Chapter 2

Moments later, the dressing room door was flung open with a force that made the stylists jump.

Isabella Young stood framed in the doorway, her silhouette etched against the hall's opulent lighting. She was undeniably stunning, a vision in a gown that probably cost more than most indie films. At nearly five-foot-ten, she commanded the room even before she spoke.

"Wesley," she said, her voice a whip-crack of impatience that didn't quite match her bridal elegance. "I pay you to manage my life. Is wrangling one... performer... truly beyond your capabilities?"

"So the elusive Isabella Young," I said, turning to face her fully. "My fiancée."

The title felt alien on my tongue.

We'd been ships passing in the night at a few high-profile events, exchanging nothing more than polite, camera-ready smiles.

Up close, the only flaw in her perfect picture was the absolute arctic frost in her eyes as they swept over me.

"Ms. Young, since our parents seem to have done all the introductions, perhaps I can properly introduce myself. I'm Sebastian Shaw. Beyond the screen, my family—"

"Spare me the biography, Sebastian," Isabella cut me, a perfectly manicured hand slicing through the air. "I have absolutely no interest in your family's little production company or your filmography."

I had been about to say "Shaw Studios," to offer her a final chance to step back from the cliff.

But this arrogant heiress wouldn't even let me finish.

"Even in a business merger," I replied, my voice cooling several degrees, "common courtesy is usually part of the deal. Or does your family's manual skip that chapter?"

Her face instantly darkened. "Courtesy? Don't be naïve. This is a business merger. And you, Sebastian, are the talent my father insisted on acquiring."

She gave me a dismissive glance and snorted coldly. "Let me be perfectly clear, if my father weren't forcing me into this, a freeloading loser like you wouldn't even register on my radar!"

She raised her voice, addressing the room. "And don't for a second thinkthis ring gives you any equity in my life or my body. Access is granted solely at my discretion."

My gaze locked onto hers, my voice devoid of emotion. "If you're so against marrying me, Ms. Young, why force yourself?"

"In fact..." I continued, a note of finality entering my voice. "let's save us both a monumental waste of time. Why don't we just cancel the wedding? It would be better for both of us."

I meant it as a clean exit. But she took it as a declaration of war.

"You pathetic loser! Don't play hard-to-get with me!"

"Do you have any idea how many men in Manhattan are lining up to marry me?"

I couldn't help the dry laugh that escaped me. "I don't keep a tally, Isabella. I simply recognize a bad script when I see one. I simply think we're fundamentally incompatible."

"As for your father," I added, "I'll explain it to him myself. You needn't worry."

The room, which had been holding its breath, erupted into a cacophony of shocked whispers.

"Oh my god, is this guy nuts? He's actually asking to break off the engagement with the Youngs?"

"No kidding! Isabella Young is practically every guy's dream girl here. This idiot doesn't know how lucky he is."

"If it were me marrying the Young heiress, I'd be pinching myself awake!"

Through the noise, I remained still. In my world, a bad partnership could tank a studio. This was no different.

Clearly, this entitled Manhattan princess wasn't for me.

I vividly recalled her father, CEO of Young Enterprises, practically sweating through his shirt, bowing and scraping before my grandfather, terrified of saying the wrong word.

He probably had no idea that the immense influence he'd begged for was about to be destroyed by his own daughter.

"Sebastian Shaw! I'll ask you one last time,do you truly want to break this engagement?"

I lifted my head, meeting her eyes directly, my resolve unwavering. "Absolutely."