Chapter 5 – The Contract

Morning light spilled through the small kitchen window. The smell of toasted bread and scrambled eggs filled the air. Camilla slipped her shoes on, her nerves making her fumble with the strap.

“Sit down, you’ll make yourself dizzy.”

She looked up. Anya Wells stood by the counter, her dark hair tied messily in a bun, flipping eggs in a pan.

“I’m fine,” Camilla lied, forcing a small smile.

“You’re shaking,” Anya said, her eyes narrowing as she carried a plate to the table. “Big day, huh?”

Camilla sat, brushing invisible crumbs off her skirt. “Yeah. My first real day.”

Anya plopped the plate in front of her and then pulled a small lunchbox from the counter. “Made this for you. Sandwiches, apple slices, and those cookies you like.” She pushed it into Camilla’s bag before Camilla could argue. “Don’t skip lunch because you’re nervous.”

Camilla’s chest softened. “You didn’t have to …”

“I wanted to.” Anya smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Before Camilla could reply, a cough sounded from the hallway. Both women turned.

Roseline Hart leaned against the doorframe, wrapped in a soft shawl, her face pale but glowing with a faint smile.

“Aunt Rose, you should be resting,” Camilla said quickly, hurrying over to help her.

“I couldn’t miss this,” Roseline whispered, squeezing her niece’s hand. “Your first day. You’ll do wonderful, darling.”

Camilla swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. “Thank you.”

Roseline brushed a strand of hair from Camilla’s face. “Don’t let anyone intimidate you. Not even the man in the glass tower.”

Anya snorted. “Especially not him.”

Camilla gave a weak laugh, hugging her aunt carefully. “I’ll try.”

Roseline’s eyes softened. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Those words followed Camilla all the way to the tall glass building downtown.

The lobby gleamed with marble floors and gold accents. A fountain trickled in the center, and people in suits moved quickly, like they were part of a world Camilla had only seen in movies.

She smoothed her skirt, her palms damp. Breathe. Just breathe.

At the reception desk, a woman with a sleek ponytail smiled politely. “Good morning. Name?”

“Camilla Hart. I’m the new assistant for Mr. Harrington.”

The receptionist’s brows lifted slightly. “Of course. HR will guide you.” She pressed a button on the phone. Moments later, a woman in her thirties appeared with a clipboard.

“Miss Hart? This way, please.”

They walked through polished corridors, past buzzing offices. The HR woman explained protocols, benefits, schedules, but Camilla barely heard a word. Her stomach fluttered with nerves.

Finally, they stopped at a glass office across from a much larger one.

“This is yours,” the woman said. “Right beside Mr. Harrington’s. You’ll find everything set up.”

Camilla nodded, stepping inside. Her desk gleamed. A neat stack of papers waited. She set her bag down, smoothed her blouse, and sat.

Through the glass wall, she caught a glimpse of Adrian.

He sat at his massive desk, sleeves rolled up, head bent over documents. Even from here, his presence filled the room. And then without warning, his eyes lifted.

Their gazes collided through the glass.

Camilla’s breath caught.

Adrian’s expression didn’t change. No smile, no frown. Just a cool, unreadable look before he returned to his work.

Camilla’s cheeks burned. She ducked her head and opened the file on her desk. Focus. Don’t let him rattle you.

And so she worked. Papers, schedules, emails. Hours passed in a blur. Once, she caught him looking again, brief and sharp, before he turned back to his phone.

By lunch, her stomach growled. She opened the little box Anya had packed. The sandwiches tasted like comfort. She smiled faintly, whispering, “Thanks, Anya,” before diving back into the pile of tasks.

By the time the office emptied, the sun had begun to sink. Camilla rubbed her stiff shoulders, shut down her computer, and gathered her bag.

Just as she reached for the door, her phone buzzed. A message from the receptionist: Mr. Harrington requests you in his office before you leave.

Her stomach dropped.

She glanced at the glass wall. His silhouette was still at his desk, lit by the golden glow of the setting sun.

Don’t panic. It’s probably just work stuff.

She crossed the hall, knocked softly, and stepped inside.

Adrian didn’t look up right away. He finished writing something, then set his pen down. His gaze lifted, steady and unreadable.

“Sit.”

Camilla obeyed, setting her bag on the floor. The silence stretched until she couldn’t take it.

“Was there something you needed me to finish before tomorrow?” she asked carefully.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Something like that.”

Her heart thumped.

He opened a drawer, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the desk.

Camilla frowned. “What’s this?”

“A contract.”

She reached for it, her fingers hesitant. She flipped it open, her eyes scanned the words, and froze.

Marriage Contract.

Her throat went dry. “This… this is a joke.”

“It’s not,” Adrian said calmly.

Camilla’s head snapped up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” His voice was steady, almost cold. “I need a wife. You need money.”

Her hands trembled as she shoved the folder back toward him. “That’s insane. I’m not, I barely know you!”

“You’ll get to know me,” Adrian said, unfazed.

“I don’t want to!” Camilla’s voice cracked. “This is crazy!”

“Crazy,” he repeated softly, leaning forward. “Or convenient?”

Camilla shook her head violently. “No. I,why me? Why not anyone else? You have… money, power. You could have any woman you want.”

“I don’t want any woman,” Adrian replied sharply. “I want someone who won’t fall in love with me. One who understands rules. One who needs this as much as I do.”

Her stomach churned. “And what do I get in return? A fancy ring? Your name?”

“Twenty million dollars.” His voice was smooth. “And your aunt’s hospital bills, paid in full.”

Camilla froze. Her breath hitched.

Roseline’s pale face flashed in her mind. The doctor’s warnings. The bills are piling up like walls around her.

Her throat closed. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“Life isn’t fair,” Adrian said, his gaze unflinching. “This is business.”

Camilla pushed the folder back again, her eyes burning. “I need time.”

Adrian’s expression didn’t soften. “You don’t have much. Think carefully. And fast.”

Her chest ached. She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag. “I’m not some contract you can sign. I’m a person.”

Their eyes locked. His, steady and cold; hers, glassy with hurt.

Finally, Adrian spoke, his voice low, almost a challenge. “Then prove it. Walk away.”

Her hand froze on the doorknob.

She didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

The hallway blurred as she stumbled out, the weight of Adrian's words echoing in her head.

Marriage. Money. Aunt Rose.

Her heart pounded so loud it hurt.