Calculated Move

ROSHAN.

I was in a foul mood.

The kind that made people scramble out of my way as I stalked into the towering headquarters of Armen Corps.

I was already on edge after losing two hundred thousand dollars because some incompetent manager at one of the branches had screwed up an important deal. Now, my entire day was ruined, and I was itching to tear into someone.

As I strode through the marble-floored lobby, Jordan fell into step beside me, effortlessly matching my pace. My Chief Operating Officer. My right-hand man and, arguably, the only person in the company who could speak to me without watching his words.

“You’re late,” Jordan said, glancing at his Rolex.

I grunted. “Bad morning.”

“I figured,” Jordan replied dryly. “Your face looks like you’re about to kill someone.”

I didn’t bother denying it.

Jordan exhaled. “You might want to reel it in. The board wants to see you.”

My scowl deepened. “What now?”

“They didn’t say,” Jordan shrugged, adjusting his suit cuffs. “But considering their sour expressions, it’s something serious.”

I cursed under my breath. Great. Just what I needed.

We took the private elevator up to the top floor, where the executive boardroom was located. As soon as we stepped inside, everyone stood.

“Mr. Armento,” they greeted in unison, heads slightly bowed—a silent acknowledgment of my power.

I took my seat at the head of the table, and only then did the others sit down.

“Talk,” I ordered, impatience in my tone.

The oldest board member, Mr. Gainsworth, cleared his throat. “Sir, we have received disturbing news. It has come to our attention that Ivon Armento was released from Rukchik’s Health Establishment a few days ago.”

The room tensed.

Jordan froze beside me.

My fingers curled into a fist on the table. A dangerous storm settled in my eyes.

Ivon.

My psychopathic stepbrother.

The disgrace of the Armento name. A stark murderer.

The bastard should have rotted in that mental institution.

“And?” I gritted out.

Mr. Gainsworth’s gaze darted to the others before he hesitantly continued, “He has initiated a hostile takeover bid for Armen Corps.”

Silence.

Tension rippled through the air like a loaded gun.

I let out a low non humorous chuckle,my jaw tightening. Of course.

It wasn’t enough that Ivon had nearly destroyed my family’s reputation years ago. Or that he’d killed my parents. Now, he wanted to steal what wasn’t his?

A hostile takeover meant one thing—Ivon was buying up shares, swaying investors, and attempting to dismantle my control over the company.

My company.

One of the board members shifted nervously. “Sir, if Ivon gains enough backing, he could—”

“He won’t.” My voice was sharp. Deadly.

The board members exchanged looks.

Mr. Gainsworth hesitated. “Sir, with all due respect, his influence is growing. The shareholders are getting anxious. They need to see that Armen Corps is still in stable, capable hands.”

My eyes flashed. “And you think I’m not?”

“N-not at all, sir,” another member stammered. “But perception is everything. You are known as a ruthless businessman—which is good in many ways—but in times of instability, investors crave an image of balance. Security. Trust.”

I leaned back, fingers tapping against the polished wood. “And your solution?”

The room fell into a suffocating silence before Mr. Gainsworth finally said,

“Marriage.”

My entire body stilled.

“You want me to get married?” My voice was flat.

“It would benefit the company,” Gainsworth insisted. “A strong, family-oriented image would solidify your position. It would assure the shareholders and public that Armen Corps is in the hands of a man they can trust.”

I stared at them, my expression unreadable.

Inside, my mind raced.

Marriage.

To keep control over his empire.

It was a calculated move,though one I would usually dismiss without hesitation. But under these circumstances…

I exhaled sharply. “Meeting’s over.”

The board visibly relaxed, though tension still lingered.

Everyone stood, bowing slightly before filing out.

Only Jordan remained.

He let out a low whistle, leaning against the chair. “Well, that was fun.”

I ran a hand through his hair, irritation flickering across my features.

Jordan crossed his arms. “How many years has it been since Ivon was locked away?”

My teeth clenched. “Not long enough.”

Jordan scoffed. “That lunatic should never have been let out.”

I didn’t reply. My mind was still processing the solution that had been thrown at him.

Marriage.

Jordan studied me. “So? **Who’s the unlucky woman?**”

I was about to say I didn’t know.

But then— A certain brunette entered my mind.

I stilled.

A flash of long, wavy brown hair. Intelligent hazel eyes. A woman who had been on my mind for two weeks, which in itself was unusual.

Isabella.

The woman from the event.

My lips parted slightly.

She was…intriguing. Smart. Beautiful. I was attracted to her, and most importantly—I wasn’t repulsed to her.

A marriage of convenience with her…

The idea didn’t seem as unpleasant as it should.

Jordan arched a brow. “That pause was suspicious.”

I stood abruptly and headed for my office.

Jordan trailed after me. “I assume you have someone in mind?”

I didn’t answer yet.

When we reached my office, I went straight to my desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a file.

Isabella Diaz.

Her address. Phone number. Workplace.

I scanned the information, my expression calculating.

Jordan peered over my shoulder.

After a moment, he smirked. “She’s the one?”

My lips curved up slightly.

“She’s the one.”