Chapter 4

Sydney

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this.”

I said it to no one in particular, the words tumbling out as I stared into the mirror in my old bedroom, where everything still smelled faintly of vanilla candles and old perfume bottles.

Lipstick hovered in my hand. Dresses were strewn across the bed like a war zone of indecision. I hadn’t even said yes to going… hadn’t made a single promise to my father. And yet here I was, debating between red or nude lipstick like a woman with plans.

Maybe it wasn’t about Bryce Westin.

Maybe it was about me.

Maybe it was about walking into a room with my chin high and not apologizing for existing. About no longer bending myself into silence and sacrifice. I wasn’t her anymore.

The girl who begged for love with lowered eyes. The wife who handed over her legacy to a man who’d betrayed her soul.

I slipped on the gold bracelet my mother used to wear. It caught the light, soft and warm against my wrist, and for a moment, I imagined her standing behind me in the mirror, whispering, ‘You’ve always had fire in you, Sydney. Stop pretending to be ash.’

I smiled. Not a soft one. A knowing one.

The sound of laughter floated up the stairs, my father’s voice clear beneath it. I smoothed down the fabric of my dress and made my way downstairs, heels clicking softly on the polished wood.

My father stood near the foyer, dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks, easygoing yet sharp as ever. When he saw me, his entire face lit up, and that was all I needed to remember why I loved him with everything in me.

“You look stunning, baby girl,” he said, pulling me into a quick hug before stepping back to admire me. “Damn near scared me. Thought your mother had come back from the grave.”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks heating. “Thanks, Dad.”

A new voice cut in behind me, cool and casual. “And here I was told this would be a casual dinner.”

I turned and froze.

He stood with one hand in his pocket, the other casually holding a glass of water. His grey polo shirt clung to a solid frame, biceps stretching the sleeves, jeans dark and clean, and every inch of him unbothered.

His hair was dark, thick, and slightly tousled like he hadn’t tried at all. Yet somehow, that only made him more annoyingly perfect. His jawline was sharp, his nose straight, lips firm, and his eyes—God, those grey eyes—were the kind of intense that didn’t just look at you. They dared you to look back.

I swallowed. “You’re Bryce.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not what I expected.”

Before I could respond, my father let out a hearty laugh and stepped between us. “Bryce, forgive my daughter. She likes to play dress-up when she’s nervous.”

I shot him a glare. “I’m not nervous.”

“Of course not,” he said with a wink. “Just glowing.”

I moved to sit beside my father at the dining table, subtly brushing down the hem of my dress. Bryce took the seat directly across from me. Too close. Too far. Just enough to make me feel like I was under some kind of scrutiny.

Bryce glanced between us, then turned to my father with an almost bored expression. “so this is your daughter.”

“She is,” my father said with the pride of a man showing off a prized heirloom. “Sydney, meet Bryce Westin. Bryce, this is my daughter, and as you can see, the backbone of this empire.”

He stretch his hand across the table, and I took it, not knowing what I was getting myself into. sure, it was just a handshake. yet, it wasn’t.

A spark zipped up my arm—sharp and uninvited—and he let go so quickly it startled me. Did he feel it too? What the actual… hell?

Even my father seemed to notice the abruptness, his brows flicking up before he moved to pour the wine.

“So,” my father said, sliding into the head of the table. “Let’s talk business. Westin Enterprises is making big waves in logistics again, and Prestige has been exploring regional distribution partnerships. There’s a lot of alignment here.”

Bryce nodded, leaning back slightly. “It’s why I reached out. Our London expansion went smoother than projected. With Prestige’s reputation, we could corner key shipping routes across the Caribbean and Central America within a year.”

My father grinned. “And of course, if you marry my daughter, it’ll make the alliance all the stronger.”

Bryce choked on his drink.

Real subtle, Dad. Real subtle.

Of course, I already knew his intention, so I wasn’t surprised. But Bryce… For the first time since our short meeting, there was emotion on his face. So he was human after all.

He coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he sat forward slightly, looking genuinely taken aback for the first time. “Excuse me?”

I stared at him, not sure whether I wanted to laugh or crawl under the table. The air felt dense now, thick with tension and the slow burn of embarrassment.

“I was under the impression she was married,” Bryce said carefully, his voice low and unreadable. “This agreement died two years ago.”

My father’s face didn’t so much as twitch. “It did. But fate has its own timing. Sydney’s divorcing her husband.”

Bryce’s gaze snapped to mine. And for the first time since he entered the room, I felt truly seen. Not scanned. Not sized up. Seen.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, and when he finally did, his voice had softened, just barely. “I see.”

I wished he would say something else—anything else. Maybe he could provoke me, question me. Protest. But he just… sat back, nodded once, and turned back to my father.

“Then let’s get back to the numbers,” he said, as if the topic of marrying me had been nothing more than a footnote in a contract.

I stared down at my plate.

Something about that made my stomach twist. Not because I expected him to object, but because I hadn’t expected indifference to sting this much.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of wine, figures, and future projections. I chimed in where I could, made mental notes where I couldn’t. But the tension between us never left. It lingered like the aftertaste of burnt coffee—bitter, and hard to ignore.

Then, as if the conversation was never switched, Bryce downed the last bit of his wine before announcing, “Yes. I’ll marry your daughter.”