By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

A bitter laugh spills from my lips.

I don’t know why I’m surprised.

Men get to do whatever they want, whenever they want, without any consequence.

I’ve known that for a fact for as long as I can remember.

Dad used to come and go from the house with zero consideration for the people inside.

He’d whisk Mom away on lavish holidays, leaving us behind with Lucie, our nanny, without a second thought.

He enrolled us in boarding school when he decided he wanted the house to himself.

He told us that we’d give our lives working for Warner Group. There was never an option for us to do anything else.

And that’s only a few examples that I can think of right now. Thankfully, I didn’t have all that much to do with him at work, but I know he was just as bad—if not worse—there.

The world we live in is controlled by men. What they say goes, and their stupid actions are brushed under the carpet.

I’m actually amazed that Dad hasn’t put into this ludicrous will of his that Kingston is allowed to be unfaithful.

We all know his father hasn’t been in recent years.

And mine…acid washes in my stomach as I consider how he could have treated Mom over the years.

All the business trips…honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him to have had a woman in every state and every country he’s been to.

They’re probably all going to turn up at the funeral with handkerchiefs in hand, all trying to outdo each other on the grieving widow front.

The image plays out in my mind so clearly. It takes everything I have not to bark out a laugh.

This is it. My father has finally pushed me to my limit.

I’ve lost my fucking mind.

“Tatum, are you okay?” Richard asks in concern. “Do you need to step out for some air?”

“If I leave this room before we discuss all of this, there’s a chance you’ll never see me again,” I confess, finally lowering my ass to the seat. Although not the one beside Kingston. He can fuck off if he thinks I’m ever going to follow his orders.

“Is there anything else to discuss?” Kingston asks. “We’re now officially dating. In a few weeks, I’ll ask you to marry me, and so on.”

My stomach knots painfully. He makes it sound so easy. There isn’t any kind of hesitation or concern in his voice that he’s about to throw his life into chaos.

Why doesn’t he care?

I know I do.

“That’s basically it. There are a few other little things but⁠—”

“Like what?”

“The prenup. Location for the wedding, honeymoon. What you’re allowed access to while living as Kingston’s wife.”

“Whatever,” I mutter. I don’t care about what I’m “allowed”. I don’t want anything from Kingston. I have my own money. Whatever I spend these days, I’ve earned. I can’t remember when I last touched a cent of my father’s money.

“All I need from the two of you is a signature agreeing to the terms, and then I’ll let you go away and process all of this.”

“I have to decide now?” I blurt. “Can’t I…you know, think about it?”

“What is there to think about?” Kingston asks.

Everything.

“There’s only one option here, and you know it.”

I close my eyes for a beat as I think about my life. My job, my apartment, my hopes and dreams for the future.

I hate that he’s right.

Hate it.

Scooting forward on the chair, I hold my hand out for Richard to pass me a pen.

The metal is cool in my fingers, the weight of it almost unbearable as I drag the tip of his fancy fountain pen across the paper.

My signature is almost unrecognizable with how violently my hand is trembling.

A huge breath rushes from my lungs as I sit back and stare at the ink.

Fuck.

“Kingston,” Richard says, holding the pen out for him.

“Of course.”

Smoothing down his tie, he sits forward and scratches his signature beneath mine.

Unlike me, his hand is steady, his writing strong and sure.

Nothing ever unnerves this man. Even signing a year of his life away to me is just another day to him.

Right then and there, I make myself a promise.

Even if I achieve nothing else in the next year of my life, I want to find out what makes him tick, and I want to experience him lose control.

Just once.

I want to experience Kingston Callahan as a real person, not a corporate robot.

The second he sits back, I pull the door open and all but flee from my father’s office.

I was wrong when I walked in there earlier. I thought hearing Richard read the will would close the door on a part of my life I’m mostly happy to leave in the past.

But I have a feeling a whole new level of hell is about to start.

Pressing my hand over my racing heart, I stumble down the hallway, my only focus getting out of this house and away from everyone.

I’m almost at the front door and able to grab my bags and escape when Miles’s deep voice booms down the hallway.

“Tate, wait.”

I stop where I am with my hand resting against the wall.

My legs are weak and my head is spinning. The last thing I should be doing is heading toward my car.

“I can’t stay here, Miles. I need…I don’t know what I need.”

Alcohol. You need lots of alcohol.

Fuck. I’m not even sure if that’s going to be enough.

“Are you okay?” he asks quieter.

He’s right behind me. The heat from his body warms mine.

I desperately want to turn around and fall into his chest. But if I do, I’m afraid I might drown in my own tears.

“Of course,” I lie, holding my head up high. “It’s just a year, right? It’s no big deal.”

“Tate, it’s a massive fucking deal.” Anger laces every word that falls from his lips.

“Has Mom said anything?” I ask, finally reaching for my UGG boots and roughly pulling them on as if this whole thing is their fault.

“Not really. She’s gone to bed.”

“Good for her,” I snap. “Maybe I could do the same and sleep for the next year.”

“I knew you weren’t okay.”

“Miles.” I sigh, hanging my head as any fight I had drains out of me. “I need to go and get drunk.”

I barely get the final words out before he scoops up my bags, throws them over his shoulder, and all but drags me from the house.

