Chapter 5

Claire.

“I want you to be my wife.”

His words hit my ears like a missile, making my perceived self-confidence falter. I felt blood drain from my cheeks and I blinked rapidly, still trying so hard, but failing to process his words. Be his wife? I swallowed the huge discomforting lump lodged in my throat.

“Miss Peters, are you okay? You suddenly look like you've seen a ghost. No, I feel like I'm the one looking at a ghost.”

I didn't need a mirror to know my skin had gone pale. I literally felt the blood seeping out with every labored breath. I watched his lips tilt into a small smile as he interlocked his fingers. His hands formed a steeple on his table, and he laid his jaw on it. His eyes twinkled, more like he was amused or proud of the game he was playing. It was all a game to him, wasn't it? He knew how desperate I was for his help, and he'd stoop as low as asking for my hand in marriage in addition to a whopping 70% profit on all investments.

“Have you suddenly lost your ability to speak, Miss Peters? We could very easily reschedule this appointment, although I can't guarantee that I'd be in the mood to consider your offer.”

“I...” I stuttered as my thoughts raced faster than my mind could comprehend. 

He tugged his brows up slightly. “A yes or no would suffice. Time is ticking and I have another appointment in—” He bent his wrist enough to look at his watch and then turned back to face me.15 minutes. That's all you have to come up with an answer.”

I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of being married. I had just fallen out of a terrible excuse of a husband who had left me for death. The same man who, by some twist of fate, is hell bent on making me marry another man, however unbeknownst to him. I let out a sigh, as my shaky hands found their way to my stomach. I had lost my womb and wasn't sure I ever wanted marriage—even if it was fake.

I straightened my shoulders and pinned my gaze on him. “I was under the impression that this was strictly business and that you were a gentleman,” I said. I knew it was a weak jab, but I had little options left. I had to make him reco spider his offer, one way or another.

He stood up from his chair, his height towering over me. I suddenly felt a lot smaller; or maybe I just wish that I could shrink away into oblivion and not need to deal with any of these. 

“It's strictly business. There's going to be a contract. I'll sign, you'll sign. You're allowed to come with a lawyer; I'll have mine—not that it's necessary." His eyes glued to mine as his voice dropped a full octave. “I didn't realize I had to be so gentlemanly with the lady who stole from me and came back to ask for more.”

Another punch to the gut. I swallowed. I wasn't expecting the deal to be easy, but surely, I wasn't expecting it to turn out this way. He tapped his watch, drawing my attention to the fact that I needed to make a decision quickly.

“Considering the unprofessional nature of your offer,” I began, stressing the word ‘’unprofessional’ more than was necessary. “I think I'd need a little time to come up with an answer or a counter offer.”

“Miss Peters—” 

“You at least owe me that much,” I interjected.

“I thought I made it clear that this might very well be the only opportunity you get to have me consider your offer.”

“Well, since we're all suddenly brokering strange deals and requesting even stranger rewards, I'd say rescheduling this meeting shouldn't be such a difficult task.”

“Fine. 1 week, that's all you get to come up with an answer. Of course, I can't guarantee the turn things will take should I receive an unwanted answer. Believe me, law suits might turn out to be the least of your worries.”

“You'd stoop that low?”

“For a thief? Or for what I want?”

I had met enough rich people to know that the majority were used to having things done their way and would result in threats if the need aroused. It was no different from what Regal was doing—trying to bully her into accepting his proposal. I pushed myself off the chair and headed for the door. I could feel his gaze on me every step of the way. As I opened the door, his words made me staunch my strides.

“1 week, Miss Peters. That's all you get.”

I walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door so hard it'd rip off its hinges. Get married to him? I thought as I entered the elevator. The last time I got married voluntarily—to the love of my life—I came out half dead. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd survive another marriage. The elevator chimed, and I stepped out, meandered my way through the office, and into the car that was already waiting for me.

“Where to, ma'am?” the driver's voice reached me as he adjusted the rearview mirror to have a better look at my face. 

“Just take me home, Fred,” I muttered, tired. I gingerly massaged my forehead, wondering what the right option would be in this situation: to be married and keep the company, or to refuse and let my ex win, plus a possible addition of lawsuits from my ’could-be’ husband.

I lowered the windows and looked outside, feeling the fresh breeze crash in my face. I let out a rush of air through my lips. There was a lot at stake. If I ran out of business, it would be bad for a lot of people, especially those who benefit from my charity. But that wasn't the only thing at stake; I'd die before I allowed Regal to have his way again. I picked up my phone and dialed.