The humid air hit James Sterling like a damp cloth as he stepped off the private jet. It was a stark contrast to the crisp London spring he'd left behind. The familiar scent of exhaust fumes and distant music hung heavy, a sensory reminder of a country he technically belonged to but had never truly known. He adjusted the expensive Italian leather of his briefcase, a small, almost imperceptible frown creasing his brow. This whole endeavor felt… archaic. A pre-arranged life, a wife chosen sight unseen.
His gaze swept over the small crowd beyond the barrier, a sea of unfamiliar faces. He half-expected a chauffeur, a uniformed representative of the sterlings empire. Instead, his eyes snagged on a woman standing slightly apart, her posture radiating a quiet defiance that somehow cut through the general bustle. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that held a delicate strength, even from this distance. There was an undeniable pull, an unexpected flicker of something he couldn't quite name. This had to be her. Samantha Hawthorne.
As if sensing his gaze, her eyes met his. There was no welcoming smile, no eager anticipation. Instead, he saw a guarded coolness, a hint of something akin to resentment. It was a far cry from the polite, almost saccharine descriptions he'd received from his father. Interesting!!!!!! he said :
She held up a small, discreet sign bearing his name, "James Sterling." With a sigh that was more resignation than anticipation, he nodded almost imperceptibly and began to make his way towards her, the wheels of his carry-on clicking against the polished floor. This was it. The beginning of a life he hadn't chosen, with a woman who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. He wondered, not for the first time, if his father truly knew what he was getting him into. Or perhaps, more accurately, what he was getting her into.
"Welcome home!!!!" Her voice, though carrying the lilt of beautiful accent, was edged with a sarcasm that didn't quite reach the polite smile;. She thrust a discreet sign bearing his name towards the uniformed man. "And you're?" He added, turning to him with a studied nonchalance, his gaze sweeping over her as if she were an inconvenient piece of luggage.
"I am Samantha Hawthorne," she stated, extending a hand with a practiced grace that felt utterly devoid of warmth. Her eyes, the color of dark roast coffee, held a flicker of something akin to annoyance. "Already getting on my nerves," he could almost hear her think.
"Hmmmmm, no need for the formalities," he continued, retracting his hand before hers could meet it. "Just take me home." With that, he turned sharply and slipped into the cool, leather interior of the waiting car.
Samantha stood for a bit, a flicker of surprise – and something akin to amusement – crossing her features. This was certainly not what she expected . She watched him settle into the plush seats, his back ramrod straight, before a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
....."Aren't you coming inside?" he called out, his tone laced with a playful challenge that belied the earlier iciness.
Ummm… oh yh.*
She collected herself, a wry grin now playing on her own lips. This was going to be… interesting. She followed him into the air-conditioned sanctuary of the car, the sudden coolness a stark contrast to the simmering tension that filled the space between them. The driver, sensing the unspoken friction, started the engine and zoomed off,.
An uncomfortable silence settled in the car, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning and the distant cacophony of the city. Samantha, pointedly ignoring him, angled the rearview mirror and began adjusting her lipstick, her movements precise and deliberate.
Finally, feeling the weight of her dismissive silence, a prickle of annoyance – and a touch of wounded pride – surfaced within her.
..."Why did you act that way towards me?" she asked, her voice cool and controlled, her gaze fixed on her reflection.
James, who had been idly scrolling through photos on his phone – snapshots of London landmarks that now felt a lifetime away – finally looked up, a feigned air of confusion on his face. "You mean why I didn't shake earlier?" He offered no apology, no hint of remorse, his eyes flicking back to his screen. "Ummm. .... You see, Samyy!!"
"Samantha pls," she cut him off, her voice sharp and decisive. "Like you said earlier, no need for the formalities, so pls call me Samantha." Her eyes finally met his in the mirror, a direct, unwavering stare that held a clear warning.
He held her gaze for a long moment, a silent battle of wills playing out in the confined space. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he returned his attention to his phone. "Like I was saying," he continued as if uninterrupted, "I didn't shake hands with you earlier because I don't like shaking hands with people."
Samantha's composure finally cracked. "There you go again," she exclaimed, turning in her seat to face him directly, her eyes blazing. "I am not *people*." She punctuated each word with a sharp emphasis. "I am Samantha Hawthorne, the only daughter of George Hawthorne and the heir to Hawthorne Firma construction companies." She paused, taking a deep breath to regain control, though her chest still heaved with indignation. "I came here to pick you up. It's an all-round insult."