“Me too, Tate. Me too.”

“Deliver those back to Tate’s, yeah?” Miles asks of our father’s—his—driver, Leo.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“You’ve got it,” he agrees before closing the door behind us and getting back in the driver’s seat.

“I’m not dressed for this place,” I complain as I look up at my favorite cocktail bar.

“I rang ahead. We’ve got a back room, so no one will know.”

I smile, more grateful for my big brother in this moment than he could ever know.

With his arm around my shoulders, he ushers me inside, and in only minutes, the music playing in the bar gets quieter and the door to the private room closes behind us.

Low, soft lighting fills the room and I make a beeline for one of the three velour teal couches that surround an industrial-style coffee table in the middle.

Needing a distraction, I pluck the menu from the middle of the table. I don’t need it. I know the menu here by heart. But it’s either read this or continue obsessing over my current situation. I know which I prefer.

“What’s it going to be?” Miles asks, having already pressed the button to call a server.

“I would like,” I announce firmly, “five screaming orgasms.”

“T-Tate,” he splutters.

“What? I’ve just been told that I’m going to have to be celibate for a year. I think I deserve them.”

“You have to…” Miles shakes his head as he lets those words sink in. “They can’t ask that of you.”

“Why? Because I’m a whore?” I’m not sure if I’m joking, and neither is he, from the way he studies me after the words spill from my lips.

“Tate, that’s not⁠—”

“I’m kidding. I think. But seriously, how fucked up is this?”

He makes to answer, but a soft knock on the door, and then our server entering, stops him.

“Good evening. What can I get for you guys?” she asks, her eyes locked on Miles the entire time.

I roll mine as I sink back into the couch. Miles is hot, even I can admit that. But watching woman after shameless woman hit on him gets old fast.

“Five screaming orgasms, a scotch, and one of every sharing plate on your menu,” he orders, eye-fucking her just as much as she is him.

Give me fucking strength.

“You can’t fuck her,” I demand the second she’s gone.

“Why the hell not? She’s hot.”

“If I’m not allowed to have sex, then neither are you,” I sulk. “It’s not fair I have to deal with this shit and you don’t.”

“You think I don’t have shit to deal with, Tate?” he asks, falling back and spreading his legs wide. “Dad has just left me in a big fucking heap of it.” His head falls back against the couch, and he closes his eyes as he drags in a deep breath.

He’s changed since he walked out of Dad’s office earlier. Gone is the all-powerful suit that rivaled Kingston’s in favor of a dark pair of jeans and a black sweater. His hair is a disheveled mess, and his knuckles are red and swollen.

My stomach knots as I remember him beating on his best friend because of me.

“What’s happened?” I ask, although I’m not sure if I can handle much else.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, but when he does, I can’t say I believe him. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything. I’m just…overwhelmed, I guess.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter.

“I can’t believe Dad has done this,” he muses.

“Really? As much as I don’t want to believe it, it’s the exact sort of bullshit we should expect from him. Kingston though. Of all people. Why him?” I complain.

“He’s not so bad.”

“Of course you’d say that. I’m sure he’s great to go out drinking with. You’ve never had to be married to him.”

“Did he seriously say no sex?” Miles asks, sounding more intrigued than he should.

I sigh. “No. Dad stipulated that I have to be faithful to the marriage.”

“So, you can have sex. Just…with Kingston,” he says with a wince.

“Yeah, all the while he continues whoring it up all over town.”

“You have to be faithful, and he doesn’t?” Miles balks.

“Men get to have their cake and eat it too; you know this as well as I do.” Each word that passes my lips is even more bitter than the one before.

Thankfully, our server chooses that moment to walk back in and deliver our drinks. She literally lines up the five cocktails for me.

“Are we celebrating?” she asks.

“Commiserating,” I mutter, attempting to steal her attention from my brother and failing miserably.

“Oh, right,” she stutters awkwardly as she slowly backs away. “Well, I hope the drinks help.”

“You’re still not fucking her,” I repeat, reaching for my first drink and taking a massive mouthful.

Fuck, that’s strong.

He studies me for a beat, thankfully swallowing any response I don’t want to hear. We both already know he’s going home with her—or someone—tonight, no matter how much I complain. It’s just how Miles works.

“Are you going to call Lori to meet you?” he asks, confirming my suspicions. He’s happy to babysit me for a while—not that I need babysitting—but not all night.

I shake my head. “No, she’s got a date tonight. Been waiting ages to meet this guy. Thinks he’s the one.”

Miles rolls his eyes. He doesn’t need to say anything. I’m well aware of his cynical views on love and relationships.

“Well, I for one hope he is,” I state after draining my first cocktail and immediately reaching for the next. “Because I’m going to need to live vicariously through her for the next year of my life.”

“I can’t believe after everything that’s happened today, you’re fixating on your sex life. Aren’t there bigger things to worry about?”

I glare at him.

“Firstly, if you were in my situation right now, you’d be complaining a lot more than I am, you manwhore. And second, I do not have the mental capacity to unpack the epic shit pile that was dumped in my lap this afternoon. Mourning the loss of my sex life is the easiest thing to do right now.”

Miles blows out a breath and scrubs his hand down his face before muttering, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but…” He lifts his glass and swallows the entire measure down. “You could screw your husband.”