Arrange Marriage to a Heartless CEO

CHARLOTTE'S POV I wasn't sure what I expected when I walked into that room. Maybe someone arrogant and cold. The type who saw women as part of a checklist. A name, a ring, and a legacy. But Aiden Kingston wasn't what I imagined, he was worse. He was calm. And not the "let's talk this out" kind of calm. The dangerous kind. The kind that said I've seen things you wouldn't survive. He didn't argue or smile. He didn't try to charm me like most men would when told they'd be marrying a stranger. Instead, he just looked at me like I was another detail in a long, exhausting list of duties. Which pissed me off even more. I wasn't a detail. And I wasn't his. Back home, I slammed the door to my room and stared at the ceiling, unsure whether I wanted to scream or cry. I chose both A few angry tears slipped down my cheeks, but I wiped them away before they could fully fall. Weakness wasn't allowed here. Not in Barry's house. Not under Dianne's shadow. And for what? A dying company? A reputation she already ruined years ago? The betrayal stung more than the deal itself. Barry, I could understand. He was always about power. Always looking for the next hand to play. But Mom? She looked at me like she had already mourned me. Like the version of me she loved had been buried with my father. Maybe it had. Maybe I died the day she moved on with his brother. I rolled onto my side, grabbing my phone, instinctively opening my notes app, the only place where my voice still mattered. > Title: The Deal. Opening Line: She never imagined her signature would cost her soul. Mood: Betrayed, trapped, angry.> I stopped typing. Because this wasn't fiction anymore. This was my life. The next morning, I was summoned again. No "good morning," no "how are you feeling?" Just a cold knock and a clipped voice from Barry's assistant. "The Kingstons would like you to attend a dinner at their estate tonight at seven sharp. It's a formal dinner. Like I was some prized puppy being trained for show. I didn't respond. I just closed the door and stared at my closet. Formal. I hated that word. It usually meant stuffing myself into a dress that wasn't made for comfort and pretending I wasn't silently screaming on the inside. But I picked a dress anyway. A navy blue, off-shoulder, sleek and subtle. Not flashy, not soft. Just enough to remind them I wasn't easy to break. The Kingston estate was something out of a rich person's fever dream. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, glass walls that reflected your thoughts before you even had them. Everything screamed money, but it was too clean. Too curated like a museum that was scared of feeling real. Aiden was waiting when I walked in, dressed in black. Of course, he probably slept in suits. He didn't say much, just nodded at me like we were business partners about to sign a merger. I wanted to stab him with my heel. Instead, I smiled. Fake, Poised, and Perfect. We were led into the dining room, where his father and mother waited, looking like they had stepped straight out of a royal family portrait. "Charlotte," Adam Kingston said smoothly, rising to greet me. "You look stunning." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Thank you, sir." "Please, call me Adam. We're family now." The word made my stomach twist. Dinner was a blur of silverware, small talk, and veiled warnings disguised as compliments. "So, Charlotte," his mother said, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin, "What are your views on privacy? Especially once you are married?" I blinked. "I'm sorry?" "I mean," she continued, eyes sharp and polite, "Do you believe secrets should stay between husband and wife? Or do you think honesty is always best, no matter the cost?" Ah, there it was. I glanced at Aiden, He was expressionless, staring at his plate like it held answers to questions no one dared to ask. "I think," I said carefully, "that honesty is useless if the person listening is already committed to lying." There was a pause. Then Adam laughed. "She's smart. I like that." Aiden still didn't speak. When dinner ended, Aiden walked me to the car. The silence between us was thick, buzzing with everything we didn't say. Just before I stepped in, I turned to him. "I'm not your puppet," I said. "I know." "And I'm not staying quiet. If I find out what this really is ---" "You will," he cut in, his voice low. "Eventually." His eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw something flicker behind them. Pain? Regret? Maybe even a warning. But then it was gone. And he stepped back. "Goodnight Charlotte." The door closed. That night, I didn't write anything, I didn't cry, I didn't pace. I just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how many lies it would take to break a person completely. Because something told me this marriage wasn't the beginning of a story. It was the unraveling of one. And I was stuck inside it.