Chapter 2 The Protest

Grace didn't sleep that night. She spent hours pacing her apartment, phone in hand, hair twisted into a messy bun, muttering arguments to the empty walls. Every time she replayed Adrian Cole's calm, unreadable face, her pulse jumped. Not from attraction at least that's what she told herself but from sheer, infuriating disbelief. He'd talked to her like she was a chess piece. Like the decision was already made and she was simply the most logical move on the board. "Not happening," she whispered for the hundredth time, stabbing the air with a spoon.

"I am not some business acquisition." By morning she'd drafted three emails: one to her father, one to her mother, and one to Adrian himself. She deleted all three. Words never landed the way she wanted with them. They twisted, softened, disappeared beneath family expectations. So instead of typing, she decided to show up. Her parents' mansion gleamed in the Sunday sun, every window reflecting wealth and control. Grace barely knocked before a maid ushered her inside. Her mother appeared at the top of the staircase, pearls perfectly aligned, eyes sharp. "Grace, dear. You look tense." "Good observation," Grace said. "Where's Dad?" "In his study, with Mr. Jacobs. They're reviewing the announcement draft." Grace blinked. "Announcement what announcement?" "The engagement, of course." It took every ounce of her restraint not to scream. "You're actually planning to announce it? I told you I said no!" Her mother's smile didn't falter. "You'll thank us later." "Sure," Grace shot back, stalking toward the study, "right after the lobotomy." Her father's study smelled of cigar smoke and ambition. He looked up from behind his mahogany desk, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Grace, you could at least call before barging in." "I tried calling. You ignored me. So now I'm here." She crossed her arms. "We need to talk." Mr. Jacobs rose politely. "Perhaps I should" "Stay," Grace said. "You started this circus; you can watch the fireworks." Her father sighed. "Grace" "No," she snapped. "You don't get to smooth this over. I met him, Dad. Adrian Cole. And guess what? He's every bit as arrogant as you'd expect from a man who signs marriages like contracts." A muscle ticked in her father's jaw. "He's successful, intelligent, and from a respected family." "He's a stranger." "He's a partner," her father corrected. "This marriage benefits both families. Our companies merge, our reputations strengthen" "And my feelings?" she cut in. "Where do those fit in the spreadsheet?" Silence stretched. Mr. Jacobs cleared his throat, murmured something about "stepping outside," and slipped out. Grace rounded on her father. "You raised me to think for myself. To fight for what I believe in. And now you want me to hand my life over for your portfolio?" Her father's tone softened just enough to hurt. "Grace, sometimes love comes later. Your mother and I" "Please don't." She held up a hand. "If this is supposed to sound romantic, it's not working." Her mother entered quietly, as if she'd been listening all along. "We're only doing what's best for you, sweetheart." "What's best for me," Grace said, voice trembling, "is not being forced into a marriage I don't want." Her mother exchanged a look with her father. "This isn't force, Grace. It's guidance. Adrian is a good man. You could build something real with him." Grace laughed bitterly. "You mean he's rich enough to forgive my independence?" "Stop being cynical." "Stop selling me!" The shout startled even her. For a moment the house went silent except for her ragged breathing. Her father rose, calm but firm. "You will meet with the Coles tonight. We'll handle the details. If, after the dinner, you still object, we'll reconsider. That's fair." Grace wanted to argue but she saw something in his eyes that reminded her of the man who had once sold property during a market crash just to keep his promise to a friend. Stubborn. Principled. Exhausting. "Fine," she said at last. "One dinner. Then I'm done." "Agreed," he said. Her mother smiled, relieved. "You'll wear the blue dress I bought last month." "I'll wear whatever makes me look least available," Grace muttered, storming out. The drive home blurred past in a haze of anger and coffee fumes. By the time she reached her apartment, she'd talked herself in and out of attending a dozen times. She flopped onto the couch, texting Maya: Dinner with the Cole clan tonight. Send prayers and bail money. Maya replied instantly: You got this. Just remember you're the prize, not the product. Grace smiled despite herself. That was exactly the pep talk she needed. She looked at her reflection in the mirror a few hours later hair swept up, eyes fierce above a simple black dress. Understated. Controlled. Ready for battle. "Okay," she told the mirror. "You're not there to impress him. You're there to end this." Her reflection didn't answer, but the tiny flutter in her stomach did and she hated that it felt like excitement. The restaurant gleamed like a crystal box soft jazz, low golden lighting, waiters gliding by as if on cue. Grace's heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she followed the maître d' toward