By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

Pain sears through my face and down my neck.

I expected it.

Although I’ve got to be honest, I expected Miles to keep a lid on it until we didn’t have an audience.

The fact he’s willingly doing this in front of both Richard and his sister shows just how un-fucking-happy he is with this turn of events.

Of course he’s unhappy. What big brother wants his sister with a man like me?

Miles knows me better than anyone else on the planet. And that isn’t a good thing in a situation like his.

With one more hit that makes the back of my head collide with his late father’s ornately carved walnut desk, he finally takes a step back, allowing me to draw in a breath and swallow down the pain.

My eyes flicker open, and the second his shadow moves aside, all I see is her.

Tatum Warner.

Her dark hair is wild and sitting in some kind of weird bird’s nest thing on the top of her head. She’s wearing a massive hoodie—one that I suspect is a man’s—and leggings. Not that I can see much of her legs.

Her face is pale, bare of makeup, and her eyes are surrounded by dark circles, evidence of the toll this week has taken on her.

I grit my teeth as I try to match the image before me with what I always thought my future wife might look like.

Despite my desire to never settle down and be forced to endure the bullshit that comes with being one half of a couple, I knew that I’d eventually have to.

As the eldest son of Michael Callahan, there are certain expectations of me. Expectations that often feel like unforgiving lead weights pressing down on my shoulders.

From the day I was born, I was destined to become one of the most important, wealthy, and powerful men in Chicago.

An image of my future was painted for me from day one. The houses, the cars, the designer suits, and…the beautiful wife.

A woman from a family of good standing. Someone who would look good on my arm and portray the image my surname demands.

Sure, on paper, Tatum is the perfect candidate.

She’s beautiful—even when she’s doing her best to look like a tramp. She’s got a surname that holds almost as much weight as mine. She’s grown up in the same world as me. She understands what my life is like and the pressure I’m under.

There’s just one problem…

She drives me fucking crazy.

Defiance may as well be her middle name. Everything she’s ever been told to do, she takes great pride in doing the opposite—something her father didn’t take very kindly to.

While I’m strategic in my ways, she’s like a chaotic puppy with a squeaky toy in its mouth.

Sure, she’s settled a little now she’s an adult. And I can’t deny that she’s good at her job. A job that was never a part of Jonathan’s plans for her.

She was meant to go into finance instead of marketing. He may never have put her as high up the ranks as he immediately did Miles, due to her being a woman and Jonathan still living in the dark ages where gender is concerned, but that’s not the point.

He’d carved a path out for her, and she figuratively stuck her middle finger up at him and went in her own direction.

She still works for Warner Group. She’s still an asset. Just…not the asset Jonathan wanted her to be.

I’m pretty sure if I were to ask her, she’d openly tell me that Jonathan made her feel like nothing but a disappointment since the day she was born.

“What?” the woman in question snaps as I continue to stare at her and push to my feet.

Lifting my hand to my mouth, I wipe away the trickle of blood that was making its way down to my chin.

“It was hot watching you try to protect me. Maybe you will make a good wife, after all.”

Some weird growl noise rumbles deep in Miles’s throat while Tatum’s face twists in anger.

“No, that’s enough,” she snaps, her arm shooting out to stop him from lunging toward me again. “You need to leave.”

It takes a few seconds for her words to register, but when they do, he rears back.

“I’m not leaving you,” he states firmly.

Tatum looks between us, and every time her eyes come to me, she seems to catalogue another bruise or cut caused by her hot-headed brother.

I love him like one of my own, but fuck, he’s worse than Kian, my younger brother, when it comes to his temper.

“Miles.” She sighs. “This,” she says, gesturing between me and her, “isn’t something you can fix. Apparently, Dad wanted⁠—”

“The fuck was he even thinking?” he mutters, scrubbing his hand down his face. His knuckles are busted open, giving me a hint of what my face must look like right now.

He looks up at me, his lips twitching into a smirk as he takes in the state of my face.

Fucker knows what he’s done.

I’m going to have to walk into the office looking like this.

“Listen to your sister, Miles. This is between us. Husband and wife shit.”

I might be focused on Miles, but I don’t miss the way Tate’s lips purse in anger at my words.

“I’m not your wife,” she sneers.

“Not yet. But you will be.” For once in your life, you’re going to do as you’re told…

Her expression hardens, although she’s pretty difficult to take seriously right now with a hoodie down to her knees and bits of hair everywhere.

“Miles, please,” she begs. “We need to discuss this. Go check on Mom. I’ll be out soon.”

With another concerned look in her direction, Miles finally walks toward the door.

He pauses when he gets there and looks me dead in the eyes.

“I’m fucking watching you, Kingston.” Hearing him use my full name makes me smile, a reaction he probably doesn’t want to see.

“Miles,” Tatum snaps, and finally he walks out of the room and closes the door behind us.

She stares at the dark wood as if she’s praying for some kind of miracle, but sadly for her, it’s unlikely to happen.

