CHAPTER 4- The Tough Decision

Freya's anger carried her straight to her father's study, her heels striking the polished floors like hammer blows. She threw open the heavy wooden doors, ready for battle. The scent of leather and old books – usually so comforting – now felt suffocating. "How dare you use David to manipulate me! After everything he did—”

Mr Peterson Hart didn't even look up from his desk. Instead, he simply pushed a document toward her, the paper sliding across the smooth surface of his massive desk. The casual gesture stopped her mid-sentence.

Her hands shook as she picked up the papers. The title made her heart skip: "Transfer of Ownership - Hart's Wine Corporation."

"I've signed the company over to you," her father said quietly, finally meeting her eyes. "Everything you've ever wanted. All it needs is my final approval."

Freya's heart pounded against her ribs. The family company – her dream since childhood, the legacy she'd worked toward her entire life – was right there in black and white. But she knew her father too well. There had to be a catch.

She didn't have to wait long to hear it.

"I'll make it official on one condition," he said, his voice as smooth as aged whiskey. "Marry Mark Wilson before the week is out."

The paper squeezed as she held tight. "What!!" She stared at him, trying to think if he really meant what he just said, although knowing fully well her Dad has never been one with a lot of humour. "That's impossible! You can't expect—"

"Can't I?" His voice turned to steel. "You wanted control of the company. This is the price."

A week. Seven days to convince Mark Wilson to marry her, plan a wedding, handle all the legal details. It was insane.

Her mind raced with possibilities. She would Seduce him, secure the marriage, get her company, and then – after enough time had passed – divorce him with her ownership intact.

Without another word to her father, she walked out, clutching the ownership papers to her chest. If Peterson Hart thought this would break her, he was wrong.

Back in her penthouse, Freya walked back and forth in the room agitated, her mind spinning with plans.

“Arrrhhhhh” Freya screamed with every possible sound her voice could make hoping ideas would stream in.

There's no way my dad could be serious with what he said, ,”should I call my mum?” Freya muttered.

It would probably make no difference, she would do nothing at the end.

Each idea seemed more desperate than the last, until suddenly, it hit her – the perfect solution. She'd play the vulnerable drunk, showing up at his door late at night. If things went too far, she could blame it on alcohol. Her reputation will remain intact and she'll gain control over him. She dressed up in a sexy short black dress, exposing a little cleavage.

Her hands shivered slightly as she took the tequila bottle from her refrigerator. One shot burned down her throat. A second followed. A third for courage. Just enough to smell like alcohol, but not enough to cloud her thinking.

The cab ride to his building felt like a dream. Rain started falling, first gentle drops, then a heavy downpour that matched her stormy thoughts. His address – which she'd gotten through a careful phone call to one of her trusted contacts – led her to a luxurious building downtown.

Standing at his gate, with rain now soaking through her clothes, Freya kicked off her expensive heels. She sat on the wet ground, making herself look helpless. Water dripped around her as she pulled out her phone.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Fou—

"The news reports are still out there, and you have until the end of today," Mark's voice cut through the rain, cold and businesslike, the flirty businessman I met yesterday was gone.

She gripped her phone tighter, rain streaming down her face. Everything depended on what happened next.

"I need you now!" She let her voice crack with fake desperation before hanging up. Her phone vibrated immediately with his calls, but she ignored them. The rain pounded harder, plastering her skimpy gown to her skin.

Minutes that felt like hours passed. Then she heard running footsteps. Mark appeared through the rain like a shadow, his usually perfect hair wet and messy.

"You came," she whispered, looking up at him vulnerable- just as she had planned.

"Fuck!!," he screamed, rushing to her side. Without hesitating, he picked her up from the ground, carrying her through the grand entrance of his mansion. Water dripped from both of them onto his expensive marble floors.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice bounced off the walls as he set her down in his entrance hall. But the worry in his eyes didn't match his angry tone.

Freya gave him a loose, drunk-looking smile, swaying slightly. Her teeth chattered – not entirely an act, as the cold had seeped deep into her bones.

"You're freezing. Stay here, I'm getting you a towel." He turned agitated, toward what looked like his bathroom.

The moment he disappeared, Freya moved fast. She quickly removed her soaked dress, leaving it in a wet pile on his floor. The cool breeze brought goosebumps on her skin.

When Mark returned, he stopped dead in the doorway, towel gripped tight in his hands. His eyes darkened as they moved over her.

"Have me," she whispered, taking an unsteady step toward him. "Just... have me."

The towel fell from his hands. For a moment, the only sounds were the rain hitting the windows and their heavy breathing.

But then something changed in Mark's expression – something that made Freya's heart skip with sudden fear. In his eyes, she saw not lust, but understanding. And that understanding looked dangerously close to anger.

A sense of unease crept over her and she realized she had overplayed her hand.

Mark Wilson hadn't become one of the youngest successful CEOs by being easily fooled. And now, standing nearly naked in his hallway, Freya realized she might have just made the biggest mistake of her career.

The rain kept falling outside, but inside, the silence grew steady inside. Freya was scared on what might happen next