the private dining room. Her heart was doing the most ridiculous thing: pounding. Not because she was nervous, she told herself just annoyed. Furious, even. Then she saw him. Adrian Cole. Perfect posture. Perfect suit. Perfectly calm eyes that had no business being that blue. He stood as she entered, polite, unreadable except for the faint, almost mocking curve of his mouth. "Miss Lawson," he said, voice smooth as midnight coffee. "You came." "Don't sound so surprised," she shot back, sliding into her seat across from him. "I keep my promises, even bad ones." His smile deepened a fraction. "Good. I respect follow-through." "Then you'll love me after tonight," she said sweetly, "because I'm about to follow through on ending this madness." Her parents exchanged tense smiles with his. The air hummed with restrained politeness two powerful families pretending this wasn't a battlefield. Dinner began like a performance. His mother complimented Grace's dress. Her father toasted to new beginnings. Adrian listened, occasionally replying in that smooth, collected way that made everyone else feel slightly less composed. Grace hated it. And worse she noticed everything about him. The way his fingers brushed the rim of his wine glass. The quiet confidence when he spoke. The flash of amusement in his eyes every time she challenged him. Stop it, she told herself. He's the enemy. "Grace," Adrian's mother said warmly, "Adrian mentioned you're a communications consultant. That's impressive for someone your age." Grace smiled thinly. "Yes. I like helping people say what they actually mean." Adrian's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Do you?" "Yes. You should try it sometime." His mouth twitched definitely trying not to laugh. "Noted." The main course arrived. Grace stabbed her salmon like it had personally offended her. "So," Adrian said, leaning back, "you've made it very clear this arrangement isn't your choice." She set down her fork. "Good. Saves me from repeating it." "But," he continued, unbothered, "if you weren't so determined to hate the idea, you might admit it could work." She blinked. "Work? You mean the part where I lose autonomy and gain a last name?" He chuckled softly, infuriatingly calm. "I mean the part where two capable people combine strengths. You're sharp, direct, unafraid to speak your mind. I like that." Grace froze for a second. Compliments weren't supposed to sound like challenges. "Flattery won't save you," she said. "Not trying to save myself," he said, eyes locked on hers. "Just being honest." Her pulse betrayed her just a little jump, quickly buried under sarcasm. "Honesty from a man signing contracts about marriage? That's cute." "Would you rather I lied?" She hesitated. "You already are. By pretending you want this as much as our parents do." His expression changed just enough to catch her off guard. Something raw flickered there. "You think I wanted this?" he asked quietly. The table went silent. Grace frowned. "Didn't you?" He held her gaze for a long moment. "No. But unlike you, I learned that sometimes what we want isn't the same as what's right." Her chest tightened unexpectedly. That... wasn't arrogance. That was honesty, and it rattled her. She broke eye contact first, muttering, "Spare me the life lesson, Mr. Cole." "Adrian," he corrected gently. "Fine. Adrian. Still not marrying you." "Understood," he said calmly. "But if you're going to keep rejecting me, at least have dinner with me properly first." That shouldn't have sounded flirtatious. It did. Her cheeks warmed before she could stop it. "You're impossible." "Occupational hazard," he murmured. When dessert came, the parents were deep in conversation about logistics, leaving the two of them in their own little world of charged silence. Grace leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You could help me end this, you know." "How?" "Tell your parents I'm unbearable." He smirked. "That would be a lie." "You don't even know me." "Not yet," he said. "But I want to." The way he said it wasn't teasing it was quiet, steady, and too sincere. Grace swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of her armor. "You really think you can charm your way into this?" "Charm?" he said softly. "No. I don't play games, Grace. But I don't run from challenges either." She hated the way her heart stuttered. The way the word challenge sounded like you. When the dinner finally ended, she escaped to the night air outside the restaurant, exhaling like she'd been underwater for hours. He followed a moment later, stopping beside her on the pavement. "Are you always this fiery," he asked, "or am I just lucky?" Grace turned to him, fire flashing in her eyes. "You call this lucky?" "Yes," he said simply. "You make it hard to stay indifferent." Her throat tightened. For a second, the city lights blurred around them. She looked away first, whispering, "Goodnight, Mr. Cole." "Adrian," he corrected again, voice low. "And it's not goodnight, Grace. It's just a pause." She walked away before her heart could betray her. But long after she reached her car, she could still feel his eyes on her steady, patient, and maddeningly sure. And that terrified her more than anything.