CHAPTER 5

FREYA BROOKS POV

It took another hour to fully calm Noah down. We sat on the living room rug, and I let him color an entire pad of paper with bright yellow and orange crayons—his version of burning off adrenaline. By the time he fell asleep, his little head was resting heavily against my knee, his breathing soft and rhythmic.

Arthur gently carried him up to his bed, leaving the downstairs area completely silent again.

I stood in the center of the massive foyer, my hands stuffed into my pockets. The high from seeing Tristan and Sienna thrown out like trash was starting to wear off, replaced by a cold, heavy reality. Killian Cross was a businessman. Now that his son had broken his silence, my job here was technically up in the air. Was I still needed? Or was it time for me to pack up my forty-two dollars and find a new place to hide?

"In here, Freya."

Killian’s voice drifted from the double doors of his private study.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked in. The room was dark, lit only by a single desk lamp and the amber glow of a half-empty glass of whiskey. Killian had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked less like a corporate robot and more like a man carrying a massive weight.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the leather chair across from him.

I sat down, pulling my cardigan tighter around myself. "How is he?"

"Asleep. Arthur says his fever from the crying fit is gone," Killian said, his grey eyes locked onto mine. He took a slow sip of his drink. "Two years, Freya. I hired the best child psychologists in the country. I spent millions trying to get my son to utter a single syllable. And today, he screamed at a stranger to protect you."

"He wasn't just protecting me, Mr. Cross," I said quietly, looking down at my hands. "He was angry. He felt the tension in the room. Children understand a lot more than we give them credit for."

Killian leaned forward, resting his forearms on the heavy mahogany desk. "I want to know the truth. Those two people outside—what did they do to you?"

There was no point in lying. He already knew I was an architect, and he had just blacklisted my family’s firm. So, I told him. I kept my voice flat, stripping away the emotion as I explained how Tristan and Sienna had been sleeping together, how they stole the Vance Plaza blueprints, and how my own father had locked me out of my life’s work.

By the time I finished, Killian’s jaw was clenched so tight a muscle was twitching. His eyes had turned into chips of ice.

"They used your own designs to pitch a partnership to my company," Killian said, his voice dangerously calm. "They sat in my boardroom last week, pretending those concepts were theirs."

"They're good at playing the part," I muttered bitterly.

Killian stood up, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the city skyline. "Brooks & Associates is done for. I've already pulled our funding, and by tomorrow morning, the word will get out that they tried to defraud Cross Industries with stolen intellectual property. They won't survive the month."

A small, vicious part of me wanted to celebrate. But the reality of my situation quickly crashed back down. "That still leaves me with nothing. My reputation is still ruined, and I can't exactly put 'disgraced architect turned nanny' on my next resume."

Killian turned around. A slow, calculating smile spread across his face—the look of a man who had just figured out how to win a game before the opponent even made a move.

"Then let's fix it," he said, walking back to the desk. He pulled a thick, leather-bound document from his drawer and slid it across the table toward me.

I looked down. The top page read: Mutual Cooperation and Marital Agreement.

My breath hitched. "What is this?"

"A contract," Killian said, sitting back down. "Noah needs you. Today proved that you are the only person who can bring my son back to the world, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. But I also know you're too proud to stay here as a permanent babysitter while your name is dragged through the mud."

I stared at the paperwork, my mind racing. "You're proposing a marriage contract?"

"For one year," Killian clarified, his tone completely business-like. "We marry. You get full access to the legal team of Cross Industries to sue your family for every single cent they took from you. I will fund your own independent architectural firm under the Cross name. You get your revenge, your career, and your life back."

"And what do you get?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"I get a mother for my son, stability for my family's public image, and the guarantee that you won't walk out that door when a better offer comes along," Killian said, his grey eyes piercing right through me. "At the end of the year, we divorce amicably. You leave with a massive settlement and your reputation fully restored. Do we have a deal, Freya?"

I looked at the pen resting on top of the pages, then back at the man offering me the ultimate lifeline.

I picked up the pen and signed my name on the dotted line.