Tony's POV
The door of the suite closes behind me with a soft click.
The familiar scent of leather, polished wood, and cold coffee welcomes me.
Home.
I slowly take off my jacket, place it over the back of the armchair… then I stop.
Two figures are sprawled in the living room.
— Seriously?
Samir is stretched out on the couch, one leg hanging off the edge, phone in hand.
Ethan, meanwhile, is at the bar, pouring himself a drink as if he paid for the suite.
— Did you break in, or did you finally learn how to knock? I ask, without raising my voice.
Samir looks up, an insolent grin plastered on his face.
— Relax, boss. Your name opens more doors than a VIP pass.
Ethan turns toward me, glass in hand.
— You're home late.
I walk in slowly, undoing my cufflinks with deliberate precision.
— I don't recall inviting you.
Samir finally sits up, his gaze more serious than it looks.
— We wanted to check if you were still breathing.
I frown slightly.
— Excuse me?
Ethan sets his glass down.
— You vanished all evening. No messages. No calls.
— I had family matters to deal with.
Silence.
Samir lets out a low whistle.
— Oh. Family matters.
I know exactly what he's thinking.
— Don't start.
I move toward the bar and Ethan pours me a drink.
— So… tell us. How did it go with your surprise fiancée? Ethan asks, tilting his head, a mischievous smile on his lips.
My jaw tightens slightly.
"Surprise fiancée."
Yeah. That's exactly what she is.
Esther.
— Not simple, I reply, taking the glass and slowly turning it between my fingers.
They watch me closely, intrigued.
I finally sit down, carefully, as if every movement is calculated.
— Not simple? You mean… she stood up to you? Made you feel like you weren't in control? Samir says, leaning forward.
A small smile curves my lips despite myself.
Yes.
She dared.
She dared to push back. To challenge me.
And instead of anger… it intrigued me.
— Exactly, I finally say.
Ethan bursts out laughing, setting his glass down.
— So you're telling me that Tony Arrison got challenged, defied, and rejected by a woman?
A silence settles.
Then he continues:
— And can we know the name of the woman who pulled off such a feat?
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sharp sip.
— Esther. Esther Besson.
— Oh, what a pretty name… and is she as beautiful as her name? he adds with a teasing laugh.
The silence stretches after Ethan's words.
I don't answer right away.
Samir stands up and sits across from me, more serious than ever.
He's no longer smiling.
— Tony… listen to me carefully.
He pauses, searching for my eyes.
— You've built your life on control. On anticipation. On making sure nothing and no one escapes you.
He takes a deep breath.
— But some people aren't meant to be controlled. They're meant to force you to see differently.
I frown slightly.
— You talk like you know her.
— No, he replies calmly.
I talk like someone who knows you.
His voice lowers.
— If this girl resists you, angers you, unsettles you… it means she already holds a place in your life that you refuse to admit.
You need to let go of your past and move on.
Not all women are the same.
His words hit harder than I want to admit.
Ethan, unable to endure the tension any longer, raises his glass.
— Wow. That sounded like a movie quote.
He looks at me with a mocking smile.
— So let's recap: arranged marriage, surprise fiancée, a difficult alliance, and a woman who messes with your head…
He laughs.
— Honestly, Tony, did you sign up for a psychological thriller or a romantic comedy?
— Very funny, I growl.
— Oh come on, imagine it!
He puts on a mock-serious voice.
— "Ladies and gentlemen, behold Tony Arrison… tamed by a woman."
I shoot him a dark look.
— Keep going and I'll throw you out the window.
— Alright, alright…
He raises his hands, laughing.
— But admit it. You've changed. Before, you couldn't talk about a woman for more than thirty seconds. And you definitely wouldn't let one get close for more than twenty-four hours.
I lower my gaze to my glass.
— This isn't about love, I say coldly.
It's an alliance. A form of protection for her. Just a contract.
Samir exhales slowly.
— Contracts are signed with the head.
He taps his temple.
— But what keeps you up at night rarely comes from there.
Another silence falls.
I set my glass down on the coffee table, harder than necessary.
— The wedding is in ten days.
The words drop.
Sharp.
Final.
Samir freezes.
Ethan nearly chokes on his drink.
— TEN DAYS?!
He bursts out laughing.
— Wait… ten days as in real ten days? Not one of your symbolic Tony numbers?
— Ten days, I repeat coldly.
Samir runs a hand over his face.
— Fuck…
He exhales.
— The investors arrive in two days.
— What? Really? That's too soon. It was planned for next week.
— Exactly. They don't want to waste time.
He straightens, business mode taking over.
— They're coming to sign.
The chain is expanding into three new countries.
They want stability.
Trust.
Ethan snaps his fingers.
— Ah! So the marriage is the cherry on top. In this world, married men inspire more confidence. If you can manage a marriage, you can surely manage a contract without backing out.
A discreet smile forms on my lips.
— See? When you stop acting like an idiot, you actually say smart things.
— Exactly, Samir laughs.
— I'm supposed to take that as a compliment? Ethan asks with a dumb grin.
— It hurts to admit it, but Ethan's right.
— Hey, that's not nice.
— Shut up, Ethan.
Then Samir looks straight at me and continues:
— This marriage might reassure the investors. It might solidify the empire.
He pauses.
— But if you go into this thinking everything is under control…
He lets the words hang.
— You're lying to yourself.
My jaw tightens.
— She wasn't supposed to matter, I say finally.
— But she does, Samir finishes softly.
Silence falls again.
Even Ethan says nothing.
Then, unable to hold it in any longer, he blurts out:
— Alright. Ten days before the wedding.
Two days before Samir leaves.
Three major signatures.
He grins.
— I hope at least I'm invited to the bachelor party.
— You're not.
— Cold, man. Cold.
The tension slowly dissolves.
Ethan puts on some music, something light.
We drink a bit more.
We talk about other things.
Work.
Stupid stuff.
But even when I laugh, even when I answer automatically,
my mind isn't here anymore.
It's somewhere else.
On a balcony.
On a ring.
On a girl who looks at me like I'm her enemy.