By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

“I hate to say it, but you’re not going to reel her in like this. You aren’t going to be able to change her thoughts and feelings about her place here overnight. It’s going to take time. Possibly a lot of it.

“You need to let her go.”

I swallow thickly as my own words play on repeat in my head as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.

It’s the middle of the night, but just like every other night this week, sleep won’t find me.

It doesn’t matter what I do, how hard I work myself at the office or in the gym, or how much I distract myself with thinking about everything in my life but her, I still can’t sleep. My head still spins and my chest still aches.

I fucking hate it.

But not as much as I hate the fact I can’t do anything about it.

I mean, yeah. There is plenty I could be fucking doing right now. I could be on a fucking Red Eye to London to chase her down and bring her back.

I could have done it already. I could be with her right fucking now with her wrapped in my arms. Hell, I could have dragged her back already.

But as much of a relief it would be, it would also be the wrong thing to do.

Those words I said to Miles not so long ago continue to cycle around in my head.

I was right. I knew that when I said them, and I still know it now.

It’s why she’s gone.

She’s not ready.

She may never be ready…

All she’s ever done is dream about leaving this place and starting over in England. She doesn’t want a life here; she doesn’t want to be a part of the Warner legacy that those who’ve come before her have worked so hard for.

I admire her for it. There are so many children of successful parents who accept their place in the family just for the fame and wealth. I respect the hell out of the fact that she wants to be her own person, follow her own path, and carve out her own life.

But I also can’t help feeling like it’s a pipe dream. Something that she thinks she wants, despite the fact that her destiny has been, and will always be, here.

With me…

I blow out a slow, pained breath.

It’s not just my chest that feels like it’s gone a few brutal rounds with Tyson Fury, but my eyes too. They’re dry, scratchy, exhausted.

I need sleep, but I fear that nothing short of medication is going to get me there at this point.

Miles is suffering too, but for as concerned as he might be about his sister, it’s not the same as how I’m feeling.

He might be feeling like he’s lost his right arm, but I feel like I’ve had my entire world ripped away.

It’s ridiculous. Only a few months ago, Tatum didn’t feature in my life all that much.

We drove each other to the brink of insanity whenever we were forced to spend time together, but those moments were becoming less and less frequent as we got older.

But now, she’s the only thing I can think about.

Miles thinks he understands, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

Neither can Kian.

The only person I fear might just look into my eyes and appreciate exactly how I’m feeling is a man I’ve been avoiding like the fucking plague.

My father.

Am I being a pussy by avoiding his calls and canceling the meetings he keeps putting in my calendar? Yep, abso-fucking-lutely.

But I also know exactly what he’s going to say. And I don’t want to fucking hear it.

I may not have been privy to the conversations our fathers had about our union, but I know for a fact that my father wouldn’t have gone into it expecting me to fall for her.

He’s always taught us to go into relationships with our heads, not our hearts.

I understand where his advice comes from. The one time he let his heart lead, it ended up shredded and broken.

Our father hasn’t loved since.

Every acquaintance and new stepmother we’ve been introduced to has been a decision based on his head. Someone who’s looked good on his arm, opened up opportunities, and as much as I hate to consider it, probably good in bed, too.

That’s what he expected from me and Tatum in this arranged marriage.

He wanted me to keep my head and secure us Warner Group, to ensure we could continue with our substantial growth.

It was a good plan. A really fucking good plan. One I wish I was smart enough to see coming. But I have to admit that I was just as blindsided by the suggestion when Dad brought it to me as Tatum was the day of the will reading.

But I also couldn’t have predicted these past few weeks. Nor would I have wanted to.Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

They’ve been incredible—I guess everything an arranged marriage should be—up until Tuesday, when she decided that her inheritance wasn’t worth having to endure me.

Pain slices through my chest.

I don’t want to believe it.

Tatum Warner isn’t the kind of woman who runs from anything. She rolls her shoulders back, holds her head high and stares the problem dead in the eyes.

I’ve seen her do it time and time again. Mostly because I’ve been the one she’s glaring at.

Unable to stay here lying to myself that sleep will come, I roll out of bed, my body aching like I’ve never experienced before. Sure, I’d had some serious gym sessions over the years, and there was a time that Kieran wasn’t the only one running around on a football field, but I’ve never, ever felt this fucking broken.

I don’t get it. How can one person have such an effect on your life that it physically makes your muscles ache?

I’m starting to understand Dad a little more. I always thought he was a cold, closed-off asshole for the way he treated women. But I get it.

Tatum and I barely had any time together and yet this is the result. How the fuck must it feel after years of marriage and three kids together?

Fuck. It doesn’t even bear thinking about.

No wonder he turned his focus to business and fucking women who’d never claim his heart.

Self-preservation at its finest.

It’s no way to fucking live your life, though. Constantly scared of being hurt.

I shake my head as I step into the shower, turning it on and letting myself get blasted by cold water.

It’s certainly not the fucking life I want to live, that’s for sure.

