Not my wishes but with Circumstances

Benedict Pov

It was an early morning when I received an unexpected phone call from my father. He asked me to come home immediately for an urgent meeting. I couldn't help but wonder what this was all about. My father had never been one to hand over his business responsibilities, and if he ever did, I was certain I wouldn't be his choice. After all, I had a lot of life left to enjoy, far more than sitting in an office, managing one business crisis after another without a moment's peace.

As the only child, I was admittedly spoiled. I mentioned the call to Charlie, my boyfriend, and he wasn't thrilled with the idea. His expression softened, though, when he noticed how worried I looked. "Why does your dad want you to come home? Is everything okay?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," I replied. "But I need to fly back to England to find out. You could come with me, you know-maybe it's time for you to be introduced as the son-in-law."

Charlie smiled but shook his head. "Not yet. When the time is right, I'll go with you."

I booked a flight and began packing for the trip. My favorite car, a Rolls-Royce Phantom, would be waiting for me when I landed. Upon arriving in England, my dad welcomed me warmly, his demeanor as loving as ever. But something felt off. His calm exterior only deepened my suspicion when I noticed a young man, composed and quiet, seated in a plush chair nearby.

"Dad, what's going on?" I asked.

"Benedict, we need to talk," he said, his tone unusually firm. I was taken aback; this wasn't like him. Traveling from London to England had been exhausting, and I really wanted to take a shower first.

"Dad, I need to freshen up. Can this wait?" I asked.

"I understand, daughter, but this is important," he insisted.

He had never spoken to me in such a commanding tone, not once in my entire life. I was puzzled and uneasy. "Dad, I need to shower. We can talk afterward," I said, hoping to delay the conversation.

I made my way to the lift, intending to go to my room, but before I could step inside, my father blocked my path. His expression had changed drastically-his brow was furrowed, his eyes burning with intensity.

"Daughter, sit down," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. I felt a wave of fear wash over me, and for the first time, I was truly afraid of what he might say next.

My dad had never acted this way toward me before. As I reluctantly sat down, my mind raced, trying to figure out why he was behaving so strangely.

"Mr. Rogers is my childhood friend and has been my backbone in business," he began, his voice steady but firm. "He's been my partner for years, and to strengthen our bond, I want you to marry his son."

My heart sank as he continued, "His name is Jack Rogers. He studied business administration in London, and he's well-suited to carry on our legacy."

Jack stood up, extending his hand to me with a polite smile, but I recoiled, refusing to shake it. "Dad, I don't like him at all. He's not my type," I protested, hoping he would understand.

My father's face hardened. "What nonsense 'type' are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice rising. "This is your betrothed, chosen for you since birth. You will marry him-three days from now."

I tried to plead with my dad, but he was resolute. My mom wasn't around-likely away on one of her business trips to China. Both of my parents were always serious about their work, never letting anything distract them.

My dad left me alone with Jack, clearly hoping we'd get to know each other better. As soon as the door closed behind him, something about Jack's face struck me as familiar. Then it hit me-Jack Rogers had been my coursemate in London. He was well-known for his intelligence and brilliant performance. But what unnerved me most was that he held a secret that could ruin me. I had been rusticated from school, a fact my parents were blissfully unaware of. My heart raced as I wondered what Jack would do with that information.

"Hi," he said, breaking the silence.

"Hello," I replied, trying to steady my voice.

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch me inappropriately. Instinctively, I slapped him. His reaction was chilling.

"You're Benedict Bartholomew, the rusticated girl," he said with a smirk, his words cutting through me like ice. My hands went cold, and I felt my entire body trembling.

"The cat's out of the bag now," I whispered, terrified of the consequences.

I quickly tried to plead with him, desperate to keep my secret from reaching my parents' ears. But his expression remained indifferent.

"I'm not interested in you," he replied coldly. "But I won't spill your secret-on one condition: you'll have to be my sexmate."

I was taken aback! All my sense of pride dissipated. What could I possibly do in such a situation? I attempted to summon courage, but that was none of your concern, I retorted. He proceeded with determination, striding boldly around the living room. You sold your father's sole London residence and opted for a rented apartment to bail out your boyfriend, Charlie, who had been apprehended by the authorities for drug trafficking. In order to deceive your unsuspecting father, you chose to continue renting the apartment from the new owner, pretending that you still resided there. He remarked, leaving me rooted to the spot in frozen disbelief.