Chapter 3

The towering glass building of Babel loomed like a kingdom made of secret. Iris had never stepped inside it before. Now she was about to walk into the lion's den with nothing but her father's fate clutched tightly in her chest.

She wore the only blazer that looked presentable, borrowed heels, and a calm demeanor.

Dian stayed in the lobby.

“You sure you've got this?” She asked.

Iris nodded, but her knuckles were white as she gripped her purse.

*************************

The top floor was silent, cold and pristine. When she entered Marx was seated behind his desk, sunlight spilling through the tall windows behind him. He looked like he belonged to a different world, tailored in dark grey, one hand holding a sleek fountain pen, the other flipping through documents with disinterest.

He didn't look up when she entered.

“I was expecting you yesterday,” he said flatly.

“I was busy watching my father get dragged through the news,” she snapped before catching herself.

Marx finally looked up. His eyes were sharp unreadable.

“And now?”

“Now I'm here to accept your proposal.”

He studied her like she was a chess piece, interesting but expandable.

“Are you doing this out of love,” he asked, voice mocking.

“Out of necessity,” she shot back.

“Good. I'm not in the mood for romantic illusion.”

He stood and walked around the desk slowly.

“This marriage will be real on paper, but in practice, we'll keep our distance. No media circus, no fairy tale. You'll show up where I need you, smile when I asked, and in exchange, I'll clear your father name and stabilize what's left of Hargrove textiles.”

Iris's jaw clenched “that's it?”

“I expected you to make it harder.”

“Then you're smarter than I thought,” he replied with a smirk.

“My legal team will bring the contract document along once it's ready and the marriage will take place in the next ninety six hour. You'll move in immediately after the wedding.”

Iris looked up startled “move in?”

“We need this to look authentic,” he said casually. “And believe me appearance is everything right now. Your father rival who ruined your family are watching.”

That last part hid her hard.

“So you believe they were set up too?” She asked.

Marx nodded slowly.

“The corporate world is a battle field, Iris. And your father was just the first causality. But I can stop the bleeding. If you trust me.”

She didn't. Not fully. But the illusion of salvation was all she had left.

“Then let's get this over with,” she said.

Iris walked to the exit door of Marx office for a moment, pressing her palm to her chest, steadying her breath.

You're doing this for your father, she reminded herself.

Then pushing through the heavy glass doors, she entered again.

Marx was by the windows this time, gazing out the skyline like he owned the city and maybe he did.

“Mr. Danver,” she called, voice soft but sincere, “I…I just wanted to say thank you. For what you're doing. I know we didn't start off right, and you probably think I'm just some desperate girl, but—”

“I don't think,” he interrupted, still facing the windows.

Iris blinked, “Excuse me.”

He turned slowly, eyes cool, almost bored.

“Don't mistake this for kindness, Iris. This isn't a favour it's a transaction.”

Her throat tightened. She wasn't sure why it stung. Maybe because she wanted to believe there was a silver of decency behind this brutal arrangement.

“Still….it means a lot,” she said, forcing her voice to stay calm.

Marx walked past her without another word, stopping at his desk and picking up his watch, fastening it with precise movements.

“You don't have to pretend you're grateful,” he said flatly. “We both know if you're had any other choice, you wouldn't be here.”

She swallowed hard, that truth hitting sharper than she expected.

“I was just trying to be civil,” she replied turning toward the door.

“That's the thing about civility,” he muttered behind her, “it usually comes from people who are about to lose everything.”

The last word followed her like a shadow as she exited.

****************

In the mirror elevator, iris stared at her reflection reflecting on Marx word. Her cheeks burned with humiliation her chest tight.

“What did you expect?” She muttered to herself. “That's he'd smile and say you're welcome? That he'd hold your hand through this?”

She scoffed bitterly, wiping a tear before it could fall.

The doors opened on the lobby floor, and she stepped out.

But as she walked toward Dina, her phone buzz.

She checked.

Dad: hey dear…come pick me up.

Her breath caught for a second, she didn't move. Didn't even blink. Then her eyes widened.

“Dina!” She called, waving frantically toward her.

Dina was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, chewing gum.

“What's going on?” She asked as Iris jogged up.

“He's out. My dad– he's been released!”

“What? Seriously?” Dina stood upright, “that was fast. I mean—”

“We need to go pick him up,.”

**********************************

They drove down to the law firm, heart pounding for different reasons — iris with anticipation, Dina with suspicion.

At the far end of the hall, Iris's father stood by a clerk's desk , dressed in a wrinkled shirt.

“Dad!” Iris ran to him, through her arms around him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, a little embarrassed, a little overwhelmed.

“They said the charges are under review,” he explained, “Marx pulled a few strings, apparently. I don't know how but….”

Dina raised and eyebrows, “that man's got serious pull.”

“He does,” Mr Hargrove said with a sigh. “You girl don't know what he saved us from. I thought it was all over.”

They walked out together, the late afternoon sun casting long shadow behind them.

“You think it was one of your rivals?” Dina asked, sliding into the backseat with Iris.

“It has to be,” Mr Hargrove said, “there are things people would kill just to buy your pieces cheaper. That's how the corporate world work,”

“Well, all thank to Marx on this,” Dina muttered, “we've got a ruthless billionaire on our side now,”

Iris didn't respond.

Her eyes were on the road, her thought in Marx.

Cold . Dismissive. Unapologetic.

And yet.

That look in his eyes when he said, “that's the thing about civility,” something in her shifted since then. She didn't like it. Didn't want him. But it was there nestled quietly in her chest too prove Marx wrong