The precinct buzzed with its usual chaos—phones ringing, officers shouting across desks, and the faint clatter of keyboards creating a rhythm that Willow Norwood had learned to drown out. She sat hunched over her desk, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she typed up the final details of a report. The case was an ugly one, the kind that left a sour taste in her mouth, but it was almost done. Almost.
The sharp ringtone of her cell phone cuts through her concentration. Willow glanced at the screen, Unknown Caller. She hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Norwood," she said curtly.
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a voice smooth as silk and twice as unsettling. "Agent Norwood. Your presence is requested."
She stiffened, her grip tightening on the phone. "Who is this?"
The line went dead.
Willow frowned, her instincts prickling. She looked around the room, scanning for anything unusual, but everything appeared normal. Shaking it off, she set her phone down and returned to her work. Just another prank call, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.
Or so she thought.
Hours later, the precinct had quieted, the earlier hustle and bustle replaced by a low hum of activity. Willow stepped out into the cool evening air, her boots crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. The streetlights cast long, flickering shadows, but she barely noticed.
She had just reached her car when she heard it—a soft shuffle behind her. Before she could turn, something cold and metallic pressed against her neck. A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her startled cry.
"Don't fight," a low voice growled. "It won't end well."
Panic surged through her, but Willow was no stranger to danger. She stomped her heel into her attacker's foot and twisted her body, elbowing him hard in the ribs. The man grunted but didn't let go. A second later, a cloth was pressed against her face, the acrid smell of chemicals filling her nose.
Her vision blurred, and her strength ebbed away. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the black van idling a few feet away.
When Willow woke, her head throbbed, and the world was a blur of muffled sounds and disorienting movement. A blindfold covered her eyes, and her hands were bound tightly behind her back. She laid on the cold, unforgiving floor of the van, the hum of the engine and the occasional jostle of the vehicle her only companions.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, her voice hoarse but edged with steel.
"Quiet," came the curt reply from one of her captors.
Willow bit back a retort, focusing instead on her breathing and the rhythm of the van. She counted turns, bumps, and stops, trying to form a mental map. But when the van finally halted and she was hauled to her feet, her sense of direction had long since failed her.
She stumbled as they guided her out, the blindfold still firmly in place. The air was cooler here, crisp and tinged with the faint scent of pine and something floral. Gravel crunched underfoot as she was led forward.
The sound of heavy doors groaning open echoed around her, and warmth enveloped her as they stepped inside. The blindfold was ripped off without warning, and she blinked rapidly against the sudden brightness. When her vision cleared, she found herself standing in the grand foyer of an estate so opulent it bordered on obscene. Marble floors stretched out beneath her, and a massive chandelier hung above, its crystals catching and refracting the light in dazzling patterns.
Two men flanked her, their faces blank and impassive. But it was the figure waiting at the top of the grand staircase that made Willow's blood run cold.
Willa Norwood.
Her grandmother descended the stairs with the grace of a queen, her sharp eyes never leaving Willow. She was dressed impeccably, her tailored suit a deep burgundy that matched the ruby glinting on her finger. Her expression was one of calm authority, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze.
"Welcome home, Willow," Willa said smoothly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "We've been waiting for you."
Willow's jaw tightened, her fists clenched behind her back. "This isn't my home."
Willa's smile was thin, her tone dripping with condescension. "No, perhaps not yet. But it will be. Tonight, you dine with your family."
Willow's eyes narrowed, her mind racing. "And kidnapping me was the only way to make that happen?"
"Some lessons are better learned through experience, darling," Willa replied, her voice dripping with icy amusement. "You'll thank me someday."
Willow set her jaw, her gaze unwavering. She doubted that very much.
Willa Norwood, seated at the head of the table, sipped her wine with an air of regal calm. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, glinting with satisfaction as she regarded Willow like a chess piece finally moved into position.
"You've done quite well for yourself, Willow," Willa began, her voice smooth but edged with steel. "A detective. The daughter of the Norwood family, fighting crime and championing justice. It's almost poetic."
Willow's jaw clenched. "If you dragged me here just to mock my career, you could have sent an email."
A soft chuckle escaped Willa's lips. "Mock you? Hardly. But it's amusing how you've worked so hard to distance yourself from this family when, in the end, you cannot escape what you are."
Willow's grip on the chair tightened. "And what exactly is that?"
"An heir," Willa said simply, her words slicing through the room like a blade. "Your father, rest his soul, was a weak man. A kind man, perhaps, but weak nonetheless. He allowed sentiment to guide him, and look where that brought him. His one saving grace was producing you."
Willow stiffened. "My father was a good man. He wanted nothing to do with your so-called legacy, and neither do I."
Willa's smile was cold, her gaze unyielding. "Your father turned his back on the family, and I allowed it because I had options then. But you, Willow... you are the only child. The last Norwood of this generation. All of the responsibilities of our name now fall on you."
"I never asked for this," Willow snapped, her voice rising despite herself. "And I won't be a part of it. Whatever it is you think I owe you, you're wrong."
Willa's expression hardened, the warmth in her voice replaced by a chilling authority. "It doesn't matter what you want, Willow. Obligations aren't something you choose. They're something you are born into. And you were born into the Norwood family. That means you bear the weight of our name, our alliances, and our power."
Willow glared at her grandmother, her heart pounding. "And what if I refuse? What if I walk out of here right now and never look back?"
Willa set her glass down with a deliberate motion, her gaze locking onto Willow's with the precision of a predator. "Then you risk everything—and everyone—you care about. Your mother, for instance. Do you think the world will protect her if you fail to protect this family?"
The blood drained from Willow's face. "Leave her out of this."
Willa leaned forward, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm not threatening her, Willow. I'm stating facts. The Norwood name carries protections, shields against dangers you can't even begin to fathom. Without us, she's vulnerable. Without you, we're vulnerable."
Willow's throat tightened, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep her composure. The room felt stifling, the walls closing in with every word her grandmother spoke.
"This isn't fair," she said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I didn't ask for any of this."
Willa leaned back in her chair, her expression softening into something almost sympathetic. "Fairness is a luxury, my dear. And one that the Norwoods cannot afford." She gestured toward the untouched feast on the table. "Now, eat. You'll need your strength. There's much to discuss about your future."
Willow sat frozen, her mind spinning. She was trapped, not just in this room but in a life she had spent her entire adulthood trying to escape. The weight of her grandmother's expectations hung over her like a noose, tightening with every passing moment.
The meal passed in tense silence, broken only by the clink of silverware against fine china. Willow barely touched her food, her appetite crushed under the weight of her grandmother's expectations. Willa, on the other hand, ate delicately, each movement deliberate, as though savoring not just the food but her complete control of the situation.

