Marry me

Chapter Four:

Jade's POV

For a moment, I was certain I had heard him wrong. The words were so outlandish that they felt like part of the concussion pulsing behind my eyes.

Marry him?

It sounded ridiculous. It was insane. It was the kind of thing a man said to scare a woman into leaving his hotel room or to mock her for her sudden, desperate circumstances. But the way he looked at me told me he was not joking. His eyes were steady and devoid of the flickering light of a prank.

The words hung in the air. They were heavy, impossible, and thick with a tension that made the room feel smaller. I stared at him and searched his face for a crack in the mask. I looked for a smirk or a cruel glint in his eyes that would prove this was some twisted attempt at humor.

There was nothing. His expression remained calm and unreadable. To him, marriage was clearly not a sacred bond or a romantic dream. It was just another deal to be negotiated over expensive bottled water.

“You cannot be serious,” I said. I finally found my voice, though it felt brittle.

“I do not make jokes about marriage.”

Of course he did not. Men like him did not joke. They did not play. They calculated, they strategized, and they executed. Every word out of his mouth felt like a move on a global chessboard.

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. “You are serious.”

“I would not ask otherwise,” he replied. He was far too calm for a man who had just proposed to a stranger with a head injury.

Only then did I realize how close we were. We were standing in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, and his breath fanned my face. It was steady and warm, smelling faintly of mint and coffee. The heat radiating from his body was a sharp contrast to the chill that had lived in my bones since the rooftop. I cleared my throat and stepped back, needing the distance to think.

He seemed to understand the silent plea for space because he stepped back too. He moved with a predatory grace that suggested he was giving me room only because he knew I had nowhere to run.

“You do not even know me,” I said. It was a weak defense, but it was all I had.

“I know enough.”

That answer irritated me. It flicked at the raw nerves of my pride. I hated that he spoke with such absolute authority. He spoke as if he had read the manual to my soul while I did not even know his name.

“Enough to permanently attach my life to yours?” I asked sharply.

His lips almost curved. It was the ghost of a smile, filled with a dark amusement that did not reach his eyes. “No one mentioned permanence. But if that is what you require, we can work on that.”

I rolled my eyes, the motion making my head throb. “People do not propose marriage to strangers they picked up from the bottom of a staircase.”

His gaze did not change. It remained fixed on me, pinning me in place. “I did not pick you up,” he corrected. “My security did.”

Of course he had security. A man with this much presence did not move through the world alone. He was guarded like a fortress.

I folded my arms over my chest, trying to hide the way my heart was twisting. “Then why me? Out of all the women in this city, why would you even want this arrangement?”

He stared at me like he had already answered that question in his head a long time ago. He walked toward the mahogany table and poured himself a glass of water. He took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the silence stretch until it was almost unbearable.

“Because you need help,” he finally spoke.

I narrowed my eyes. “I do not need charity.”

“I am not offering charity. I am offering a solution to clear your reputation.”

My stomach tightened. I felt the familiar sting of the rooftop betrayal all over again. “And you know that my reputation needs clearing because…?”

“Because last night,” he said, taking a seat on the velvet couch and crossing one tailored leg over the other, “your fiancé announced he would be marrying your step-sister instead of you. The video is already trending on three different social platforms.”

My throat dried instantly. He knew. Of course he knew. News like that would spread through the high society of this city faster than a wildfire in a drought.

“News travels fast,” he continued calmly. “Especially when it involves influential families and a scandal of that magnitude.”

His eyes lifted to mine. He held my gaze, watching for any sign of weakness. He wanted to see if I would flinch at the mention of my own public execution. I didn't. I forced myself to stand tall, even as my knees threatened to buckle.

“And what does that have to do with marrying you?” I asked.

He set the glass down. “Marry me, and you leave this hotel with your dignity intact. You become my wife. You are no longer the woman who was publicly replaced; you are the woman who moved on to something better before the ink on the headline was even dry.”

My chest tightened. This was not pity. This was a cold, calculated strategy. He was offering me a shield, but I knew shields usually came with a heavy weight.

“And what exactly do you gain from this?” I asked. “What is the catch?”

His lips parted slightly. “Stability.”

That single word made my brows pull together in confusion. “Stability? That is a very vague word for a very expensive contract.”

He did not elaborate. He simply watched me with those piercing, ocean-cold eyes. He looked like he enjoyed withholding information. He was clearly a man who was used to people saying yes without daring to ask follow-up questions.

My suspicion deepened. “Am I expected to agree without understanding the full picture?”

“When you agree,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “everything will be stated clearly in the contract. My lawyers do not leave room for ambiguity.”

I scoffed and turned toward the door. “And if I do not agree?”

“Then you walk out,” he said. His tone was casual, but the words were a threat. “And the world continues to call you pathetic. Your father will continue to treat you like a failed investment, and Elio Sterling will win.”

The words hit me like a physical slap. I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. “I am not desperate.”

I walked toward the chair where the designer dress bag sat. “Thank you for the dress,” I muttered, grabbing the handle. I paused at the bathroom door and looked back at him. “If this is some kind of charity proposal, you can keep it.”

His eyes followed me until the door clicked shut. I changed quickly. My fingers were trembling so much that I nearly caught the delicate fabric in the zipper. The dress he had provided was simple but hauntingly elegant. It was a soft, dove-grey knit that felt like a second skin. It was not the type of corporate armor I usually wore. It made me look vulnerable and sophisticated all at once.

I stepped out of the bathroom, my shoulders squared.

“Miss Moretti.”

His voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I am prepared to compensate you for the arrangement.”

I turned around, my hand on my hip. “Compensate? You think you can buy a wife?”

“I think I can provide a fair exchange for your time.” He opened a leather folder on the table and slid a single sheet of paper toward me.

I hesitated. Every instinct told me to walk away, but my curiosity was a traitor. I stepped forward and scanned the number at the bottom of the page. Then I scanned it again. My breath hitched in my chest.

That was not just a payment. That was a fortune. It was enough to build my own empire and never look at my father or Elio again. My fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

“You are serious,” I whispered.

“I told you,” he replied. He stood up, his height dominating the room. “I do not make uncertain decisions.”

I closed the folder with a sharp snap and pushed it back toward him. “No.”

He did not look surprised. He only nodded once, as if he had anticipated my defiance. “Take the day to think about it, Jade.”

“I will not need the day.”

I walked toward the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. But his voice followed me, quieter and more dangerous than before. “You never know, Miss Moretti. The world looks very different when you have no home to go back to.”

I paused. My hand rested on the cold gold of the door handle. He walked toward me with long, controlled strides. He did not stop until he was standing directly behind me. He reached out and held a sleek, black card in front of my face.

“Here,” he said. “I believe you will find a need for it.”

I stared at the card. It was a high-level concierge card for the hotel, but it felt like a tether. His confidence was disturbing. It was the confidence of a man who knew exactly how the story ended.

I snatched the card from his fingers. Then he reached past me, gently tapping my hand away from the handle, and opened the door himself. He escorted me out of the suite like he owned the entire building.

“I will pay you back for the dress,” I said stiffly as we reached the elevator.

He did not even blink. “You will have a better need for that money. Keep it.”

The words followed me all the way into the cab and through the city streets. I hated that they stayed in my head. I did not understand what he meant by stability, or why he was so sure I would come back. But deep down, as I watched the world go by through the window, I feared that he saw the cracks in my life more clearly than I did.