He couldn't believe this was happening.
The ceremony was less than thirty minutes away, and he was still twenty minutes out. Great. Late to his own wedding—a wedding he hadn't even wanted. The frustration roiled inside him.
How could you do this to me, Dad?
It had been a whirlwind five weeks, and he still wasn't sure how his life had been turned upside down so quickly.
Daniel had been running Delaney Pharmaceuticals since his father died of a heart attack almost five years ago. The first couple of years without his father's guidance were rough. The company slumped. Morale dipped. But he clawed it back from the brink and rebuilt it in his father's honor.
Now, they were just months away from something extraordinary: a breakthrough cancer treatment. Safe, effective, and—most importantly—affordable. It was designed to be accessible under nearly all insurance plans. That was what his father had always wanted: medicine that helped people.
Daniel was proud of what they'd accomplished. Everything had been moving forward.
Until five weeks ago.
He remembered the exact moment it all started to unravel. He was in his office, going over the latest funding figures one last time before leaving for a fundraiser. The familiar click, click, click of his assistant Corrinne's heels echoed across the granite floors.
Without looking up, he called out, "I know, I know, Corrinne. I'm leaving in five minutes. I swear."
But her entrance wasn't the usual brisk confidence—she looked tense.
"No, sir," she said. "That's not why I'm here. The board is in the conference room. They want to see you. Now."
Daniel blinked. That was odd. Emergency board meetings weren't a thing—especially with no notice. Board members traveled often. There was usually at least 48 hours' lead time.
"What do you think it could be?" Corrinne asked, picking up on his unease.
"I don't know." He stood from his chair, mind already racing. "Grab your iPad. Follow me."
He headed for the elevator while Corrinne dashed back to her desk, securing a few rogue curls behind her ear—a daily battle against the chaos of her blond curls.
On the twenty third floor, the elevator doors slid open. All nine board members sat waiting behind the glass walls of the conference room.
Daniel opened the door and let Corrinne enter before stepping inside. He didn't sit.
"Phil, what's going on? Has something happened with the trials?"
Phil, a tall, portly man with a bald head and a wide mustache, shook his head. "No. The trials are still progressing as scheduled. But the board has been made aware of an issue. One that could result in your removal as CEO."
Daniel stared at him. His stomach twisted. "What?"
"You may be in violation of a clause in your father's will," Phil continued gently.
"What clause?" Daniel snapped. "The board can't remove me without very specific conditions. Embezzlement. Endangerment. Fraud. I've done none of that."
"Violation of a marriage clause," another voice interjected smoothly.
Daniel turned toward the sound, his jaw clenching as he saw Griffin leaning back in his chair, smug and relaxed.
"What the hell did you just say?" Daniel growled.
He and Griffin had always clashed. Griffin believed in profits over people. Daniel stood for ethics—integrity. Griffin wanted him out. And now, apparently, he had a weapon.
"It's true," Phil said, clearly trying to de-escalate.
"This is ridiculous! I'd know if something like that existed," Daniel snapped.
"We understand your reaction," Phil said, trying to maintain control. "We only discovered it twenty four hours ago ourselves. But after reviewing the documentation, we believe there's merit to it. You should contact your attorney and verify the terms. We'll reconvene in 72 hours."
"Board members in agreement?" Phil asked.
A loud chorus of "Aye" followed, and the room emptied swiftly, unease hanging heavy in the air.
Daniel stood frozen.
Corrinne approached, hesitant. "Sir… don't you want to look into this?"
"Of course I do," he muttered. "Call Albert. We're heading to the fundraiser. I'll deal with this on the way."
She raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're right, sir. Because with your dating life? We're screwed."
Daniel didn't respond. She wasn't wrong. He used to be out with a new girl every weekend but since his dad died, there was no time or will to focus on frivolous things like that.
Outside, Albert was waiting by the car. "Evening, sir. Fundraiser?"
"Yes, thank you, Al."
As the car pulled away, Daniel pressed speed dial—David Gilley's number—but it went to voicemail. Damn it. It was after 4:30. No one would be answering.
"Albert, change of plans. Take me to Gilley, Gilley & Schmidt."
Daniel entered the law firm lobby like a man with fire in his chest.
The building was all glass, stone, and cold lighting—sterile and corporate. The kind of place designed to intimidate or impress, depending on your reason for being there. Daniel had been here before, but never with this much weight pressing on his shoulders.
As he approached the reception desk, the security guard straightened from his seat. Mid-50s, square build, clean-shaven with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut. His dark red blazer was spotless, and the silver name tag gleamed against the fabric.
"Sorry, the firm's closed for the night," Rader said flatly, folding his arms across his chest like a sentry. He didn't even flinch at Daniel's tailored suit or obvious urgency.
"Call David Gilley. Tell him Daniel Delaney is here. It's an emergency. He'll want to see me."
Rader eyed him skeptically but finally sighed and picked up the phone.
"Mr. Gilley, it's Rader. Sorry to bother you, sir, but I've got a Daniel Delaney down here… Says it's urgent… Mm-hmm… Yes, sir."
