Chapter One
Atticus POV
Weddings were supposed to be sacred. Joyous. Drenched in gold and promise.
This one felt more like a negotiation wrapped in silk.
I stood at the altar, hands tucked neatly behind my back, jaw clenched just enough to look stoic, not tense. Everything about this day had been curated—down to the thread count on the handkerchief in my pocket. Yet I felt like a pawn moved three steps too far on a chessboard I didn't remember agreeing to play.
Cameras flashed. A string quartet whispered through another lifeless instrumental. And I, Atticus Frensby, groom of the hour, couldn't stop thinking about how many boardrooms I'd rather be in than this ballroom.
Then the doors opened.
She stepped in like a rebellion trapped in white.
Savannah Amble. The daughter of the man who once attempted to resurrect his dwindling empire through charm, vision—and now, this arrangement. It wasn't a rescue mission. It was a power move. One crafted by my father and hers behind mahogany doors and decades of ego. A temporary alliance dressed up as love.
Two weeks ago, we weren't even in the same orbit. Then came the contract. The pitch. The perfect union—on paper. One year of marriage, signed and sealed. Enough to stabilize public perception, draw in investors, and let our families breathe again.
She didn't agree right away. Neither did I. But money moves faster than grief and legacy is a beast we're all scared to starve.
Our eyes met. I didn't smile. Neither did she.
Her steps were graceful, measured. But not soft. No, Savannah walked like she'd rather be running—like every inch of her hated this, down to the lace crawling up her arms. A woman backed into a corner, bartering her freedom in exchange for a future someone else scripted.
I knew the feeling.
Because even if this merger—sorry, marriage—was wrapped in promises of public image, financial growth, and family redemption, it was nothing short of a leash. Tied tightly. Silken enough to pretend it wasn't choking us.
The vows were spoken.
The rings were exchanged.
The kiss? A barely-there brush that neither of us lingered in. It was just enough for the cameras. Just enough to play the part.
And then came the slap.
It landed clean, sharp, the sound slicing through the applause like a blade.
Gasps. Silence. A shattered champagne flute.
My cheek burned, not just from the sting but from the meaning behind it. She hadn't known who I was until the veil lifted. I could see it in the way her lips parted, a breath caught somewhere between guilt and satisfaction. But she didn't apologize.
And I didn't flinch.
Savannah used me as a canvas for her anger. I recognized it instantly—misplaced rage in need of a target. I could've told her the truth: I wasn't the villain in her father's story. But I let her believe I was.
Because maybe I deserved it.
For letting this happen.
For becoming the kind of man who could stand still while two legacies collided, and a girl was turned into a bargaining chip.
Later, at the reception, the music played too loudly. Laughter was a performance. And I found myself drifting, glass in hand, toward the dessert table I didn't care for.
That's when I saw her again.
Not Savannah.
Trevor.
"About time," I said, catching him in a quick, practiced hug. "You missed the ceremony."
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Tangled Vows | PART 1 |
RomanceShe was the spark he never saw coming. He was the calm before the storm she wasn't ready for. Atticus Frensby - sharp-minded, sharp-tongued, and heartbreak in a tailored suit. A ruthless businessman who lives by logic, control, and ironclad contract...
