Bound.

The slap echoed through the air, the resonance sounded like a gunshot.

The study lay silent, the air heavy, hanging on the costly paneled mahogany walls, reminders of the family lineage of the Monroes.

A dominance forged in a dynasty.

A surname was breathed, revered, and whispered along the corridors in the upper-class circles in Atlanta.

None of them, in the instant at hand, did anything.

Isabella Monroe towered above her, her hand still ringing from slapping her father in the face. Never in twenty-five years. This night, finally, at long last, reached her breaking point.

Jonathan Monroe inhaled, his hands tracing the corner of his mouth, the only thing awry in his typically immaculately groomed demeanor. He laughs, his face splitting in half in amusement, as if he found her resistance side-splitting.

"Are you finished?"

The anger in her, stifled. "You sold me."

Her breath was toxic, her tone softer than if she screamed.

"Like a freaking product."

Jonathan rested the chair in the same position at the back of his desk, his hands slapping the surface.

"It's a commercial offer, Isabella. Something in the interest of everyone."

She laughed at his mockery. "Everyone, and I."

He looked at her so, gazing at her in the same manner you look at a child in the course of a tantrum, and the other woman whose life during the course of a minute belonged to other people.

"You should be grateful to me," he continued. "

Just yesterday, I arranged the most powerful wedding in the life of the family."

Her stomach cramped. Saying the man's name, just to utter his name, could give her the shivers.

Jonathan's smirk widened. "The same man who could blow up Monroe Industries at his whim if I provided the motive.

What I proposed I could offer to him in return-" he leaned in her way, "-was you."

Isabella's breath caught, her body wracked in shock and rage. "You are repulsive."

"I'm a businessman," he cut in, his voice silky smooth.

"And you are my daughter. Your duty lies in this family, in this family's good name. You think your tiny fashion enterprise makes you invincible? Monroe Luxe only manages to survive because I allow you."

Her heart palpitated; those words were too hard to swallow.

Jonathan sighed, arose, and adjusted the cuffs of his expensive outfit.

"You have a choice, Isabella. You marry Adrian and you see this through, or you quit."

He stopped, his eyes clenching. "And if you resign, you resign zero. Not a dime. Not a shred. Not the company."

It was as if the walls suffocated, pulling the air from the air.

Jonathan stepped into the doorway, his countenance smooth, having just negotiated what he could and having agreed to her terms.

"You are to be wed in three days' time," he said, his back to her. "Make some effort to avoid embarrassing me."

And he was gone.

The moment the door shut, Isabella's legs went from under her. Leaning back in the desk, struggling to catch her breath, this did not feel right. Waking up to this. And despite how many awake openings her eyes opened, reality did not fade.

Three days.

She had only three days to decide whether to accept Isabella Devereaux. Adrian Devereaux was waiting.

Adrian gazed into the blaze in his fire-place, the amber smoke climbing up the walls in his penthouse. The knuckles in his hand, around the tumbler, puffed white, the warm aroma mixing in the aroma from his cigar.

He waited to see the day, and finally, anticipation strangled the life from his body.

Ethan Carter presented his face, his arms crossed, his face stern. "You actually believe this to be what should be done?"

Adrian took a slow sip, his face scrunching up at the sting, and he returned the glass to the surface. "It's inappropriate, it's required."

Ethan let the breath he had in his lungs loose. "She doesn't owe any man an explanation for what her daddy did."

Adrian's jaw clenched. "Stop, her last name's his sister's."

Ethan shook his head. "You are joking, Adrian."

Adrian growled. "I don't compete if I don't compete to succeed."

The room was oppressive, the air oppressive with all the things he didn't say. Years, he waited to see his day, waited to catch his breath and pounce at the opportune moment. Jonathan Monroe stole from him all he held most in his life-his family's good name, his dad's integrity, his mother's life.

Now Adrian finally did something.

Isabella Monroe.

The air, heavy and warm-scented with the scent of jasmine, clotted around her face, suffocating her, and Isabella opened the balcony doors, her hands shaken. The city spread at her feet, twinkling lights, so alive, so pulsing.

And she felt so cramped.

"You're not so powerful, you think."

The low, silky voice stroked her body.

She spun about, her breath caught in her throat, to see the face of Adrian Devereaux. Reaching back easily along the railing, he reclined, his eyes glinting up at her in amusement and something infinitely worse.

How long did he last

Her heart pounded and wouldn't slow. "What in the devil are you doing in this place?"

He pushed himself back from the railing, unwillingly in her path. "Grasping what's already yours."

Her heart was racing. "You belong to me."

Adrian smiled. "You will be."

The arrogance in his tone could provoke her to the point at which she struck him in the same fashion her dad did. Something, though, annoyed her in the way he looked at her, the way he already possessed her, the way her combat did not register.

He stepped into the room, his nearness oppressive. "You are losing the battle, Isabella."

Her chin shook in determination. "Watch me."

His smile grew broader, and he flashed me some black humour. "Oh, I shall."

The air between them clung, heavy and oppressive, the distance between them shrinking so his body heat caressed hers. Her breath caught when his hand stroked her arm, deliberate, soothing.

She despised the way he shook her skin.

Adrian leaned in close, his face in her ear, his warm breath. "Three days," he breathed. "And you are all mine."

And then he left her to the thoughts of an arranged marriage drifting in her mind.

This hadn't been achieved. Not by any stretch.