From His Matriarch to An Empire's Queen

At my engagement party, my fiancé, Declan Davenport—CEO of the Davenport Group and the man I was promised to in an arranged marriage—had his executive assistant serve me a prenuptial agreement in front of all of New York's high society.

First, I was not to enter Declan's study without permission.

Second, I was not to initiate any physical contact, including kissing, without permission.

Third, I was not to engage in any behavior that might cause Declan embarrassment or discomfort.

There were 188 such clauses in total.

I choked back the rage burning in my chest, listening as the assistant recited every last clause.

Then, I slowly turned my head, my gaze landing on the tall, stately man beside me.

"Declan, can you explain clause 99? 'Regardless of who carries your heir, I am required to raise the child as my own.' What is that supposed to mean?"

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1

Before I was even born, my father had arranged my marriage to Declan Davenport.

He and Declan's father, the former chairman of the Davenport Group, had forged a business pact: once I came of age, I would be engaged to Declan.

I wasn't entirely against the marriage. I had met Declan as a child in Aspen.

Back then, he was the boy who had extended a hand to me in the snow and wind, his eyes clear, his manner elegant and gentlemanly. He was the most flawless boy I'd ever known, and for that reason, I had willingly accepted the engagement.

At my father's request, I was keeping a low profile to assess Declan's character. Concealing my true identity, I donned my most understated jewelry and made my way to the Davenport estate.

However, I never expected the Davenport Group to make such a disrespectful demand of their future matriarch.

Declan raked his eyes over me with undisguised contempt, his tone icy. "Someone with your background… you don't actually think you're fit to be the mother of a Davenport heir, do you?"

Flames of fury churned in my chest, but I swallowed my anger and offered Declan a tight, polite smile.

I said, my voice level, "I'm sorry, Declan, but I will never sign such a demeaning agreement."

The moment I finished speaking, Declan's previously cavalier expression froze.

He shot me a harsh glare. "Are you defying me?" He took a step closer, his voice low. "Don't forget your place. I am the CEO of the Davenport Group, and you are just an ordinary designer. If my father hadn't used the CEO position to blackmail me into honoring this marriage contract, you would never have even set foot in here. You want to stay? Then shut up and sign."

His arrogance and self-importance were a bitter disappointment.

A bitter laugh rose in my throat. Was this the man I'd once been so infatuated with? Wake up, Rosalind. He doesn't even recognize you.

He was a completely different person from the boy I had met in Aspen. The man before me now was unreasonable, selfish, and domineering, a dictator whose soul had been corrupted by money and power.

I gave him a cold glance, my eyes now void of all warmth. "No woman with any dignity would sign such an agreement. I refuse."

Seeing my refusal to obey, he scoffed and strode toward the center of the party hall, leaving me with one last remark, "Suit yourself. I'll put the ring on your finger when you've come to your senses."

One word screamed through my mind: Never.

I frowned, staring at his retreating back.

His executive assistant, Blake Porter, shot me a mocking look. "You'd better sign, Miss Sterling," he urged impatiently. "No one who defies Mr. Davenport ever comes to a good end."

In his dreams, I thought, my resolve hardening. "I, Rosalind Sterling, am not a puppet to be manipulated."

I gave Blake one last cold look before turning to walk out.

However, Blake was clearly prepared. He immediately signaled for security to surround me.

"Miss Sterling, the party isn't over. You can't leave," Blake said, his cold eyes sweeping over me, his tone laced with threat. "Besides, if Mr. Davenport doesn't put that ring on your finger, you'll lose your one and only chance to marry into the upper echelon. Don't say I didn't warn you. As a social climber, you'll find life in these circles impossible if you offend the Davenports."

I countered coolly, "Your CEO has left, so why can't I? If becoming the Davenport matriarch means signing that slave charter, then I'd rather walk away."

As soon as the words left my mouth, the surrounding guests began to murmur in surprise. "My God, what is she doing? Not only is she arguing with Blake, but she's refusing to marry into the Davenport family. How foolish."

"Mr. Davenport is the most eligible bachelor on Wall Street. A commoner like her should be on her knees thanking God for this chance. How dare she throw a tantrum?"

"What an ungrateful woman. So what if Mr. Davenport doesn't want her to bear his heir? Isn't becoming the matriarch of the Davenport family enough?"

The venomous whispers reached my ears, and Blake’s.

He looked at me smugly. "Did you hear that, Miss Sterling? You don't want to leave now, do you? Becoming Mrs. Davenport is an honor countless socialites would kill for. Only a fool would refuse."

I glared at him impatiently, my gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "I have no interest in being your matriarch. Now, get out of my way!"

I felt nothing but contempt. The Davenport Group might be prominent, but it was new money, having only risen in recent decades. It was nothing compared to a family with an established, old-money lineage like ours. If this marriage alliance went through, it was Declan who would benefit more. What right did he have to think I was the one reaching above my station?

My response enraged Blake, his face turning crimson. "You're nothing but a gold-digger desperate to marry up! What right do you have to lecture me? You just wait, I'm going to report your insolence to Mr. Davenport and have him completely blacklist you!"

I snorted. "Be my guest."