When the plates were cleared and the servants moved about the dining room with military precision, Willa rose gracefully. "Come, Willow. We'll retire to the parlor. There are matters to discuss."

Willow followed reluctantly, her feet dragging as though the weight of her grandmother's words clung to her legs. The parlor was as grand as the rest of the house, with high ceilings, velvet drapes, and an ornate fireplace crackling softly in the corner. A large oil painting of an ancestor loomed over the room, watching like a silent judge.

Willa gestured for Willow to sit on the plush couch, then took her place in a high-backed armchair, her movements as composed as ever. A servant entered with a tray of tea and set it on the table between them before disappearing without a word.

Willa poured herself a cup, her elegant fingers steady as she stirred in a single sugar cube. "We have always known this day would come," she began, her voice calm and measured, as though she were discussing the weather.

Willow's stomach churned. "What day?"

"The day when the Norwood family would secure its future. The world is shifting, my dear, and alliances must be forged to ensure our survival. There is no greater bond between families than marriage."

Willow's eyes narrowed. "Marriage? You can't be serious."

Willa raised a brow. "Deadly serious. You're the last of this line, Willow. The responsibility falls on you to strengthen our position. Fortunately, I have already arranged everything."

Willow's heart sank. "Arranged? With who?"

Willa's lips curved into a faint smile. "Alexander Drayton."

The name sent a chill down Willow's spine. She had heard of Alexander Drayton—anyone in law enforcement or organized crime circles had. The Draytons were one of the most ruthless families in the United States, their empire stretching across continents. They dealt in everything from legitimate businesses to black market dealings, their reach extending into politics, finance, and law enforcement.

And Alexander Drayton was their crown jewel. He was known for his sharp intelligence, unyielding determination, and a reputation for doing whatever it took to maintain his family's power. Ruthless didn't begin to describe him. He was a man who could dismantle an empire with a single phone call or eliminate a rival with a cold, calculated move.

But he was also strikingly handsome. His chiseled jawline, piercing grey eyes, and impeccably styled dark hair made him look like he had stepped out of a luxury magazine. Despite his refined appearance, there was an edge to him—a dangerous energy that made people think twice before crossing him.

Willow's hands clenched into fists. "You expect me to marry him? A man whose family is practically a synonym for corruption and bloodshed?"

Willa took a slow sip of her tea before responding. "The Draytons are powerful, Willow. Their connections are vast, their resources limitless. With their influence combined with ours, we would be unstoppable."

"This is insane," Willow snapped. "You can't just decide my life for me."

