Prologue

Dalton

I burst through the double doors of my grandfather's home office, a sheaf of papers clenched in my fist. My heart pounds, fury coursing through my veins.

The old man lifts his gray head from the computer screen situated front and center on his massive desk, weariness flickering in his hazel eyes. He may look exhausted, but I know better than to buy the act. Nearly seventy or not, Denver Grady is a shark through and through.

The fucking papers in my hands prove it.

"What the fuck is this, old man?" I growl, slamming them down on his desk. The slap of my palm against the polished wood echoes in the massive room.

His flinty gaze flickers over the crumpled contract before meeting mine. "Little hard to read with it all crumpled up, but I believe that's the contract for the company handoff, kid."

Kid. I haven't been a fucking kid in years. Not since my parents' plane went down, killing them, my aunt and uncle, and everyone else on board when I was thirteen. I'm thirty-four goddamn years old, one of the most successful men in Nashville.

The old man doesn't give a shit. He's still trying to pull my strings, just like always. He's hell-bent on making me and Lena, my baby cousin, dance to his tune.

Well, fuck that noise. Not this time.

"You know what I'm talking about, old man," I growl, jabbing a finger at the papers. "Clause Seven."

My grandfather arches a dark brow, his expression level. "What about it?"

Is he fucking serious right now? I'm so pissed I can barely see straight, and he acts like the clause is just standard operating procedure. Bullshit.

"Majority interest in Grady Records shall not pass to Dalton James Grady prior to his marriage to Tempest Evernight," I recite through clenched teeth, the words seared into my brain. "Further, should this marriage not come to fruition, the majority interest in Evernight Music Group shall not pass to Tempest Evernight. A dissolution of the marriage before one year will result in the immediate nullification of this contract."

My blood boils in my veins as I finish. But the old man just looks at me, amusement glinting in his eyes. Like this is all some big fucking joke.

"I know what's in the clause, boy," he says, leaning back in his chair, cool and composed. The leather creaks beneath him. "I drafted the damn thing myself."

Of course he did. He probably laughed his ass off while he was at it, too.

I slam my hand down on his desk, rattling his pretentious gold pen holder and knocking over the framed photo of my parents he's kept there for as long as I can remember.

"You think you're funny?" I roar, my voice shaking with fury. "I've been in charge of this goddamn company for the last five years while you've holed up here at home or out on the fucking golf course. Now, months before the official handoff, you want to pull this shit?"

He doesn't even flinch. He just hits me with that steely gaze of his. "I'm not pulling anything, Dalton. If you're going to be fully responsible for the company, this is how you begin."

"By marrying someone I don't fucking know?" I growl, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

My entire life, I've been grateful to this man. Even when he was a stubborn pain in my fucking ass, I felt gratitude. After my parents died, he took me in. Took in Lena, too. He raised us right here in this house, gave us everything we could ever want. He may have buried himself in work instead of dealing with the loss of my mother and Lena's father, but he tried like hell to ensure we had everything we needed. I didn't fucking deserve it, but he did it anyway.

Because of him, I didn't spend my teen years in foster care completely alone. More importantly, neither did Lena. My cousin is the only person I've ever been close with, the only one I've ever let into my heart. She's like a sister to me—the only goddamn thing that's kept me sane most days. And she wasn't built for foster care. She needed family and love. Without it, she would have suffered immensely.

But for the first time since the accident, I don't feel gratitude for the man sitting across from me for taking us in and making this place a home. I want to reach across his expensive antique desk and choke the life out of him.

"No. By merging the Grady and Evernight dynasties, boy," he snaps, fire in his eyes. "We'll be the biggest force in the music industry."

"They're a pop label. Our specialty is country music," I scoff, like he doesn't fucking know. He helped make Grady Records what it is. Long before I was born, he and his father turned it into the most well-known label in this city. I've spent years building on that foundation, turning the company into a powerhouse beyond reckoning.

"And Evernight has some of the biggest stars outside of the country music industry." He snaps his fingers at me. "Think bigger, Dalton!"

I shove a hand through my hair, pulling at the strands, trying to rein in my temper. As a businessman, of course I see the merits of a merger like this. It'd cement both companies at the top of every fucking list there is.

But marriage? Fuck that. That's never been in my future. I don't want it. I'm not looking for it. And I won't be forced into it.

"There doesn't have to be a marriage to merge the companies," I snap, pacing the expensive rug in front of his desk. "You know I can make it happen."

That's not arrogance talking; it's just plain truth. I know how to get shit done, and if I want something badly enough, I don't stop until I get it. And he knows it, too. It's why he put me in charge of the company in the first place.

There's no one more capable of ensuring Grady Records is still thriving decades from now than me. I've dedicated my whole goddamn life to ensuring it. While Lena was at Julliard, I was forging a dynasty meant to endure. The music industry is changing, and we're one step ahead.

Something shifts in my grandfather's expression, there and gone so quickly I can't read it, but I catch enough of it for my hackles to rise. I narrow my eyes, instantly suspicious. "What's that look?"

"Zen Evernight and I have discussed this in depth over the years, Dalton. He's made it very clear that the only way he'll ever agree to consider a merger is if you marry his daughter."

I rock back on my heels, stunned. "You've known about this for fucking years?"

"I knew it was what he wanted. But I didn't agree until recently," my grandfather says, his expression level.

"Jesus Christ," I swear, staring at him in shock.

"The paperwork is already drawn up. If you want the company, you'll marry the girl, Dalton."

My blood turns to ice at the resolute look on his face. He means it.

"Like hell I will," I snarl anyway. There's no fucking way I'm going to be forced into this. I don't care what paperwork they've done or what agreements they've made between them.

The old man holds my gaze, his own hard and unyielding. "Then you lose the company. And she loses everything," he says simply. "Are you really prepared to leave an innocent girl out on the streets because you're too fucking afraid to open your heart to the possibility of love?"

"Don't." I throw up a hand, a muscle ticking in my jaw as my stomach churns. "Don't fucking go there, old man."

"Someone needs to go there with you, kid," he says, and for the first time, I hear the weariness in his raspy voice. See the lines etched deep into his weathered face. "I should've done it a long fucking time ago. Cutting out your heart won't bring your parents back, Dalton. No matter how hard you punish yourself, you can't bring back the dead. If that worked, I wouldn't have grown up without my children. You and Lena wouldn't be orphans."

A heavy sigh gusts out of him as he leans back in his chair, seeming aged in a way he never has before now. "If you want the company, you're marrying the girl. End of story."

"We'll see about that," I growl, already storming for the door. Like hell I'll agree to this insanity. No fucking way. I don't care what he threatens me with. There's no way I'm bowing to his wishes on this. "The company will burn to ash before I agree to this."

"She's exactly what your parents would have wanted for you," he shouts after me. "More than the company or the money in your bank account, they would have wanted happiness and a woman like her. You know they—"

Whatever else he has to say is lost as I slam the heavy oak doors behind me hard enough to rattle the frame. But as I stand in the hall, my chest heaving, I hesitate. The certainty that he's just spouting bullshit to manipulate me wars with one inescapable truth: The old man has never once lied to me.

Marriage and a family of my own are exactly what my parents would have wanted for me.

And I don't deserve either.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn him to hell.