a business deal. I was back to marry Emily Montclair.

I loosened my tie as my driver navigated the streets towards the Hayes Building, the city's pulse matching the steady thud of my heart. Most men in my position would be celebrating, or at least feeling the weight of what was to come. But I'd learned a long time ago that emotion was a luxury—one I couldn't afford to wear on my sleeve.

Still, every now and then, she crept into my thoughts.

Emily.

I hadn't seen her in nearly five years—not since that charity gala our families had hosted together. She'd been twenty then, dressed in pale blue, laughing with two friends by the champagne bar. I'd been halfway through a conversation about overseas expansion when I caught sight of her across the room.

She wasn't doing anything remarkable. Just smiling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she listened to a story. But something about that small, genuine moment had held me captive. It was ridiculous—I'd met heads of state and Fortune 500 CEOs without batting an eye. Yet one laugh from her and my carefully constructed composure had cracked, just a little.

Of course, I'd dismissed it at that time. We were both young, and I had a company to build, a name to prove. And I had. The London branch was thriving, the board trusted me implicitly, and the Hayes name had never carried more weight.

But now, as I stared out the tinted window at the city rushing by, I couldn't deny it—that same unfamiliar flutter was back.

My phone buzzed beside me, pulling me from my thoughts. A message from my mother.

Mom: Have you texted Emily yet? Don't be so cold, darling. She's probably nervous.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Leave it to my mother to see right through me.

I had texted her, technically. A simple, efficient message about the dinner tomorrow. That was how I handled most things—clear, concise, no wasted words. It was easier that way. But after sending it, I'd stared at the screen for several minutes, wondering if I should add something more. Something personal.

In the end, I did. Just a short follow-up.

Hope you had a good day.

For anyone else, it would have been nothing. But for me, it felt like stepping over a line I'd drawn for myself—the line that separated Brian Hayes, CEO and heir, from Brian Hayes, the man about to marry a woman he'd barely spoken to.

The irony, of course, was that i knew more about her than she probably realized. I'd read every profile, every interview, even a handful of gossip pieces. I knew she studied art history and volunteered at animal shelters. I knew she was close to her grandfather and fiercely loyal to her friends.

And I knew she was far too good for the carefully arranged world we were both trapped in.

''Sir, ?'' My assistant, Vivian, glanced at me from the front seat. ''Would you like me to confirm tomorrow's dinner at the Montclair estate?''

''Yes,'' I said, keeping my voice steady.

''And the florist for the wedding?''

''Approved. Have them coordinate with Mrs. Montclair.''

He nodded and turned back to his tablet, and I stared out the window again, my mind drifting where I refused to let it go too often.

To her.

I wondered if she was nervous, if she was angry about the arrangement. If she'd already decided that I was cold and unapproachable—and she'd be wrong.

Because the truth was, I wasn't indifferent. Not even close.

I was curious. Drawn to her in a way that didn't make sense. And if i was being honest with myself, I'd been curious for a very long time.

That night, I stood by my office window, looking down at the Manhattan skyline glittering below. My schedule was packed—final contract reviews, press statements, meeting with the family lawyers—but for once, none of it held my attention.

Instead, I was thinking about tomorrow.

About seeing her again.

I wondered if she'd changed. If that bright, effortless smile I remembered was still the same, if she'd look at me and see the same Stoic businessman everyone did—or if she'd look closer.

And I wondered what she'd think if she knew that beneath all the control and composure, I'd thought about this—about her—more than I cared to admit.

The next day came too quickly and moved faster. I got dressed with mechanical precision for the dinner, choosing a charcoal suit and a navy tie, the picture of calm authority. But when I caught my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something I hadn't seen in a long time—a flicker of nervousness in my eyes.

Ridiculous, I told myself. You've negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking.

And yet, as the car rolled towards the Montclair estate, I realized this was different. This wasn't a merger or a contract. This was HER.

The woman who had been promised to me long before we were old enough to understand what that meant. The woman I was supposed to build a life with. The woman who, for reasons I couldn't fully explain, had already carved out a small, stubborn space in my chest.

As the gates opened and the car rolled up the long drive, I adjusted my cufflinks and took a deep breath.

Calm. Controlled. Collected.

That was who I am.

But beneath it all, I couldn't help the quiet anticipation building inside me—the unspoken hope that when Emily Montclair opened that door, the world might just tilt a little.