The Contract

Chapter 2

Arielle’s fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“An opportunity,” she repeated slowly. “That’s what you’re calling this.”

“What would you call it?” Lucien asked.

“Insane. Desperate. Take your pick.”

Something flickered in his expression. Almost like amusement. But it was gone before she could be sure.

“You’re right. It is desperate.” He moved back toward his desk, putting distance between them. “But desperation doesn’t make it any less practical.”

“For you maybe.”

“For both of us.” He turned to face her again. “I’ve looked into your file, Miss Laurent. You’ve been here three years. Solid performance reviews. No disciplinary issues. You keep your head down and do your work. You’re also severely underpaid for someone with your qualifications.”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

“It became my business the moment I decided you were the solution to my problem.” He crossed his arms. “You’re living in a one-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood that’s generous to call questionable. Your student loans are substantial. You haven’t taken a vacation day since you started working here. Should I continue?”

Arielle felt her face flush. The anger in her chest burned hotter.

“You had someone investigate me.”

“I had someone pull your employee file. There’s a difference.”

“Not to me.”

Lucien was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Almost careful.

“I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to make you understand that this arrangement benefits you as much as it benefits me. Probably more.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity. It’s a contract. A business transaction.” He moved toward his desk and pulled out a folder. Thick. Official-looking. “Six months. That’s all I’m asking for. Six months of public appearances. Playing the role of my fiancée, then my wife. In exchange, you’ll receive a lump sum payment of two million dollars. Tax-free.”

The number hit her like cold water.

Two million dollars.

Arielle’s student loans were sixty thousand. Her rent was fourteen hundred a month. She’d been saving for two years to afford a security deposit on a better apartment. Two million dollars would solve every financial problem she’d ever had.

And create about a hundred new ones.

“Why me?” she asked quietly. “Out of everyone in this company, why did you choose me?”

Lucien set the folder down on his desk. “Because you won’t ask for more than what’s offered. You won’t try to leverage this into something permanent. And you won’t fall in love with me.”

The last part made her laugh. Actually laugh. Short and sharp.

“You sound very sure about that.”

“I am.” His eyes met hers. Dark. Unreadable. “You don’t like me, Miss Laurent. You’ve made that clear in the three years you’ve worked here. The way you avoid the executive floor. The way you leave rooms when I enter them. You think I haven’t noticed?”

Heat crept up her neck again. She hadn’t realized she’d been that obvious.

“I don’t know you well enough to dislike you.”

“Exactly.” He picked up the folder and held it out to her. “Read through this. The terms are outlined clearly. You’ll have your own legal representation review it before signing anything. I’m not trying to trap you.”

Arielle looked at the folder like it might bite her.

“I need time to think about this.”

“You have until tomorrow morning. Nine AM.” Lucien’s tone shifted. Back to business. Final. “After that, I’ll move on to other options.”

“Other options. Right.” She took the folder from his hands. Their fingers didn’t touch. “Because there’s a line of women waiting to fake marry you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

She probably wouldn’t be.

Arielle tucked the folder under her arm. “Is that all?”

“One more thing.” Lucien moved around his desk and sat down. Back to being the CEO. Distant. Untouchable. “If you agree to this, everything changes. Your life will become public. People will dig into your past. Your family. Your relationships. Everything. You need to be prepared for that.”

Her stomach twisted. “My past is my business.”

“Not anymore. Not if you say yes.”

Arielle held his gaze for a long moment. Trying to read him. Trying to understand what he wasn’t saying.

But his face gave nothing away.

“I’ll give you my answer tomorrow,” she said.

“Nine AM.”

“I heard you the first time.”

She turned and walked toward the door. Her hand was on the handle when he spoke again.

“Miss Laurent.”

She looked back.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t ask if I had another choice.”

Arielle didn’t respond. Just opened the door and walked out.

The ride down in the elevator felt like it took hours. Her hands were shaking. Actually shaking. She pressed them flat against the folder to make them stop.

Two million dollars.

Six months.

Playing pretend with a man whose family had destroyed hers.

She made it back to her cubicle and sat down. The office was full now. People at their desks. Phones ringing. Normal Tuesday morning chaos.

Nothing about this was normal.

Arielle opened the folder. The contract was exactly as thick as it looked. Pages and pages of legal language. Clauses. Stipulations. A non-disclosure agreement.

She started reading.

Party A (Lucien Moreau) and Party B (Arielle Laurent) agree to enter into a contractual marriage for a period of six (6) months, commencing on the date of legal marriage.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother again.

I saw the news about your boss. That poor man. The media can be so cruel.

Arielle stared at the message. That poor man.

If her mother knew. If she knew who Lucien Moreau really was. What his family had done.

But she didn’t know. No one knew. That was the point.

Arielle deleted the message without responding and went back to reading.

Party B will attend all required public events, including but not limited to: charity galas, corporate functions, family gatherings, and media appearances.

Family gatherings.

She’d have to meet his mother. His uncle. The people who’d conspired to destroy her father.

Her hands started shaking again.

“Hey, Laurent.”

She looked up. Marcus Chen from accounting was standing next to her cubicle, holding a coffee cup.

“You okay? You look kind of pale.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Yeah, that meeting this morning was intense.” He leaned against the partition. “Any idea what the big announcement is going to be? People are saying Moreau’s stepping down.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Come on. You were in there. And then he called you up to his office privately. That’s not nothing.”

Arielle closed the folder. “It’s nothing. Just routine communication stuff. Gerald wanted me to draft some talking points.”

Marcus didn’t look convinced. But he shrugged. “Alright. Well, if you hear anything…”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

He walked away. Arielle waited until he was out of sight, then grabbed the folder and her bag. She couldn’t do this here. Couldn’t think here.

She sent Gerald a quick email. Taking a personal day. Family emergency.

Then she left.

The coffee shop three blocks from her apartment was nearly empty at eleven AM on a Tuesday. Arielle ordered a latte she couldn’t afford and sat in the corner booth with the contract spread out in front of her.

Two million dollars.

She could pay off her loans. Help her mother with the medical bills she never talked about but Arielle knew existed. Maybe even go back to school. Finish the degree she’d had to drop out of when her father died.

Six months.

That’s all it would take.

Six months of pretending. Six months of lying. Six months of standing next to the man whose family had destroyed everything.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was a call. Unknown number.

She almost didn’t answer. But something made her hit accept.

“Hello?”

“Miss Laurent?” A woman’s voice. Professional. 

“This is Caroline Winters. I’m Mr. Moreau’s personal attorney. He asked me to reach out to you regarding the contract. I understand you have until tomorrow morning to make your decision, but I wanted to offer my services for legal review. Free of charge, of course.”

Of course. Because Lucien Moreau thought of everything.

“Thank you,” Arielle said slowly. “But I have my own attorney.”

She didn’t. She absolutely didn’t. But she wasn’t about to tell this woman that.

“Of course. If you change your mind, my contact information is at the bottom of page twelve. Don’t hesitate to call.”

The line went dead.

Arielle set her phone down and stared at the contract again.

In the event of breach of contract by Party B, all compensation will be forfeited and Party B will be liable for damages not to exceed five million dollars.

Five million dollars.

If she said yes and then changed her mind, she’d owe him five million dollars.

This wasn’t just an opportunity. It was a cage.

Her phone buzzed a third time. Another text. But this one made her breath catch.

Unknown number. I know who you are. We need to talk.

Arielle’s hands went cold. She read the message again. Then again.

I know who you are.

She typed back with shaking fingers. Who is this?

The response came immediately.

Someone who knows what Moreau did to your father. Meet me. Tonight. 7 PM. Corner of Fifth and Market. Come alone.