"INSULTS YOU SAY???" James finally looked genuinely surprised, his phone momentarily forgotten. His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of genuine curiosity – or perhaps disbelief – in his eyes.
"Yes!!!!! It's an insult," Samantha fired back, her voice rising with each word. Their eyes locked, the initial coolness replaced by a palpable hatred that hung thick in the air. The unspoken animosity had finally erupted into open hostility.
Just then, the driver's voice, calm and professional, cut through the charged atmosphere. "We are here, ma." The car slowed to a smooth stop, the imposing gates of the Sterling estate looming before them. The battle had begun, and they hadn't even reached their destination.
The car arrived at James Sterling's compounded his parents standing out side to get welcome him, he looked out of the car and saw a well designed writing written sterlings dynasty on it,
a rush of childhood memories.
"My boy! Look at you," Mrs. Sterling said, her hands cupping his face, her eyes scanning him with a mother's thoroughness. "So thin! Have they been feeding you properly in London?"
James chuckled lightly. "Perfectly well, Mother. London has its culinary merits."
Mr. Sterling clapped him on the shoulder, a firm, almost possessive gesture.
...…"Welcome home, son. Truly home. It's been too long." He stepped back, his gaze assessing. "You look… well. Ready for business."
"As always, Father," James responded, meeting his father's direct gaze. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared language of ambition and expectation.
"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling," she said, her voice carrying a formal politeness that belied the tumultuous encounter in the car.
Mrs. Sterling, a woman whose elegance was both timeless and sharp, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, stepped forward, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she offered a genuine smile.
...."Oohhh, my damsel, looking gorgeous, as always," she said, reaching out to gently touch Samantha's intricately braided hair. "How are you doing, Samantha, dear?"
Mr. Sterling, however, remained a more imposing figure. His handshake yesterday had been brief and firm, his gaze assessing. Today, his presence still held a certain weight, his sharp features and impeccably tailored suit conveying an air of quiet power that always made Samantha feel slightly on edge.
..."Fine, thank you, sir," she replied, her eyes flicking towards him briefly before returning to Mrs. Sterling.
Mrs. Sterling, seemingly oblivious to the underlying tension, gestured towards the grand entrance. "Do you mind coming inside for a while, dear? We would love to properly thank you for collecting James." She began to lead the way, her pace gracious but expectant.
Samantha hesitated, her gaze flicking towards the waiting car and the still-simmering presence of James within.
..... "Ummmh… I would have loved to, sir," she said, addressing Mr. Sterling, her eyes fixed on the manicured lawn. "But I have an… appointment in the next thirty minutes."
The excuse felt flimsy even to her own ears, but the thought of prolonged polite conversation within those imposing walls, especially with James lurking nearby, felt unbearable.
"Alright then," he said, his tone still cordial but with a subtle undercurrent. "Take care, my dear. Give our best to your father. And I will love to see you tomorrow." The emphasis on "tomorrow" hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the inevitable.
"All right, thank you very much, sir," Samantha replied, offering a final, polite nod to both of them. She turned and walked back to the car, the weight of their expectations settling on her shoulders.
As the car pulled away from the Sterling estate, the grandeur receding in the rearview mirror, Samantha let out a small sigh. The encounter had been brief, yet it had underscored the delicate dance she was now engaged in. Mrs. Sterling's warmth felt genuine, a comforting contrast to her husband's reserved power. But beneath the pleasantries, Samantha sensed a careful scrutiny, a silent assessment of whether she was a suitable addition to their esteemed family. And somewhere within that imposing house, James Sterling remained, a volatile element in a future she desperately didn't want. The appointment she'd fabricated felt less like an excuse and more like a desperate plea for a moment's respite before the inevitable collision of their two worlds.
Immediately Mrs. Sterling turned facing her son
"And… Samantha?" interjected, her tone softening with a hint of curiosity. "Hope you both are getting along … smoothly?"
James hesitated for a fraction of a second. "It was… an introduction, Mother. We just met ."
Mr. Sterling raised a knowing eyebrow. "An introduction. Right. Well, there will be plenty of time for formalities. Come, you must be tired. Eleanor has prepared your favorite jollof rice." He steered James towards the house, his arm firmly around his son's shoulders.
As they walked, Mrs. Sterling slipped her arm through James's other. "We are so happy to have you back, darling. This marriage
... it is a good thing, James. A very good thing for both our families."
James offered a noncommittal smile, his gaze drifting back towards the long driveway, the image of Samantha's cool, appraising eyes lingering in his mind. "I hope so, Mother. I sincerely hope so."