Her future has been laid out now. There’s only one way her life is going.

My way.

“Tatum, Kingston, please, take a seat,” Richard says, speaking for the first time in a while and reminding me that he’s still sitting there.

With a nod, I move forward and drop back into the seat I stole from her with a smirk playing on my lips.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Baby?” I ask, dragging the chair next to me closer and gesturing for her to sit.

“Don’t call me that,” she sneers. “Don’t ever call me that.”

My smirk grows.

Fuck. I shouldn’t love riling her up as much as I do.

As a kid, it was always one of the reasons why I loved being here and hanging out with Miles. Sure, she was annoying as fuck, running around with her Barbies and other girly shit. But watching anger blaze in her eyes whenever she so much as bumped into me made it all so worth it.

“We’ll see,” I mutter. “At least sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Brat,” I say under my breath.

Richard looks between the two of us as if he’s watching a tennis match.

“So, what’s the deal here? We get married, try not to kill each other for a year, and then I’m free?”

Richard pauses for a moment before answering, and I can’t lie, his hesitation piques my interest.

I may have been aware of this part of Jonathan’s will—hell, I fucking agreed to it. But I don’t know the details, or even the reasons.

I just saw it for what it is. A business deal. And quite frankly, it seemed like a pretty fucking good one to me.

So, here we are.

“Yes and no,” Richard finally confesses. “Your father has stipulated how he would like your relationship to progress from here on out.”

“You mean he’s still trying to dictate my life from the grave?” Tatum snaps.

But Richard doesn’t bite.

“He has requested that you use this time of mourning to ignite your relationship. Kingston has been such a pillar of support to you during this time that you decide to finally explore what else could be between you.”

“He actually said that?”

“He would like for the two of you to be seen out together, for your photographs to appear online, for your names to be entwined before an engagement announcement is made.”

“This is bullshit. He wants us to have an actual relationship?” she gasps.

“It needs to look real.”

“Real? Real?” she repeats as she starts pacing. “The only real thing here is how much he’s fucked me over.”

“I can assure you, your life could be a lot worse than being married to me,” I point out.

“The state’s biggest fucking player?” she screeches. “Are you for fucking real? There are a lot of things I’d rather do than this.”

“Like lose it all?”

Instantly, she stills, her arms hanging at her sides and her expression softening as she thinks about the alternative.

“Your apartment, your home, will be gone. Your roommate tossed out on her ass. Your car, your clothes, every single cent of your money.”

“I don’t give a crap about the money, Kingston,” she argues.

“You want that cottage though, don’t you?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but she can’t. Even I know how much she covets that place.

Every dream she’s ever had ends with that cottage and a new life outside of America.

But does she want it enough?

“So, a fake relationship. A fake marriage. I assume I’m going to have to live with you?” she asks, her blue eyes holding mine.

“You’d assume correctly.”

“In the guest room.”

“Are you bartering here or trying to tell me?”

Her jaw ticks with irritation and her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” she states.

I smile—I can’t help it.

“What’s so funny about that?” she snaps.

“I give it a week before you’re begging to be in my bed.”

“Over my dead body. I don’t even want to be in your house, let alone the same room as you.”

“And yet, you’ve already practically agreed,” I point out.

Her nostrils flare as she draws in a deep breath before turning back to Richard.

“You said a year. A year from now? A year from engagement? Or a year from saying,” she shudders, “I do?”

“A year from your vows,” Richard confirms.

“So, you’re saying that if we don’t get on with it, it could be longer?”

He nods once.

“And after that year has passed, I’m free to leave and we can divorce?”

“Yes. The cottage becomes yours along with everything else you already have. You are free to start your life over.”

My fists curl on my lap as I think about her packing up her things, walking out of my penthouse, and moving to the other side of the Atlantic to start over.

She hasn’t even stepped foot inside my home yet, and I already can’t bear the thought of her leaving.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

This is a business deal. One that hasn’t even been signed yet.

The side of my face burns as she turns to look at me.

“And you’re okay with this?”

Ensuring I have a relaxed expression on my face, I turn to look up at her.

“Sure, why not?”

She crosses her arms across her chest, making me wish she wasn’t covering her body with such baggy clothes so I could see the way her tits push up.

She’s got great fucking tits.

Hell, her whole body is banging.

Curvy yet toned. Everything is a perfect handful, and the way her waist dips…fuck, my fingers curl again as I imagine holding her right there and⁠—

“You won’t be fucking your way around the state if we’re married,” she says, interrupting my little fantasy.

I quirk a brow.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Richard, but something tells me that this is a monogamous agreement.”

“You’re correct, Tatum. If you agree to this, then neither of you will have any other partner during your time together.”

“And if we do?” she asks curiously.

“If you do, you sacrifice everything. Just as you would by walking away right now.”

“And if Kingston cheats?” she asks. The way her brow is pinched tells me that she already knows the answer to that question.