CONTRACTUALLY YOURS

Meeting

The chandelier in the Vihokratana boardroom didn’t just illuminate the room; it felt like a spotlight on a crime scene. Tay Tawan Vihokratana, the sole heir to a shipping and real estate empire that practically owned the Bangkok skyline, sat at the head of the mahogany table. He looked every bit the "Powerful Heir" the tabloids obsessed over—sharp jawline, a tailored Tom Ford suit that clung to his broad shoulders, and an expression that could wither a cactus.
​He was currently staring at a man-sized legal document as if he wanted to set it on fire with his mind.
​"You can't be serious," Tay’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble. He flicked a stray lock of dark hair away from his forehead, his eyes flashing with a heat that usually signaled a hostile takeover or a very expensive divorce.
​"It’s not a suggestion, Tawan," his father, the elder Vihokratana, said calmly from the opposite end of the table. "The merger with the Thitipoom group is contingent on a blood bond. The market is volatile. We need their tech integration, and they need our logistics. This marriage stabilizes both legacies."
​"I have a life," Tay snapped, his hand slamming onto the table. "I have... someone else. You know about Namtan."
​"Namtan is a lovely girl with a moderate social standing and zero corporate utility," his father replied, not even looking up from his tablet. "New Thitipoom, however, is the key to the next decade of our expansion."
​Tay’s teeth ground together so hard it hurt. The "someone else" he loved was a gentle, soft-spoken woman who didn't challenge him, who provided a sanctuary from this cutthroat world. The idea of being shackled to a stranger—especially a Thitipoom—made his blood boil.
​On the other side of the city, in a minimalist penthouse that smelled of expensive espresso and Diptyque candles, New Thitipoom was having a significantly louder reaction.
​"I’d rather swallow glass," New stated, his voice sweet but the words sharp enough to draw blood. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the city. He was devastatingly pretty—porcelain skin, plush lips that looked like they belonged on a cherub, and wide, innocent-looking eyes. But anyone who worked for him knew that beneath that "adorable" exterior was a tongue that could dismantle a person’s self-esteem in three sentences or less.
​"Newmie, darling, think of the assets," his mother pleaded, fanning herself.
​"I am an asset, Mother. I am not a tradeable commodity," New spun around, his silk robe billowing. "And to Tay Vihokratana? The man is a Neanderthal. I’ve seen him in the news—throwing chairs in board meetings, racing Ferraris through pedestrian zones. He’s a hot-headed, arrogant brute who probably thinks 'foreplay' is a golf term."
​"He is the richest bachelor in Southeast Asia," his father interjected firmly. "And the contract is signed. The meeting is in one hour at the Vihokratana Estate. Get dressed. Something that doesn't scream 'I'm going to poison your tea'."
​New let out a frustrated huff, his cheeks flushing a soft pink that belied his internal rage. "I’m wearing the Vivienne Westwood. If I’m going to a funeral for my freedom, I’m going to look iconic."
​The meeting took place in the Vihokratana library—a room filled with first editions and the heavy scent of old money and leather. Tay was already there, nursing a neat scotch, his tie loosened just enough to look predatory rather than professional. He was pacing like a caged tiger.
​When the doors opened, New walked in.
​The air in the room didn't just shift; it vanished.
​Tay stopped mid-stride. He’d seen photos of the Thitipoom heir, but they didn’t do justice to the sheer, irritating perfection of the man. New looked soft, edible even, in a cream-colored suit that accentuated his slim waist. But then New opened his mouth.
​"You’re taller than you look on TV," New said, his eyes scanning Tay from head to toe with blatant unimpressed judgment. "A shame about the personality, though. I hear it’s quite the deficit."
​Tay’s eyes narrowed, his "hot-headed" reputation flaring up instantly. He set his glass down with a heavy thud. "And I heard you were a brat, but they forgot to mention you’re also remarkably short for someone with such a big mouth."
​"It’s called 'compact,' you oaf," New snapped, stepping closer until they were in each other's personal space. The tension was immediate—a physical wall of static electricity. Tay could smell New’s cologne—something expensive, floral, and sharp—and New could smell the scotch and the raw, masculine heat radiating off Tay.
​"Listen to me, 'Newbie'," Tay hissed, leaning down so his lips were inches from New’s ear. "I don’t want this. I love someone else. This is a business arrangement. You stay out of my bed, stay out of my business, and we might survive this without me strangling you."
​New didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head up, his plush lips curving into a mocking, beautiful smile. "Oh, don't worry, Tay. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. Your ego takes up enough space in the room as it is; I doubt there’s any room for me in your bed anyway. But let’s get one thing straight: I don't take orders from men who use more hair gel than brain cells."
​Tay’s hand shot out, gripping the back of the chair New was standing next to, effectively pinning him between his arms and the furniture. The height difference was staggering, the power dynamic skewed, yet New met his gaze with a fierce, defiant spark.
​"You’re going to be a problem, aren't you?" Tay growled, his gaze dropping to New’s mouth despite himself.
​"I’m going to be your worst nightmare," New whispered back, his voice a honeyed blade.
​The parents entered the room then, oblivious to the fact that their sons looked like they were seconds away from either a fistfight or something much more primal.
​"Ah, I see you two have started getting acquainted!" Tay’s father beamed.
​"Intimately," New lied through his teeth, stepping out of Tay’s reach with the grace of a cat. "We were just discussing our... mutual expectations."
​Tay watched him go, his heart hammering a rhythm of pure, unadulterated loathing mixed with a confusing, unwanted jolt of adrenaline. He hated New Thitipoom. He hated his face, his voice, and the way he made Tay’s skin feel two sizes too small.
​The wedding was set for a month away. It was going to be the longest month of their lives.