Lyla Monroe (Nova Kingsley)
“Is this a joke?” I asked, standing frozen in the middle of the private brunch room, staring straight at my father.
Luca—Luca Steele—tilted his head ever so slightly, those cold, steel-gray eyes narrowing on me. “Do I look like a clown to you, Ms. Kingsley?”
Oh my God.
He didn’t recognize me.
I mean, I didn’t blame him. I looked nothing like Lyla Monroe. No more baggy cardigans or mismatched makeup. No hideous black wig swallowing my face. No clunky glasses or shy posture. Standing here in blush Dior, hair in a sleek bun, face glowing with confidence—I was Nova Kingsley. And Lyla Monroe? She was gone.
Besides… it wasn’t like Luca ever paid attention to Lyla. I was just the efficient ghost in the corner of his office who delivered reports and fetched his espresso just right.
I smiled sweetly, biting down my rising annoyance.
“No,” I said, “of course you don’t. Because clowns are actually hilarious, and by the looks of it, you’re not.”
My father nudged me sharply in the ribs. “Shh behave,” he hissed in my ear. “Like a proper lady.”
I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one marrying me off to a man who barely knows my name.”
Luca smirked at my comeback, then muttered under his breath, “This is going to be fun.”
Before I could shoot something else back, Jonathan stepped in between us with a clap of his hands. “Brunch will be served now. Let’s take our seats.”
The long dining table was already set—white linen, gold cutlery, fresh flower arrangements. The staff began placing food in front of us: truffle scrambled eggs, Belgian waffles with lavender syrup, avocado toast with crushed pistachios, tiny fruit tarts, and of course, champagne and mimosas flowing freely.
But I could barely touch a thing.
I sat beside my father, across from Luca, whose face looked like he’d rather be in a boardroom than at a brunch with his future bride.
Then my father cleared his throat.
“So,” he began, lifting his mimosa, “this arrangement was made years ago. Long before either of you were born. Your late father and I always dreamed of merging our companies through a bond stronger than a contract—a marriage between our children.”
I blinked. “Wait. So, I wasn’t even born yet and you already decided my fate?” I turned to him, voice rising. “What are you, God? Even God didn’t have me planned, and you had my whole life mapped out before I existed? Do you hear how insane that sounds?”
Jonathan choked on his orange juice, trying to hold in his laugh. I swear I saw a little twitch in the corner of Luca’s mouth—was that amusement?
My father gave me a slow side-eye. “That’s not what’s important right now.”
“Really?” I snapped.
“What is important,” he continued, unfazed, “is that the merger between Kingsley Enterprises and Steele Enterprises must go forward. Investors are watching. The board is preparing. Your marriage will secure long-term stability, global control, and eliminate the threat of hostile takeovers from the Santorini Group.”
Business. It always came back to business.
I sighed and looked at my hands. This wasn’t about love. It was about power.
“Luca,” my father turned to him, “I want you to treat my daughter like you would treat someone you love.”
Luca blinked, clearly taken aback. “Why would I do that?” he asked bluntly. “I don’t even know her. And with all due respect, arranged marriages in this day and age? Isn’t that a little… outdated?”
My father smiled, sipping his champagne like this was just another company pitch. “Your father would have wanted it this way.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what my father wanted. He died when I was 21. I never got to ask him.”
“You read the document,” father said quietly. “You know he wanted this. You are going to marry my daughter, Luca. And I expect you to treat her with respect.”
Luca stared at him for a moment, then nodded once. “She will get my respect. But I expect the same in return.”
Then my father turned to me, his eyes suddenly soft. “I raised you properly, my dearest child. I expect nothing less from you.”
I took a deep breath. Everything inside me screamed that this was insane. But this was for him. For my dying father.
I nodded. “I will do my best, Father.”
My father clapped his hands together, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Excellent! Then it’s settled!”
He stood up dramatically.
“The wedding will be in two days.”
“WHAT?!” Luca and I shouted, staring at him in disbelief.
