Chapter 3: The Proposal

Nicholas spoke the word "marriage," which fell between us like a grenade.

Confident that I had misheard, I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said in a cool, collected tone. "I'm suggesting a marriage contract. Naturally, it will be temporary and on terms that are advantageous to both of us.”

I let out a sour, acrid laugh. "You can’t be serious."

Nicholas's face, however, remained unwavering. He stayed calm, staring at me with his sharp eyes as if he were analyzing every idea that was going through my mind.

I got out of his office's velvet chair, which I hadn't even wanted to sit in.

I said, "This is absurd," as I paced in the direction of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city lights glowed, taunting me with their brightness.

"Why would I ever agree to something like that?"

Nicholas said, "Because it solves both our problems," in a level tone. His posture was as rigid as the tone of his words, and he remained seated. "You must have enough money to keep your art center open and more. I require..."

He hesitated, picking his words wisely.

"What do you need?" I turned on my heel to face him and demanded.

"A wife," was all he said.

I laughed again at the ridiculousness of it, but it sounded phony this time. "A spouse? Why? For a business transaction? To entertain the tabloids by playing house?"

Nicholas's flawless composure cracked just a little as his jaw tightened. "You shouldn't worry about it. What counts is that I will give you enough money to safeguard your art center and allow you to grow it as you see fit. You will consent to be my wife for a year in exchange. Not a bit more, not a bit less.

I felt the weight of his words descend upon me as they lingered in the atmosphere. A year. All he was requesting was that. It was a minor cost for the lifeline I sorely needed. But it made my skin crawl to think of binding myself to this cold, cunning stranger.

With my arms crossed, I yelled, "I'm not some commodity you can buy."

Unconcerned by my outburst, Nicholas reclined in his chair. "I'm not requesting that you be. This is merely a business deal. You'll keep all you value, including your freedom and art center. A few public appearances and a ring on your finger are the only things that alter.

His casual demeanor infuriated me. "Can you hear yourself at all? You're asking me to marry you as if it were a business deal. “

"It is," he expressed plainly. "And it benefits you just as much as it benefits me."

I turned away and steadied myself by holding onto the window frame's edge. As my mind raced, the view outside became blurry. This isn't possible. It must have been a weird prank. However, Nicholas's demeanor told me he was dead serious when I looked over my shoulder.

I shook my head and whispered, "You're insane."

"Perhaps," he confessed, a faint smile fluttering across his mouth. However, I'm also giving you an alternative. Are you certain that someone else will intervene and save your priceless art center?

I knew he was right, so his comments were like a kick to the belly. I had no one to save me. I could hardly keep my head above water while the center drowned.

However, getting married to Nicholas Scott? Dealing with the devil was how it felt.

"What’s in this for you?" I asked, looking him in the face.

For the first time, Nicholas paused, a glimpse of something unreadable flickering across his face. "Let’s just say I have my reasons."

"That’s not good enough," I began, raising my voice. "If you expect me to even consider this, I need to know why you’re doing it."

Then he stood, his massive body looming over the room like a great shadow. "You don’t need to know," he stated in a stern and decisive tone. "You just must make a choice. Your art center will prosper if you accept the offer. If you refuse, you will lose everything.

Although it hurt, the request wasn't shocking. Offering options didn't appear to be Nicholas Scott's style.

The lump in my throat nearly choked me as I swallowed hard. When I eventually said, "I need time,"

Nicholas said, "You have twenty-four hours," without hesitation. "After that, the offer’s off the table."

Twenty-Four hours. I'll have to choose one day if I'd sacrifice my freedom—or at least my soul—for my goal.

I took my coat, and walked out of his office without saying another word, the door slamming behind me.

The eviction letter was staring at me from the coffee table back in my small apartment. I buried my face in my hands and slid into the couch.

What should I have done? As ridiculous as Nicholas's offer was, so was my predicament. The bank had already turned down my loan application. My efforts to raise money had not been successful. Even the final-ditch attempt to pull off the gala had failed.

And now I found myself with no other option.

Either I lose everything I've worked for, or I marry a man I hardly knew who had his agenda.

I was surprised by the knock on the door. I didn't think anyone would show up.

Sophie was standing there looking worried and frustrated as I opened it.

She said, "I got your text," and entered without waiting for an invitation. "What the hell is going on?"

The invitation was too much for her to handle alone, so I gave it to her.

She scanned the information, her eyes widening as she read. Then, looking up at me, she replied, "You cannot be serious."

I whispered, "I am unaware of what to do," my voice cracking.

"Don’t do it," Sophie firmly said. "There has to be another way."

The truth of my circumstances hung over me like a threatening fog despite my want to believe her.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table as Sophie persisted in her argument.

When I saw Nicholas's name on the screen, I took it up with a sick feeling in my stomach.

Even though the message was brief, it made me shiver.

"Miss Hart, time is running out. Make the correct decision.

And for the second time that day, I had the impression that Nicholas Scott was waiting to see if I would jump from a cliff.