YES đđ„This is the deal chapterâwhere power shifts, tension sharpens, and readers realize this man is not bluffing.
Longer. Controlled. Intimate without touching.
Chapter Four: Terms and Conditions
The private club was quiet in a way that screamed exclusivity.
No loud music. No chatter. Just soft lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a panoramic view of the city spread out below like something owned rather than admired.
She paused at the entrance.
Every instinct told her to turn around.
She didn't.
A staff member led her to a secluded table near the glass. Someone was already seated there.
He rose when he saw her.
Up close, he was even more imposingânot because of his height alone, but because of the way he occupied space with unshakable ease. His suit was perfectly tailored, dark and understated, his expression calm as his gaze swept over her in a single, assessing glance.
She felt uncomfortably transparent.
"You came," he said.
"I said I would hear the terms," she replied. "That's all."
A faint curve touched his lips. Not a smile. An acknowledgment.
"Sit."
She bristled at the word but took the chair opposite him. The table between them was bare except for a slim folder placed precisely at its center.
"That's the contract?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You work fast."
"I don't like uncertainty."
She folded her hands in her lap. "Then start talking."
He leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving her face. "The marriage will last one year."
"One year," she repeated.
"At the end of that time, you're free to leave. No penalties. No obligations."
"And during that year?" she asked.
"You will move into my residence. We will attend public events together. You will act as my wife in every way that matters to the outside world."
"And privately?"
His gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly.
"Privately, you'll be safe."
That wasn't an answer.
"I asked about boundaries," she said coolly.
He nodded. "Very well. No physical intimacy unless both parties consent."
She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"No interference in each other's personal work," he continued. "No public arguments. No scandal."
She tilted her head. "That sounds very convenient for you."
"It's equally convenient for you," he said. "Your reputation stabilizes. Your ex disappears from your narrative. Your career resumes."
"And in return?" she pressed.
He reached forward and opened the folder.
Inside were neatly arranged pagesâdense, precise, intimidating.
"You will not fall in love with me," he said.
Her fingers stilled.
"That's not something you can control," she said.
"It's something you already promised yourself," he replied evenly. "I'm simply holding you to it."
She didn't like how closely he was paying attention.
She flipped through the contract, scanning clauses about confidentiality, public appearances, shared assets carefully separated and accounted for.
This wasn't impulsive.
This had been prepared long before tonight.
"You planned this," she said quietly.
"Yes."
The admission was immediate. Unapologetic.
Her throat tightened. "Before last night?"
"Long before," he confirmed.
She looked up sharply. "Then why now?"
"Because," he said calmly, "you would never have agreed before."
The honesty unsettled her more than manipulation would have.
She closed the folder. "You're asking me to marry you at my lowest point."
"I'm offering you a way out at the moment you need it most."
She laughed under her breath. "You make it sound generous."
"It is," he replied. "And it isn't."
She studied him, searching for cracks, for arrogance, for desire. There was restraint thereâbut beneath it, something coiled and watchful.
"What happens if I break the rules?" she asked.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Then we renegotiate," he said. "I don't punish my wife."
The word landed heavier than she expected.
Wife.
She straightened. "And you? What are your rules?"
"I don't lie," he said. "And I don't share what's mine."
Her pulse jumped.
"That sounds possessive."
"That is possessive."
The admission was soft. Dangerous.
She pushed her chair back slightly. "I need one condition."
He gestured for her to continue.
"I will not defend you publicly if you're wrong," she said. "I won't smile through humiliation again. If I'm disrespected, I walk."
He considered this for a moment.
Then he nodded. "Agreed."
She hesitated. "And my ex?"
"He'll issue a public apology by morning," he said. "And he won't speak your name again."
Her fingers curled slowly.
"You're very confident."
"I'm very capable."
Silence stretched between them.
The city glowed beneath their feet. Somewhere far below, lives moved on, unaware that hers was about to split into a before and an after.
She picked up the pen resting beside the contract.
"This doesn't mean anything," she said firmly. "It's business."
"Of course," he replied. "Everything important starts that way."
She signed.
The ink dried almost instantly.
He took the contract, added his signature with smooth precision, then closed the folder.
"Welcome," he said quietly, "to your new life."
A server appeared silently, setting down a glass of champagne in front of her. She stared at it for a moment, then pushed it aside.
"I don't celebrate contracts," she said.
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable.
"No," he agreed. "You survive them."
As she stood to leave, he spoke again.
"One more thing."
She paused.
"You should know," he said evenly, "that this marriage was never a risk for me."
She turned slowly.
"It was inevitable."
The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
She walked away without looking backâbut the sense of being claimed followed her out into the night, heavy and inescapable.
And for the first time since the engagement party, she understood something with chilling clarity.
She hadn't escaped betrayal.
She had traded it for obsession.