He hung up and gave Daniel a brief nod. "Go on up."
Daniel didn't need to be told twice. He made a beeline for the elevator and exited on the 15th floor, walking past rows of darkened offices until he reached the large frosted glass door that read: David T. Gilley, Senior Partner.
Inside, the room was warm and lived-in, a stark contrast to the rest of the building. Rich mahogany bookcases lined the walls, filled with thick leather-bound volumes and framed photos of David with clients, judges, and what looked like decades of Christmas parties. The scent of pipe tobacco and cedarwood lingered in the air. His massive wooden desk was cluttered but organized, a glowing banker's lamp casting green light over stacks of folders and papers.
David Gilley himself sat behind it, glasses low on his nose, scribbling something onto a yellow legal pad.
"Daniel," he greeted, concern immediately blooming across his face. "What's the matter?"
Daniel closed the door behind him, jaw tight. "The board's trying to remove me as CEO. They claim I violated some clause in my father's will."
David leaned back slowly, setting the pen down. "What clause?"
"A marriage clause." The words tasted like ash. "They say I had to be married within five years of taking over. And they're threatening to remove me for breach."
David's face went from curious to solemn in a second flat.
"They're not wrong," he said quietly. "The clause is real."
Daniel blinked. "What? That's not possible. I would've known. I read the will when he died."
"No, not the will itself. It was an addendum. Your father added it about a year before he passed. I executed it personally. His instructions were explicit—it was to be sent to you exactly two and a half years after his death. No sooner, no later. And you had to sign it to activate the countdown on the clause."
Daniel paced, one hand raking through his hair. "Then I never got it. Or I don't remember signing anything."
"We received a signed confirmation. Certified mail. I assumed you read it. I didn't follow up because it was part of the trust protocol. But if what you're saying is true… then someone forged your signature, which is a felony, and frankly, a pretty damn good one. It looked exactly like yours."
Daniel stopped pacing and leaned over David's desk, gripping the edge. "So if I never signed it, if I never saw it, then the clock never officially started, right? That makes the clause invalid."
"Technically, yes," David said. "But practically? No. Because once I opened the documents—triggered by that signature, real or not—the clause became active on our end. Meaning we've got less than six weeks until your birthday. The board knows it. And they've timed this perfectly."
Daniel's eyes burned. "So you're telling me I could lose everything because someone decided now was the time to strike? After all the work I've done?
Daniel realized it made a lot of sense. They would be releasing their newest treatment within the next one to two years as long as everything went well. A treatment that could make a lot of money under the circumstances. Daniel wasn't trying to grossly profit from this medication. He wanted to use it to help people.
David stood and walked to the filing cabinet in the corner, unlocking it with a small brass key. "I know how hard you've worked. Your father would've been proud."
Daniel looked away. "They're trying to destroy what he built. What I've been breaking myself to protect."
David returned with a manila envelope and set it gently on the desk. "Then don't let them."
Daniel narrowed his eyes. "I want to fight this."
David sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wish we had more time, Daniel. But litigation won't help you fast enough. By the time we'd even get a preliminary hearing, you'd be ousted—and whoever engineered this would already be in your seat."
"Then what do I do? Pull a wife out of thin air?"
David gave a dry chuckle. "Fortunately, your father anticipated your inability to find a suitable wife. He included dossiers on a shortlist of women from families that still honor arranged marriages. I know it's archaic, but these people are discreet and very loyal. And honestly? It's the best chance you've got."
Daniel opened the folder and sifted through the files, eyes narrowing as he scanned names and faces.
David checked the time and suddenly winced. "Shit. I've gotta go. Mildred will have my ass. I told her I'd be home by six. She's already mad I missed two dinners this week."
Daniel glanced up. "You're seriously leaving me in the middle of this mess for pot roast?"
David grabbed his coat. "It's lamb tonight. And if I don't show up on time, she'll feed it to the dog and freeze me out for three days. And I'm too old to sleep on the couch."
He paused at the door and turned back. "You know what to do, Daniel. This isn't about love. It's about legacy. You want to protect what your father built? Marry someone who understands what's at stake. Fast."
Daniel nodded, but his jaw remained tight.
"Thanks, David."
"Call me if you need anything. But not after 8:30. I'm trying to stay married too, you know."
With that, the door shut behind him.
Daniel stayed behind, staring at the files. The information was a little outdated. A couple of the candidates weren't even available anymore; one had died, a couple were already married. Some were okay. One face stood out more than the rest—Amelia Eden. Young, sure. But smart, Grounded. A botany major. And her family's reputation was impeccable.
It wasn't love. But it was strategy.
And strategy might just save everything.
The next day, he reached out to the Edens. They agreed and arrangements were made. Forty-eight hours later, at the continuation of the emergency board meeting, Daniel stood tall and announced his engagement to Amelia Eden.
Daniel carefully watched each person's expression as he delivered the news. Phil and the other older board members looked pleased. The rest? Not so much. It wasn't anything he hadn't expected.
And now, five weeks later, he was pulling up to a church to marry a woman he'd never met. Late to a wedding he didn't want. But one that might save everything.