I lean back in my seat, my eyes narrowed. "Why me? I'm not exactly the wife type. I'm not soft-spoken and kind like Angelica. Why not pick her?"
A fleeting emotion, something unreadable, crosses Vega's eyes, but that's all it is, fleeting.
I mock him, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "Or is it that you fell in love with me on first sight?"
"Don't be delusional," he dismisses me instantly. "You are best suited for the current situation."
I tsked, looking away toward the window. "What do I get?"
Vega takes the tablet back and taps on it, opening a document. He hands it back to me. "Take a look at it. This offer only lasts while we're in this room. After that, it's invalid."
I'm fuming inside. This jerk really wants me to sign one year of my life away in minutes, leveraging my father's life and reputation against me.
I might be rough around the edges, but I'm not stupid. I've dealt with the Alaister family for years and learned from my mistakes. Never sign anything without a lawyer.
I take out my phone and tap on a contact labeled Cici. She's the company lawyer and a close friend. I get up and place the call. The phone connects really fast, and Cici's high-pitched voice blasts through the speaker.
Cici said, "Hey sexy, you missed me already!"
"Stop messing around," I snap, my voice low but urgent. "I'm sending you something. Look at it properly. You have thirty minutes."
Cici sounds instantly excited and entirely distracted. "Ohhhh, what is it? An ad campaign for slutty lingerie? Tell me it's Beaubelle, I want some free product."
I am speechless. "It's not that. Just take a look. You have fifteen minutes."
I share the file to her phone and send it. I place the tablet on the coffee table, walk over to the bar cart, and pour myself a generous amount of whiskey.
"It's only 11 AM," Vega observes mildly.
I raise the crystal glass to him and take a hard swallow. "Well, no shit. It's 5 o'clock somewhere."
I bring the crystal glass to my lips and gulp the whiskey down like it's cheap water. The expensive spirit burns my throat, a sharp, familiar heat, but it does absolutely nothing to numb the emotions I'm drowning in.
The fear for my father, the fury at the Alaister family, the shocking audacity of the man in the chair—it all swirls, undiluted.
I feel a hot gaze burrowing through my back, following every frantic move I make. I turn around, slamming the glass onto the bar cart.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" I demand.
Vega is unruffled. He simply tilts his head slightly. "I hope you can get rid of these habits when we are married."
I, a woman who regularly faces down human aggression with controlled violence, am speechless. He's already planning to control me.
For heaven's sake, I am not an alcoholic. I am simply having a bad day amplified by the threat of losing my family and home.
I sneer and grab the glass again, taking another swig.
Just then, my cell phone rings. I pick it up, and Cici's voice is so loud through the earpiece that I have to pull the phone away from my head.
"Are you trying to make me deaf?" I hiss as I walk toward the large window, looking out onto the manicured gardens. My gaze is unfocused as I listen to her frantic enthusiasm.
"Tyr, is this a joke?" Cici practically screams. "It's like a fucking pie fell out of the sky!"
I rub my temple, the throbbing pain amplifying my frustration. "Just tell me if I will be fucked over."
"Fucked over, no," Cici replies instantly, "but fucked, yes."
I reprimand her through gritted teeth. "Ciar!"
"Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a bunch," she says, her professional tone finally kicking in. "I see no problem. The key points: There is no obligation to sleep together. You can't have a relationship within this year, and no scandals. If you do, the contract will be terminated, and you will have to pay double the amount."
I rub my lower lip with my thumb, a small wave of relief washing over me. The terms are not entirely unreasonable. My father's massive debts will be paid, and the Alaister threat will be neutralized, well, at least for a year. No matter how I look at it, I am the one benefiting financially and strategically.
But marrying someone, even if it's just a contract, it just feels deeply uncomfortable. I'm trading one cage for another.
I turn away from the window and stare at Vega. He has his head lowered, doing something on the tablet, looking utterly aloof and cold with a perfect air of indifference. He really has a face I want to punch, that devastating handsome face, coupled with that calm entitlement.
"Are you done staring?" he says, without looking up.
I'm not surprised at all that he caught me. "I will sign it," I state flatly.
I sit back down on the couch. Vega immediately takes out his phone and calls someone. A minute later, the office door opens, and a man dressed in a sharp tailored suit with rimless glasses walks in. He silently places two printed contracts on the coffee table.
When his eyes meet mine, an unknown emotion flickers in his gaze. I can't place it—is it pity, recognition, or just curiosity?—but I definitely notice. My brow arches slightly in question.
Vega breaks the moment. "Pen."
The man stops looking at me, hands Vega a sleek silver pen. Vega clicks it and signs on the dotted line of both documents with a flourish that looks rehearsed.
The man passes me the second pen. I click it, mirroring Vega's action, and sign my name. Tyr Evensen. The two men exchange the contracts, and I sign on the second one as well. I know this isn't a death sentence, but why the hell do I feel like I am signing my life away?
The man with the glasses then takes out an ink pad. "Your right thumb, please," he says to me.
I pause, looking up at Vega as though asking: Are you serious?
Vega doesn't say a word, but his eyes, cold and demanding, say everything. This is part of the ridiculous pageantry.
I say "Tsk" under my breath, press my thumb onto the pad, and then press my inked finger onto both contracts next to my signature. Vega follows suit, placing his own thumbprint.
The man hands me a wet wipe. I take my time, deliberately wiping my thumb clean, delaying the inevitable.
"What's next?" I ask.
Vega doesn't look at me, already engrossed in his tablet again. "We'll be in touch."