The Heiress' Husband

Raelynn had spent her entire life navigating the world of powerful men, but Raphael Cross? He wasn't just powerful—he was dominant. He was the kind of man people whispered about in high society, the one who turned industries into his playground.

He didn't chase deals. He owned them. If he wanted a company, he acquired it. If he wanted an empire, he built it.

And now, he was sitting across from her, regarding her with the kind of quiet confidence that made it very clear that nothing about this meeting surprised him.

She, on the other hand, was still reeling. She had expected to meet some desperate heir, a wealthy but powerless man looking to improve his status by tying himself to a Lancaster.

Not this. Not him.

"Let's get this over with, then. I assume my grandfather wants me to marry someone who meets his impossibly high standards. And you, Raphael, seem to be playing along."

His smirk didn't waver.

"I don't play, Raelynn."

Something in the way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.

She folded her arms, expression neutral. "So, what exactly do you want?"

Raphael leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. The candlelight flickered between them, casting a warm glow over his features.

"A proposal."

She blinked.

Laughed.

"Excuse me?"

She laughed again.

"Let me stop you right there. I have no interest in marriage."

"Neither do I."

That caught her off guard. She blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Raphael leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table as he studied her.

"Let's not pretend we don't understand how this world works, Raelynn. Marriage isn't about love. It's about power, alliances, control."

She hated how effortlessly he stripped it down. How easily he laid bare the reality of the life they had both been born into.

Raelynn lifted her glass, taking a slow sip of wine. "So, tell me, Mr. Cross… was this your idea, or am I actually at the mercy of my grandfather's matchmaking skills?"

Raphael smirked. "Why don't you take a guess?"

She exhaled. "Blink twice if you were forced."

His smirk deepened. "I don't get forced into anything, Raelynn."

Right. She should've known. But something in the way he said it made her pause. She studied him carefully, tilting her head.

"Wait… don't tell me you actually wanted this?"

Raphael leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, fingers tapping lazily against his wine glass. "Want is a strong word."

Her stomach twisted, as a laugh threatened to burst out of her. "Oh, God," she muttered. "You manipulated him, didn't you?"

His silence was answer enough. She set her glass down with a sharp clink.

"You did. You actually did." She shook her head, half in disbelief, half in reluctant admiration.

"You wanted me to be your bride, so you made my grandfather think it was his idea?"

His lips curved slightly. "You make it sound so… devious."

"That's because it is devious."

He chuckled. "It was strategic."

She let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, at least I know where I get my scheming tendencies from."

His gaze darkened with amusement. "If it's any consolation, he was already considering it. I simply… nudged him in the right direction."

"Nudged?" She huffed out a laugh. "You puppeteered one of the most ruthless businessmen in the country into arranging this dinner. And people say romance is dead."

Raphael raised his glass slightly, as if toasting to her sarcasm.

She narrowed her eyes. "You know, normal people just ask someone out. Maybe buy them flowers, chocolate, coffee." She gestured vaguely. "Not orchestrate an entire setup through a seventy-year-old corporate overlord."

"Where's the fun in that?"

She exhaled sharply. "This is insane."

"But effective." He wasn't wrong. She hated that he wasn't wrong.

She slumped back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "So, let me get this straight. You want to marry me, but not for romance."

"Correct."

"You manipulated my grandfather into thinking this was his idea."

"Also correct."

"And now you expect me to just agree?"

He tilted his head. "You will."

She let out a short laugh. "Wow. Such confidence. You could at least pretend to be worried I'll say no."

Raphael simply regarded her with that maddening, unreadable expression. "You need this marriage just as much as I do."

Her lips parted in protest, but she closed them just as quickly. Damn him. Because once again, he was right.

Her grandfather had almost backed her into a corner—marry or lose everything. And Raphael? He had a board of directors breathing down his neck, demanding stability, a "respectable" image.

This was a merger, not a love story.

She exhaled, tapping her fingers against the table. "And when it's over?"

"We part ways," Raphael said simply. "You'll have your inheritance plus wealth as a woman that was once my wife. I'll have kept my board happy. No complications."

"No complications," she repeated, skeptical.

His gaze sharpened. "Unless you plan on falling in love with me."

She snorted. "Please."

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips. "Then we have a deal."

Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass. She could still walk away. But if she did, her grandfather would never stop meddling.

And at least with Raphael, she knew exactly what she was getting into.

Raelynn took a long sip of wine. Set her glass down. Then she met his gaze.

"Fine," she said. "I'll do it."

Raphael lifted his glass. "To our future, then."

Raelynn eyed Raphael's raised glass, then let her gaze flick back to his unreadable expression. Of course, he looked completely at ease, as if securing a wife was just another deal on his never-ending list of acquisitions.

She, on the other hand, had just agreed to marry a man she barely knew. Well, that wasn't entirely true—she knew enough. Enough to recognize that Raphael Cross didn't do anything without an agenda.

Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass, but she didn't lift it right away. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, tilting her head.

"You know, you could at least pretend to be thrilled about this," she mused. "Most men propose with flowers, a heartfelt speech, maybe even a ring. You? You just sat there like you were negotiating a merger."

Raphael's lips twitched. "Would you have preferred flowers?"

"Not really, but a little enthusiasm wouldn't hurt." She lifted her glass and arched a brow. "Come on, Cross. Humor me. Give me your best toast."

His smirk deepened, but he remained silent.

Raelynn narrowed her eyes. "Oh my God. You don't know how, do you?" She gasped, faux horror lighting up her features. "Have you never had to toast before? Is this what happens when you're too rich? Do your assistants just do it for you?"

A slow, deliberate chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Raelynn."

"Yes?" She beamed at him, feigning innocence.

"What do you take me for? I'm Raphael Cross."

Raelynn shook her head, muttering tp herself. "I can't believe i agreed to marry a man that can't raise a proper toast"

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, and then, finally, lifted his glass properly. "To… our mutually beneficial arrangement," he said smoothly, "and to a marriage that will be as uncomplicated as possible."

Raelynn wrinkled her nose. "Boring. You can do better."

His gaze gleamed with amusement. "To a marriage of convenience, built on logic and necessity, and not at all on the possibility of either of us eventually regretting this."

She grinned. "Now that's the spirit." She clinked her glass against his with a little more force than necessary, watching the way his fingers tightened slightly around the stem. "To our impending doom," she added cheerfully before taking a sip.

Raphael took a slow sip as well, his eyes never leaving hers over the rim of his glass. "You're going to make this interesting, aren't you?"

Raelynn smirked. "You have no idea."