Chapter Two: The Contract

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I dropped the thick stack of papers onto the glass coffee table in front of me, the slap of it against the surface louder than I intended. My father flinched from his seat on the armchair across the room, his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles had turned white.

“Elena, please—” he began, his voice low and pleading, but I cut him off.

“No, Dad. I mean it. This… this is insane.” I jabbed a finger at the document, its weight as heavy as the decision it represented. “This is a marriage contract, not some fairytale proposal. He’s not asking to marry me—he’s buying me.”

The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I couldn’t stop them.

I stood abruptly, pacing the length of our small living room. The threadbare rug muffled the sound of my steps, but nothing could soften the pounding in my chest.

“Do you even know what’s in there?” I asked, throwing a glance back at him. “It’s all legal jargon, but the message is clear. I marry him, I smile for the cameras, and I pretend to be his doting wife while he…” My voice faltered as the reality set in. “While he owns me.”

My father didn’t respond. He just stared down at his hands, the lines on his face deeper than I’d ever seen them. The sight tugged at my heart despite the anger boiling beneath my skin.

“I didn’t raise you to be someone’s property,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “I know that. And I hate that it’s come to this. But Elena…” He looked up at me then, and the pain in his eyes stole the breath from my lungs. “I don’t have any other choice. This is the only way to save us.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

I turned away, facing the window instead, watching as snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. Outside, the world looked so peaceful, so untouched by the chaos unraveling inside this house.

But I wasn’t untouched. I was being dragged into the storm.

The next day, I found myself standing in the sleek, cold office of Alexander Wells. The walls were lined with glass, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline, the sharp angles of the buildings mirroring the man who stood in front of me.

Alexander Wells.

He was taller than I’d expected, his presence commanding without effort. His black suit fit him perfectly, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine the moment I entered the room. He looked like he belonged in a magazine, but there was nothing soft about him. His face was sharp, his expression unreadable, and his aura was one of quiet authority.

“Elena Spears.” His voice was smooth, low, and somehow colder than the snow falling outside.

“Alexander Wells,” I replied, my tone sharper than I intended. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

I hesitated, my eyes narrowing as I studied him. He didn’t flinch under my gaze, his composure unnervingly steady. Finally, I sat, though every muscle in my body was tense.

Alexander took the seat opposite me, his movements deliberate and calculated. He rested his hands on the desk, his long fingers laced together, and leaned forward slightly.

“I assume you’ve reviewed the terms of the contract,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Terms?” I scoffed. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”

His lips twitched, almost like he was fighting back a smirk, but his eyes remained cold. “I’m offering you a mutually beneficial arrangement, Ms. Spears. One that will save your father’s company and give you financial security for the rest of your life. I fail to see the issue.”

“The issue,” I shot back, leaning forward to meet his gaze, “is that you’re asking me to sell my freedom for a business deal.”

Alexander didn’t flinch. “You have a choice. No one is forcing you to accept.”

His words cut deeper than they should have. Technically, he was right. No one was putting a gun to my head, but the weight of my father’s struggles and the consequences of saying no felt just as suffocating.

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice quieter now. “You could have anyone. Why me?”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity? Amusement? I couldn’t tell.

“You intrigue me,” he said simply.

I blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his answer.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re different,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “You have something most people don’t.”

“And what’s that?” I challenged.

“Loyalty.” The word came out like a statement of fact, as if he’d already analyzed every facet of my life and come to his conclusion.

His answer left me speechless, the air between us growing heavier by the second.

Alexander leaned back in his chair, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You don’t have to like me, Ms. Spears. You don’t even have to trust me. But if you agree to this arrangement, I promise you two things: your father will be taken care of, and you will never want for anything again.”

“And in return?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze sharpened, his blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“In return,” he said slowly, “you will be mine.”

I couldn’t sleep that night.

The contract sat on my desk, the stark white pages almost mocking me in the glow of the lamp. My mind raced with questions, fears, and doubts that refused to quiet down.

I thought of my father, his tired eyes and slumped shoulders, the weight of his failures pressing down on him like an anchor. I thought of the foreclosure notices, the endless calls from creditors, and the slow unraveling of everything he’d worked so hard to build.

And then I thought of myself. Of the life I’d dreamed of, the art I wanted to create, and the freedom I wasn’t ready to give up.

Tears burned in my eyes as I stared at the contract, my hands trembling as they hovered over the pages.

The next morning, I stood outside the same glass office, my breath fogging in the winter air as I clutched the contract to my chest.

Inside, the space felt colder, sharper, as if the walls themselves were waiting to see what I would do. Alexander stood by the window, the morning light casting shadows across his features.

“I assume you’ve made your decision,” he said without turning around.

“I have,” I replied, though my voice faltered.

But something caught my eye—a plain folder resting on the edge of his desk. My name was printed neatly across the tab.

My pulse quickened as I glanced at the door Alexander had disappeared through a moment earlier.

Curiosity burned through me, a dangerous temptation. I reached for the folder, flipping it open.

The first page hit me like a punch to the gut—a photograph of me sitting in the park, taken from across the street. I flipped through the pages, each more chilling than the last. Me walking home. Me painting in my studio. Me standing at a coffee shop counter.

My skin crawled.

Then, on the last page, I saw the words that made my blood run cold:

Objective: Secure marriage through any means necessary.

Target is critical to Phase Two of the plan.

The sound of the door opening made me freeze. My hands trembled as I shoved the folder shut, my heart racing.

Alexander stepped back into the room, his gaze slicing through the tension.

“Well?” he asked, his voice smooth and composed. “Have you decided?”

I swallowed hard, my thoughts screaming at me to run.

“Yes,” I whispered, even as the truth burned inside me.