CHAPTER THREE - THE CONTRACT

Kayden’s POV

She sits across from me, spine rigid, eyes scanning every corner of the room. Every instinct tells her to run, to fight, to find a crack in my control. I let her think it’s possible. Let her imagine escape. It makes the eventual surrender all the sweeter.

I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled, observing. The city lights spill into the room, reflecting in her sharp, calculating eyes. She thinks she’s the hunter. She’s clever. Dangerous. But she’s outmatched. Always.

“You’re quiet,” I say, my voice calm, deliberate. I let the words linger, let the tension build. “Usually people scream, fight, beg… not you.”

Her jaw tightens. She’s aware I’m testing her. Trying to measure how far I can push. Fine. I like it when the prey struggles; it keeps the game interesting.

“Don’t think I won’t find a way out,” she warns, voice steady. I can hear the strain beneath the calm. A flicker of fear she refuses to show. Good.

I allow myself a small, smile. “You already know every escape is cut off. Your sister’s safety is in my hands. You either play along… or she pays.”

The reaction is subtle, almost imperceptible, but I see it. A twitch in her eyelid, a tightening of her fist on the chair. That spark of fear—I savor it.

“I want terms,” she says, voice even but sharp. “I don’t negotiate under threats.”

I repeat the word slowly, savoring it: “Terms.” I lean forward, letting my presence fill the space between us. “Fine. One year. Marriage contract. Start immediately.”

Shock flashes across her face. Perfect. She opens her mouth to argue, to bargain, to threaten—but I don’t flinch. I don’t allow it.

“It’s simple,” I continue, voice low and precise. “You obey. You marry me. One year. In that time, you behave like a wife. Your sister lives. No games, no tricks. Don’t like it? Tough. You’ll comply. You don’t have a choice.”

I watch her. Every flicker of resistance, every mental countermeasure, every thought she refuses to speak. She’s clever, but cleverness without leverage is meaningless here.

“I… I can’t,” she whispers, trembling now, though she doesn’t let it show fully. “There has to be another way.”

I lean in, close enough for her to feel the weight of my control without a word of threat. Calm, precise. “There isn’t. You know that. And deep down, you understand why you’re here.”

Her fingers dig into the chair. White-knuckled. Trembling. I let the silence stretch, savoring the invisible pressure crushing her resolve.

I watch her calculating the options she doesn’t have, weighing impossible choices. Her survival instincts are sharp, too sharp, perhaps, but her love for her sister is sharper. And that’s the leverage I hold.

Finally, almost imperceptibly, she nods. Just enough. That tiny agreement—fleeting, reluctant, is all I need.

I lean back, satisfied, and slide the black card across the table toward her. The metallic edge catches the dim light, reflecting like a warning.

“The wedding is in three days,” I say, letting the words hang. “Don’t even think about running away, I’ll know. Be a good wife, Adeline. Belle’s life depends on it.”

She touches the card, fingers brushing the embossed letters. I see the calculation in her eyes—the silent negotiation inside her head. Fear, defiance, survival instinct, all mingled into one volatile mix. One year. That’s all I need.

I allow myself private satisfaction. She’s chosen compliance over freedom. Fear over rebellion. But that spark—defiance, cleverness—that will make the next year… entertaining.

I lean back, watching her fidget, savoring the tiny tremor of control I hold. Every breath she takes, every calculated glance, every suppressed instinct—it all belongs to me now. The game has begun, and she doesn’t even know the rules.

She wants to argue. Wants to test. I let her think she might. Each flicker of resistance, every micro-expression—fuel. I catalog them, store them. One year. By the end, I’ll know every edge, every weakness, every strength.

Her eyes meet mine, sharp and unyielding, but I can see it: calculation giving way to inevitability. She knows, deep down, she’s trapped. Belle’s safety demands obedience. Her instincts scream defiance, but her love forces compromise.

Perfect.

I watch her take a tentative breath, and I feel the thrill of anticipation. One year. That’s all I need to shape her, to test her, to see how far she’ll go.

The card gleams under the dim lighting, and I watch her fingers brush over it again. Survival instincts or defiance? I’ll find out soon enough. Three days until the wedding. Three days until she truly understands the weight of her decisions.

And when she realizes just how completely she’s trapped… that’s when the real game begins.