Contract

Chapter Eight:

Jade's POV

The car door closed softly behind me, sealing out the noise of the city with a vacuum-like hiss. Warmth wrapped around me instantly, a sharp and immediate contrast to the biting cold outside. For a moment, I simply sat there. I stared at the dark leather interior and the quiet elegance of the cabin. There was a faint, lingering scent of expensive cedar and rain.

Everything about this car screamed money and absolute control. The driver pulled away from the curb without a word, his movements as fluid and silent as the vehicle itself. I glanced out the window as the streets slid past, blurred into gray streaks by the heavy tint of the glass.

My phone was still clutched in my hand, but I was no longer looking at the screen. I leaned my head back against the plush headrest and shut my eyes, feeling the vibration of the road beneath me.

What exactly was I doing? I was marrying a stranger. I was not just marrying any stranger, though. I was marrying Killian Montclair. He was the man my father had been chasing for years like a desperate dog after a bone. The irony tasted bitter and metallic in my mouth. Maybe I had finally lost my mind under the weight of the betrayal. Or maybe I was just tired of being the only person in the room who consistently lost.

The drive lasted about fifteen minutes before the car turned into the private entrance of the same luxury hotel where I had woken up. My stomach tightened into a painful knot. Of course he was still here. This was his territory. This was where the destruction of my old life had ended and whatever this was began.

The car came to a smooth stop near a private elevator bank. Before I could even reach for the handle, another man in a crisp black suit stepped forward and opened the door for me.

“Miss Jade,” he greeted with a polite, practiced nod.

I nodded back and stepped out. The cold air brushed my skin again, but I barely felt the sting this time. My mind was far too loud for physical discomfort. The lobby looked just as elegant as I remembered, filled with marble floors and crystal lights that looked like frozen stars. People in expensive suits moved through the space like they belonged there, looking like they had never known the feeling of being broken.

The man guided me toward an elevator that required a key card to even activate. “Mr. Montclair is waiting upstairs,” he said as the doors slid open.

I did not reply. I did not trust my voice to remain steady in front of his staff. The elevator doors closed, and the ride up felt agonizingly quiet. My mind filled the silence with questions that had no easy answers. What kind of man proposes marriage to a woman he barely knows? What kind of man watches her movements like he already owns the ground she walks on?

And worse, what kind of woman agrees to it?

The doors opened directly into a private foyer on the top floor. The man led me down a quiet, carpeted hallway before stopping in front of a massive suite door. He knocked once, a sharp and singular sound.

The door opened almost immediately. For the first time since the fall, I saw Killian Montclair properly in the light. He was taller than I remembered. He had broad shoulders and a sharp jawline that made him look more like a statue than a man. His expensive suit was tailored to perfection, hugging his frame in a way that spoke of immense wealth. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he had not bothered to tame it because he simply did not need to impress anyone.

And then there were his eyes. They were the first thing that truly caught me. They were dark, sharp, and terrifyingly observant. They looked like they missed nothing, including the slight tremble in my fingers.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The tension in the hallway was thick enough to choke on. Killian eventually stepped aside, his movement slow and deliberate.

“Come in.”

His voice was calm and carried the same authority it had on the phone. It was the voice of a man used to giving orders and having them followed without question. I walked inside slowly, my heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

The suite was enormous. There was a sprawling living area, a formal dining space, and doors leading deeper into the shadows of the room. Killian closed the door behind me with a soft click that felt like a lock turning.

“Sit,” he said. He gestured toward a deep charcoal sofa.

I sat down carefully, placing my bag on the cushion beside me. He did not sit with me right away. Instead, he walked to a nearby mahogany table and picked up a thin, black folder. When he returned, he placed it on the glass table in front of me.

“The contract.”

My gaze fell on the bold, stark words at the top of the first page. Marriage Agreement. My throat tightened. The reality of it hit me with the force of a physical blow. “This is really happening,” I murmured.

“Yes,” Killian replied simply. He finally sat across from me. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze remained steady and fixed on my face.

“You said you do not like wasting time,” I reminded him. I reached out and touched the edge of the folder.

“And I meant it.” His eyes held mine, refusing to let me look away. “You have had a difficult day, Jade. I would prefer to finish the business portion of this evening so you can rest.”

That caught me off guard. The small touch of consideration felt out of place coming from him. I let out a quiet, jagged laugh. “I am surprised you noticed.”

“I notice everything that might affect my decisions,” he replied. His voice was devoid of emotion, making it clear that his observation was purely practical.

I looked down at the contract again and then back at his face. “And marrying me is a decision? A business one?”

“Yes.” The answer came without a second of hesitation.

I opened the folder slowly. Pages of dense legal terms stared back at me. There were clauses for everything from living arrangements to public appearances.

“This is very detailed,” I said.

“I hired very good lawyers to ensure there are no misunderstandings.”

That did not surprise me. I skimmed through a few pages, the words blurring together until I forced myself to focus. I looked back at him. “And what exactly do you get out of this arrangement? You are Killian Montclair. You could have anyone.”

His expression did not change. Not a single muscle in his face moved. “A wife.”

“That is the obvious part. But why me? Why the daughter of a man you clearly have no respect for?”

A brief silence passed between us. Killian leaned back slightly, his dark eyes studying me with a terrifying intensity. “You need an escape, Jade. And I need stability for the next three years.”

My brows pulled together. “Stability for what exactly?”

“For a court case regarding my family’s estate,” he said. His voice was clipped and professional. “My position as the head of the Montclair holdings is being challenged by relatives who believe a single man is too volatile to hold the reins. A wife provides the image of a settled, responsible leader.”

I stiffened. “A court case? You think marrying a stranger will convince a judge that you have a stable home life?”

“It has convinced them before,” he replied. His confidence made it clear that he had already tested the boundaries of the law and won.

“And what do I get?” I asked. I knew the numbers in the folder were astronomical, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“You get freedom,” he said. The word hit harder than any of the legal terms. “You leave this city if you wish. You leave your father’s influence entirely. I will provide the capital for you to start your own firm, independent of the Vane name.”

My heart skipped a beat. I looked at him sharply, my breath hitching. “How do you know that is what I want? I never told you I wanted my own company.”

He crossed one leg over the other, looking completely unbothered by my shock. “You are smarter than the questions you are asking me, Jade. You have spent years building your father’s empire. I know you have the ambition to build your own.”

I stared at him. He had dissected my life and my desires before I even knew his name. I looked back at the contract, my fingers resting on the heavy paper.

“Three years,” I read slowly.

“Yes. Thirty-six months of public appearances and shared residency.”

“And after that?”

“We divorce. The contract includes a pre-negotiated settlement that ensures you never have to work a day in your life again unless you choose to.”

Just like that. It was so clinical. I looked up at him. His face held no hesitation and no discomfort. It was as if divorce was already written into the ledger of his life.

“You are very sure this will work,” I said.

“Yes. I do not bet on losing hands.”

“And if I refuse?” I asked quietly. “If I walk out that door right now?”

Killian studied me for a moment, his gaze roaming over my face as if he were memorizing a map. “Then I find someone else. My requirements are specific, but they are not impossible to meet.”

The blunt honesty of his answer surprised me, but I believed him. He did not need me. He had simply chosen me because I was a convenient piece on the board. That realization made the decision feel heavier. It meant I was replaceable to him, and yet, I was the only one who could save myself.

I reached for the pen sitting beside the folder. I didn't know if this was the safest thing I had ever done or the most dangerous, but as I looked at Killian Montclair, I knew it was the only way to make my father regret the day he chose my sister over me.