Chapter 8 – The Offer
Clara hadn't seen Ethan in two days — two gloriously peaceful, chaos-free days. She was starting to think maybe, just maybe, he'd finally forgotten about her.
That hope ended when a black car stopped outside her bookshop again.
"Oh, come on," she muttered. "Does this man not have hobbies?"
Ethan stepped out, crisp suit, unreadable eyes. The customers watched in fascination — like a movie star had walked in.
He walked straight up to her. "We need to talk."
"Do you ever say please?" she sighed.
"Not when it's urgent."
He handed her a document — thick, official, terrifying.
"What's this?" she asked, flipping through the pages. "A lease? A hit contract? Oh wait— it says marriage."
Her jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding."
"I don't kid," he said simply.
"Then you're insane!" she burst out. "Marriage? To you? Why?"
Ethan's voice was calm, almost too calm. "Someone is using Mia's disappearance to threaten my company. My inheritance clause activates in three weeks — and it requires me to be legally married."
Clara blinked. "Your inheritance clause? What are you, royalty?"
He ignored the jab. "This marriage would be purely contractual. You'd be compensated. You'd also be protected."
She laughed, half-nervous, half-hysterical. "So you want me — a bookshop clerk who trips over her own shoelaces — to play Mrs. Blackwood?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Exactly."
"Oh, no. Absolutely not. I'm not marrying a man who looks like he could file an emotion under 'irrelevant paperwork.'"
Ethan stepped closer. "Think carefully, Clara. This isn't just about me. Whoever's behind this might target you next."
Her humor faltered. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning."
For a long, heavy moment, she searched his eyes — all ice and logic. Then she said quietly, "You really don't believe in feelings, do you?"
"No," he replied. "But I believe in strategy."
And somehow, that made her heart beat faster.