I told myself—and Miles—that I’d give Tatum two weeks, two long-ass fucking weeks, before I did anything.

At the time, it seemed like a good fucking idea.

I was sober and listening to my own advice about her needing time to process. I was trying to be a decent fucking human being and not sweep in and turn her world upside down all over again with my demands.

The second I said the words, I regretted them, and I’ve questioned my sanity a million times since.

I’m right, though, I know I am.

Doesn’t fucking help much when she’s the only thing I can think about.

With the sun barely peeking above the horizon, I pull my car into the underground parking lot beneath Callahan Enterprises.

I haven’t been here since Miles and I began putting our plan into action with Warner Group, and it’s not until I step out of the elevator on the silent top floor of the building and breathe in the familiar scent that I realize how much I’ve missed it.

This place has been my home for almost as long as I can remember.

As a teenager, it didn’t matter where we lived, or what school I attended, or what woman Dad was fucking; it was this place where I felt most at home. Apparently, not a lot has changed.

Our assistant’s desk sits empty, as I imagine almost every other one in the building does at this time of the morning.

It’s peaceful, and I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I need or if coming here is the worst decision I’ve made since giving Tatum time.

Probably the latter.

The windows around my office are dark, not allowing anyone to see inside. It makes me wonder how much my presence has been missed. Up until recently, I spent more time in this office, in this building, than I did in my apartment.

Has anyone other than Kian and my assistant noticed?

I walk into my office, and feel immediately as if nothing has changed. I embrace that moment and try to cling onto it for dear life, but as the seconds tick on, reality returns just as potently and as painfully as before.

I’m doing the right thing.

Grabbing a bottle of water, I fall into the chair that sits behind my desk and power up my computer as the sun begins to turn the city beyond a warm orange.

I’ve always appreciated the view, but for some reason, today it fully steals my attention and I find myself completely lost in it, as thoughts of what my future might look like once the dust has settled on all of this, play out in my mind. A lot of the images are fuzzy, but one thing is very clear. And that is her.

My wife.

My heart pounds harder as the decision I made days ago only gets stronger in my mind.

I’m going to get her back. And I’m going to do anything and everything in my power to make it happen.

If I only learn one thing from this whole ordeal, it’s that Tatum Warner is made for me.

Finally ripping my eyes away, I log into my computer and pull up my emails, cringing at the number of unread ones in my inbox.

I scroll to the bottom and begin working my way up.

The hours pass painfully slowly as I make progress, but at least they pass, moving closer to the deadline I’ve given myself.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here,” Kian taunts when he emerges once the sun has fully risen and the city has come to life before me.

“Fuck off,” I grunt, although it does very little to deter him.

“I thought you’d forgotten how to get here,” he teases before dropping into one of the seats on the other side of my desk with a smug smirk playing on his lips and a coffee in his hand. The scent of it turns my stomach and makes my fists clench.

It reminds me of her.

“Did you need to bring that in here?”

Kian rolls his eyes. “Seriously, who made you the fucking coffee police? Some of us are normal and need a morning boost.”

I glare at him, but he just returns it with his own.

“So what’s the latest then?”

I shake my head. “Nothing new.”

“Yeah,” he muses, “I can see you’re still a miserable fucker. She’s really done a number on you, huh?”

“Is this fucking necessary?” I bark.

“Looking at your face and those massive fucking bags under your eyes, I’d say yes. Just fucking go to her, man. You know exactly where she is.”

My teeth grind in irritation.

Yes. I do know exactly where she is. It took a few days, but Aubrey tracked her down to a rental in the same village her Aunt Lena’s cottage is in. Hardly a surprise.

I also know that she’s rented it for a month. A fucking month.

I’ve no idea what she’s planning on doing with her time there. Or if she’s planning on extending it.

One thing I do suspect is that she’s not anticipating that I know every single one of her movements.

She hasn’t put her cell on since leaving the country, probably because she thinks I’ll track her through it. Which of course, I would. But that’s not the only way to find someone, especially when they don’t have the first clue about how to hide.

“I can’t,” I mutter, irritated that I need to go through this again.

“Yeah, so you keep saying, but I still don’t fucking get it. You love her, she loves you. Just go and fucking prove it. You’re being a pussy, if you ask me.”

“I’m being a fucking grown-up. Chasing her isn’t—” I cut myself off, fed up with repeating myself. “Haven’t you got any fucking work to do?”

Rolling his eyes at me again in a way that only a spoiled middle child can, he pushes to his feet and marches toward the door.

“We’ve got a conference call in an hour. Can I suggest you remember how to smile, please?”

The sight of his abandoned takeout coffee cup still sitting on my desk catches my eye and before I know what I’m doing, I’m launching it across the room at him. The lid comes off mid-flight and the remnants cover his light grey suit and white shirt.

“You fucking asshole,” he seethes.

“Fuck off and do some work,” I say before turning my back on him and focusing on my computer again.

I guess misery does love company, and all that.