LIES BEFORE VOWS

The boardroom at Caldwell International Holdings was silent, the kind of silence that weighed heavy—like thick fog before a storm. At the head of the obsidian-glass table sat Damon Caldwell, immaculately dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray suit, fingers steepled, eyes locked on the quarterly projections glowing on the wall-sized screen. Numbers had always made sense to him. They didn’t lie. They didn’t shift or manipulate. They didn’t disappoint. People, on the other hand? That was another story.

He exhaled slowly, hiding his irritation behind a carefully composed expression. Around him sat the ten senior board members of the empire his family had built over four generations. They were men and women of consequence—seasoned strategists, CEOs, global advisors. And they were all looking at him.

His father, Vincent Caldwell, sat to his immediate right. A man of towering presence and fading patience, Vincent was in his seventies now, though age hadn’t softened him. If anything, it had sharpened his edge.

“You’ve handled the Brazilian expansion well,” Vincent began, voice clipped. “Shareholder confidence is up. And the clean energy initiative is ahead of schedule. But none of this matters if you don’t address the real issue.”

Damon leaned back, already knowing where this was going. “You mean the legacy clause.”

“You know damn well what I mean,” his father snapped. “You have five months left. Five. Months. And still no fiancée. No engagement. Not even a girlfriend the tabloids can dig up. Do you understand what’s at stake?”

Damon’s jaw tightened. He had read the legacy contract a dozen times over the years—an archaic document crafted by his great-grandmother, Eleanor Caldwell, the matriarch and original architect of their fortune. It was her dying wish that the empire never fall into the hands of someone who lived only for power, money, or solitude.

The clause was clear: the designated heir must be legally married by their thirty-second birthday to inherit Caldwell International Holdings. Otherwise, control would pass to the next eligible family member—his cousin Brayden, an entitled leech with zero business acumen.

Damon was thirty-one. And single. By choice.

“I don’t believe marriage should be a business requirement,” Damon said flatly. “It’s a personal decision.”

“Personal?” his mother interjected, stepping into the room uninvited. Margaret Caldwell always arrived without warning and never without purpose. “You’ve treated everything as a business decision since the day you graduated from Wharton. Your father and I have indulged your work obsession long enough. This company—your future—is not just about board meetings and stock options. It’s about legacy.”

Damon closed his eyes for a brief second. “And if I decide I don’t want the company?”

Margaret scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been bred for this. You’ve sacrificed your youth, your friends, even your health for it. You’re not backing out now because of one small condition.”

“Marriage is not small,” Damon said, voice sharp. “It’s not a line item I can just tick off like a quarterly milestone.”

Vincent slammed his palm against the table, making everyone flinch. “Then treat it like one. Hire someone if you have to. Hell, pretend. Just get married.”

Damon stood, shoving his chair back. The tension in the room snapped like overstretched wire. “So you want me to lie? To stage a fake marriage so I can keep the company?”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “I want you to do whatever it takes. You’ve always said Caldwell International is your life. Prove it.”

Damon walked toward the window, jaw clenched. Below him, the city glittered like scattered stars—buildings he owned, companies he ran, a world he commanded. And yet, here he was, trapped by a document written by a woman dead for over forty years.

Margaret stepped closer, her voice quieter now. “We’re hosting a fundraiser next week. Diplomats, royalty, CEOs—many of them with eligible daughters. We’ll arrange introductions.”

“I’m not parading through a line of women like I’m shopping for a new car,” he said coldly.

“You’re running out of time, Damon,” his father said, rising to his feet. “And out of options. Choose wisely. Or lose everything.”

They left the boardroom one by one, their expressions a mixture of disappointment and warning. Damon remained by the window, fists clenched in his pockets.

Everything he’d worked for—every grueling hour, every sleepless night—was now hanging on a personal choice he never wanted to make. Marriage. Love. Commitment. Words that felt like foreign invaders in the fortress he’d built around himself.

He had always believed emotions were liabilities. They made people weak, reckless. He had no time for fairytales, no interest in late-night pillow talk or messy entanglements. Love, to him, was just another kind of debt—one with unpredictable interest and no clear payoff.

But now, the cold certainty of his world was crumbling under a single deadline.

Five months.

He didn’t have time for dating, or vetting someone’s intentions. And he certainly didn’t trust anyone enough to marry them for real.

Unless…

Unless he could convince someone to play the part.

His mind began to race, calculating risks, probabilities, outcomes.

He didn’t need a love story. He needed a solution.

A name floated to the top of his thoughts like a sharp breath breaking the surface of water.

Sienna Blake.

His secretary.

Efficient. Sharp. Untouched by the elite social circles that constantly tried to worm into his world. She was no-nonsense, reliable, and didn’t care about his money or status. In fact, she barely tolerated him.

Perfect.

She had no reason to say yes.

But if she did…

The wheels of the lie began turning in his head.

And for the first time in years, Damon Caldwell smiled.