The Twist

For the first time since my father’s will had thrown my world into emptiness, I find myself enjoying a moment. Normally, I would have just played the passive role, nodding here, offering a courteous question there. But not today.

Leaning forward, I lace my fingers together atop the table.

“So, Mr Westwood,” I begin, my voice smooth, “tell me, why exactly does Arclight want a partnership with Hartley Holdings?” His jaw tenses ever so slightly.

“We’re convinced that your company’s market presence complements our expansion strategy.” I tilt my head, feigning polite curiosity.

“Expansion strategy?. Could you elaborate, please?”. Mr Westwood folds his hands together.

“We’re targeting emerging markets across Africa and parts of Europe. Your distribution networks offer a significant advantage.” I nod slowly.

“Hmm. So you’re looking to use our infrastructure to gain access to territories you haven’t been able to penetrate on your own? ”. His brow lifts.

“Leverage is the word—collaborate… semantics.” I chuckle softly. “Semantics are important in business, Mr Westwood. Words shape deals.”

Desmond shoots me a curious glance from across the table.

He’s probably confused at what was going on. Courtney makes a smirk. The rest of the executing team are surprised that I'm taking the wheel. I usually leave it to them.

Mr Westwood's team look equally bewildered but maintain calm expressions on their faces.

“Let’s talk numbers then. Your last quarterly growth report – care to explain the sudden dip? ”.

Desmond’s eyes widened slightly. Courtney’s pen paused mid-scribble.

Damian didn’t flinch. “Market fluctuations. We’re diversifying investments to counterbalance.”

“Market fluctuations? ” I echo. “Or investor confidence?”. A muscle twitched in his jaw. I smirk inwardly.

For the next thirty minutes, I hammer him with question after question — client retention strategies, revenue growth. Every answer he gives, I twist, reframe, and poke holes in. And every time, I saw him tighten up more.

By the time I finally leaned back, crossing my legs elegantly, Damian's carefully maintained mask had cracks.

"Well, Mr Westwood,” I say with a gracious smile “thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.” I know I'm going to accept the proposal. I'm just playing around.

“My, that was intense,” Desmond comments as soon as we step out.

"Really?” Courtney interjects, “I enjoyed it.” I laugh.

And that's when I heard it.

"Rachel.” I turn, a slow smirk curving my lips.

“Yes, Mr Westwood?” He doesn't reply. Instead, he closes the distance between us, grasps my hand firmly, and pulls me.

"We need to talk.”

Courtney opens her mouth, but I give her a subtle wave.

“I'll be back. You guys head on. Tell everyone I'll be right there.”

I let him lead me, his grip firm but not painful. Oddly enough, it's… warm. Almost protective. Like he doesn't want to hurt me. Well, he shouldn’t. His company’s reputation could be on the line.

He pulls me into a quiet corridor, away from the bustling conference rooms. Once we're alone, he spins around, pushing me lightly against the wall. His hands shoot up, pinning me gently but firmly over my head.

"Excuse me?” I gasp. He leans in, his face inches from mine. His eyes lock onto mine, hard and unyielding. And I feel a stupid shiver run through me.

"Just so we’re clear,” he says, his voice low, “I’m not desperate for this deal. Hell, I could close down your company within the twinkle of an eye if I wanted. I’m only doing this because our fathers were friends. Mine asked me to help, so see this as me honouring him. I won't have you play games with me or tease me when I most definitely don't have anything to lose.” He leans even closer, my insides tingling at the closeness “I still don’t care about you.”

His words hit like a slap. His father?. What's his father got to do with this?. Then it hits me. Westwood. The name. Dad's friend.

I stare back at Damian, stunned. I’d read him wrong. How come I didn't know about this? Dad didn't mention anything about Arclight.

But then, pride is a stubborn thing. I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and meet his stare head-on. And that’s when I really saw him. He stands at least 6'2, a towering figure of handsomeness. His dark, sleek hair framed a symmetrical face — cheekbones sharp enough to cut, a strong jawline, and full lips pressed into a frown. His fitted suit barely contains the muscles beneath: broad shoulders and toned arms. And for a moment… I forget how to breathe.

"Rachel,” his deep voice snaps me back to the present. Without thinking, the words blurt from my lips.

“Marry me.”The silence that follows is deafening. Then his brows shoot up.

“What did you just say? ” I swallow, straightening. “Marry me. A contract marriage. Business only.”

Am I seriously proposing to this man?. He looks genuinely amused now.

“You’re serious? ” I draw in a breath. In one fast, breathless sentence, I tell him everything: my father’s will, the insane marriage condition, and the looming deadline. His expression slowly shifts from amused to contemplative.

“So basically… we get married, I get my company, and you honour your father’s wish.” He nods slowly.

“Interesting.” A smile spreads across his face.

"I like it,” he says.

“You… do? ” He does?. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a business card and hands it to me. “Text me. So we can discuss the details.”

When I finally returned to my team, they were all waiting with curious glances. I force a neutral expression, sliding the business card into my purse.

"Everything alright? ” Courtney asks quietly.

"Everything’s perfect" I smile.

But my insides are a whirlwind of emotions. I'm not sure if I’d just made the smartest business move of my life…or the most dangerous mistake of my life.