Chapter 7

DREA

My brows pulled together in confusion. Why would they be waiting for me?

Maybe it was because he knew I would need answers, and he was the only one who could provide them.

I slowly stood up and trailed behind Mr Jackson, not failing to catch the stares of people on my small frame.

I can’t with these people.

We headed towards one of the elevators and he pressed the button to open it. I slowly walked in after him and watched him reach for the control.

He pressed a top button with a ‘W’ label on it.

My brows furrowed.

Now that’s not something you see every day.

The elevator began to slowly ascend, passing countless floors as I held onto the railing tightly. My stomach churned and I felt lightheaded.

Maybe it was the elevator.

Maybe I was nervous.

Maybe it was both.

The elevator didn’t feel like it was moving upward. It felt like it was taking me deeper into something I couldn’t name.

Mr Jackson glanced back at me, a concerned look on his face. I probably looked like I was about to pass out. Forcing a small smile, I gave him a reassuring nod, signaling that I was okay.

He smiled back and peeled his eyes off me.

The loud ding of the elevator made me lift my head.

We were here.

I felt my heart pounding against my chest in a way that could not be normal.

He walked out and gestured towards me to do the same. And I did. Not like I had a choice.

We got off on an eerily empty floor, the air crisp and cold. It had warmth to it compared to the lobby, which was completely bare of any color. Rich brown accents broke up the sleek design. It had a mini kitchen tucked into the corner and two doors at the far end of the hall.

It seemed like we were the only ones on the floor.

The only sounds that could be heard were our footsteps hitting the marbled floors.

I was so nervous. Why was I so nervous?

We stopped at one of the doors.

Chairman.

The word was engraved neatly on a silver plaque placed at the top of the door.

I gulped nervously, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans for the hundredth time that day.

Mr Jackson reached up and placed three soft knocks on the door as we waited for a response.

The silence was uncomfortably loud.

“Come in” I heard a deep, guttural voice mumble.

My breath hitched after hearing that. This was it.

I was going to get answers.

Mr Jackson slowly opened the door, walking in and holding the door open for me to walk in.

This office was huge.

My gaze swept around the room, taking in the dark furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and warm brown tones that seemed to dominate everything.

Wow.

It had color.

For some reason, I was expecting to see a black and white office like the ones in the movies. I guess that’s one billionaire stereotype debunked.

“Miss Hart is here Sir.” I heard Mr Jackson say and that seemed to stop my wandering eyes.

I guess me looking around the room was my way of trying to stall the inevitable. The conversation we were about to have.

Mr Jackson blocked my view of the desk—and him. In a way, you could say he was shielding me from him.

“Thank you, Ian. You may leave” I heard the same deep voice reply.

Mr Jackson—Ian — moved out of my line of sight, and I strangely felt exposed and vulnerable.

Ian gave me one last reassuring smile before walking past me and out the door.

My eyes slowly flickered up to see him.

August Wolfe.

He stared at me intensely, almost as if he was trying to look into my soul.

His eyes never looked away from mine, his grey eyes lacking emotion of any sort.

His gaze intimidated me.

And I hated that.

I wanted to evaporate into thin air.

But I couldn’t.

My eyes darted towards my shoes, and it was suddenly the most interesting item in the world.

“I wondered when you’d come.” My gaze snapped back towards him as I heard that.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

I stared at him for a second, my eyes analyzing his face.

Say something, Drea!

I cleared my throat and inched closer to his desk, his eyes never leaving mine despite my movements.

“Who are you?” Wow Drea. That’s the best you could come up with?!

His eyes left mine and looked at the seat in front of him.

“You can take a seat.” He gestured with his hands.

I slowly pulled the chair backwards, the sound of the wheels scraping across the floor.

I slowly reached around and sat on it, my hands fisted on my thighs.

“Can I offer you anything? Water perhaps?” He asked, his voice steady.

“No,” I stated firmly, placing my bag on the floor and redirecting my attention to him.

He nodded, his face void of any expression.

“How do you know me?” I asked, rephrasing my initial question and glancing at him.

He sighed, placing his hands on his desk before reaching up to adjust the black tie around his neck.

“I think the question you should be asking is…why should you get married to me?” He replied, his voice stoic and firm.

I glanced up at him to see him already staring…as usual.

“Okay then. Why do I have to marry you?” I asked.

“It’s just something that has to be done.” He stated, his voice never breaking.

“No it doesn’t. Listen, I don’t know you. I don’t want to get married to anyone. At least not right now. And definitely not to a stranger.” I explained, searching his face for something—anything.

There was nothing.

His face remained blank.

He cleared his throat, leaning back against his chair.

“It has to happen.” He replied, his voice low yet stern. It was weirdly charismatic.

“Why?” I asked, almost crying out in desperation.

“Think of it as your escape.” My escape?

“If we get married, you get to live the life you always dreamed of. You won’t have to suffer anymore.” He explained calmly.

“How would you know my dream life?” I inquired, staring at him curiously.

He let out a breath before running his hand through his dark hair.

“Your life will be easier if you choose to marry me” I rubbed my hands over my face and let out a huff.

This is not why I came here.

I came here for answers.

Answers I am not getting.

“Listen” I started, placing my hands on the desk.

“I don’t know you. You don’t know me. So why should we get married?”

“It benefits both of us.” He answered, picking up a cup of what I assumed to be coffee and bringing it towards his lips.

After taking a sip, he placed it down on the coaster and his hands were once again, placed on the desk and interlocked with one another. My eyes darted towards the silver watch on his right wrist. That must’ve cost a fortune.

Why wasn’t he answering my questions? Why was he being so vague?

“How?” I asked.

“You get your freedom from your family, and I get a wife.”

My fist tightened at his words. I was getting really frustrated with his answers. Why was he treating me like some charity case?

“Stop talking like you know what I want.” I gritted out, my tone harsh.

For the first time, his eyes widened slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“You basically keep saying that you’re trying to save me, but I never asked to be saved. Especially not by you.” I retorted, my jaw tightening.

“I don’t want to be your wife.” My voice echoed through the room.

Realizing I was beginning to look crazy, I took a deep breath and sighed. “And why would I need freedom?” How would he know that?

“I know you”

What??

“I know what you want.” He responded, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I know that you hate your life right now because of Ivanka. I know that you need an escape. And I know that you would choose to be in any other situation but the one you are in right now.”

I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Who was this guy?

“How long have you known me?” My voice barely came out as a whisper.

“I know enough.” He responded.

“Why me?” I asked, staring down at my hands and fighting back the tears behind my eyes.

“Why does it have to be me?” I asked again, looking at him through my clouded vision.

For the first time since I’d entered this room, something shifted in his expression.

Not emotion.

Hesitation.

“Because,” He said quietly.

“That’s what your father wanted”