Willa set her teacup down with a deliberate clink. "I am not deciding, Willow. I am fulfilling what is required of us. You may not see it now, but this alliance will protect you, your mother, and everything we have built. Alexander is... formidable, yes, but he is also a man who understands loyalty. He will be a strong partner."

Willow shook her head, disbelief etched on her face. "And what if I refuse? What if I say no?"

Willa's gaze hardened, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. "You won't. Because you understand, deep down, that this isn't about you. It's about the Norwood name, the legacy your father left behind, and the future that rests on your shoulders."

Before Willow could respond, a faint knock echoed from the hallway, and Willa's smile returned, sharper than before. "Ah, that must be our guest now."

The doors opened, and Alexander Drayton stepped into the room. His presence commanded the space instantly, his tall frame clad in a tailored black suit that exuded quiet power. His long, dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling over his forehead in a way that looked effortlessly perfect. But it was his eyes that struck Willow the most—piercing grey, cold and unrelenting, like storm clouds ready to break. They seemed to see through her, dissecting her with a single glance.
Despite his polished appearance, there was a raw intensity to him, a coiled energy that hinted at the ruthlessness for which he was infamous. His movements were smooth, calculated, like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run. Alexander's reputation preceded him: a man who handled threats with precision and allies with the same exacting standards. He was both the sharp edge of the Drayton empire and the reason it remained untouchable.
"Willow Norwood," Alexander said, his deep voice carrying an unsettling calm. His gaze remained fixed on her as though he were already weighing her worth. "I've heard much about you."
Willow resisted the urge to shrink under his scrutiny, lifting her chin defiantly. "I can't say the same."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to become... acquainted."
Willa gestured for him to sit, her satisfaction palpable. "Alexander, please, join us. I was just explaining to my granddaughter the importance of our alliance. I'm sure you can appreciate that.
Alexander's piercing grey eyes rarely left Willow as the conversation unfolded. It was as if he were studying her, not just her words or movements, but every unspoken thought beneath the surface. The intensity of his gaze was disarming, and despite herself, Willow felt the heat of it.
When Willa finally finished her explanation, Alexander leaned back in his chair with a small, deliberate smile. "I fully support the arrangement," he said, his voice calm but firm, his eyes locking onto Willow's. "It's a logical step forward—for both our families. And while I suspect you might disagree, I believe it's what's best."
Willow's stomach churned. "Best for who?" she shot back, her tone sharp despite the knot of nerves tightening in her chest.
Alexander tilted his head slightly, as though amused by her defiance. "For you. For me. For the future of our legacies."
Willa rose from her seat, smoothing the creases in her impeccable pants. "I'll leave you two to get to know each other better," she announced, her tone making it clear her decision was final. She turned toward the door, pausing only briefly to glance back. "This alliance will happen, Willow. It's time you understood the responsibilities that come with our name." With that, she swept out of the room, leaving Willow and Alexander alone.
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Willow sat stiffly, her hands clenching the arms of her chair. Alexander, however, seemed completely at ease, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the tension in the room.
He rose smoothly, his movements deliberate as he walked toward her. Though he gave no outward indication of hostility, his presence was overwhelming, and the closer he came, the harder Willow found it to breathe. He stopped just a few feet away, his towering frame casting a long shadow.
"You don't like any of this," he said quietly, his voice softer now but no less commanding. It wasn't a question.
Willow narrowed her eyes. "That's an understatement."
Alexander's lips twitched into a small smile, though there was no humor in it. "I don't blame you," he admitted. "But whether you like it or not, the world we live in demands sacrifices. This arrangement is one of them."
He stepped closer, and Willow's pulse quickened. His presence was magnetic, drawing her in despite every instinct screaming to push him away. He leaned down slightly, his hands resting lightly on the armrests of her chair, his face now mere inches from hers.
"You should know something," he murmured, his voice low, intimate. "I have no intention of forcing you into anything. If you say no, I won't take offense. I won't retaliate. You'll be free to walk away."
Willow's breath hitched as his gaze bored into hers, his gray eyes stormy but honest. "But," he continued, his tone laced with quiet intensity, "if you do choose this path—if you choose me—I promise you'll have my loyalty, my protection, and everything that comes with being at my side."
The firelight played across his sharp features, making him appear almost otherworldly as he leaned in ever so slightly closer. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, but instead, he paused, his breath warm against her cheek. "I await your answer," he whispered, his voice like a caress.
Then, just as quickly as he had closed the space between them, he pulled back. Straightening to his full height, Alexander's unreadable expression gave nothing away as he stepped toward the door.
The room seemed colder without his presence as the heavy door creaked open, letting in a faint draft. Alexander paused in the doorway, glancing back at her one last time.
"Think carefully, Willow," he said, his voice calm but charged with something unspoken. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts and the weight of an impossible choice.