Chapter Four: The Contract Offer

I tell myself this is just a meeting.

Just another business conversation. Another strategic move for the hotel. I even rehearse what I’ll say to Dominic Hartley if he brings up more collaboration terms. Maybe he wants to talk partnerships or another investor pitch. That’s what I tell myself

But as the elevator rises, and the numbers climb higher and higher toward the top floor, my chest tightens with something else. Not anxiety. Not fear. But the feeling that says this isn’t just about business.

When the doors slide open, he’s already waiting for me.

Dominic Hartley stands beside the glass wall of his towering office, the city sprawling like a kingdom beneath him, but he’s not looking outside. He’s facing me with that same unreadable expression he wore the last time—dark, composed, sharp in a way that makes every breath I take feel monitored. His suit is immaculate. His presence is overwhelming.

“Sophia,” he says smoothly, stepping forward, his voice like velvet and fire stitched into one. “Thank you for coming.”

I nod politely, ignoring the tremor in my own spine. “Of course. I assume this is about our business proposal?”

A flicker dances in his eyes. Not amusement. Calculation.

“Yes,” he replies, motioning for me to take a seat. “Although… not in the way you think.”

I sit down cautiously, adjusting the hem of my skirt as if that will ground me somehow. The moment he lowers himself into the seat opposite mine, everything shifts. There’s something tighter in the air now. Something unspoken that pulses beneath every beat of silence.

“I’ll get straight to it,” Dominic says, folding his hands over his lap like a man laying down a chessboard. “Hartley Global is on the brink of finalizing a critical merger with a long-standing conservative dynasty in Europe. To seal the deal, my image must remain… flawless and reliable with certainly and no speculation.”

He pauses.

My brows furrow slowly. “And… what does that have to do with me?”

His gaze doesn’t flinch. “Everything.”

That one word hits harder than it should.

He leans forward just slightly, his tone quieter but far from casual. “I need a wife, Sophia. Not for romance. Not for love. But for strategy, optics and stability. The merger depends all on it. The board expects it. I require someone poised, brilliant, and untouchable. Someone the press can’t sink their claws into. Someone the investors can trust. You.”

The air leaves my lungs.

“You’re joking,” I mutter, blinking once, as if that’ll make the absurdity vanish.

But his face doesn’t change.

“A contract marriage,” he says carefully, as if the words are made of crystal. “No emotions. No expectations. Just… arrangement. You become my wife. I secure the merger. In return, your hotel becomes protected, globally recognized, and bulletproof from hostile takeovers. I offer you protection, power, and permanence.”

I laugh, bitter and short, not because it’s funny but because it’s unreal. “You planned this. You invited me to the summit just for this, didn’t you? You dangled the opportunity in front of me like bait.”

“I am offering you stability, Sophia,” he corrects, not blinking. “A position of power.”

I rise from my seat. “Why me, Dominic? Out of all the polished heiresses, debutantes, and socialites your world drools over, why the hell me?”

“You are the perfect candidate, Sofia! Smart and reliable. Who else fits the role better than the woman who built a luxury empire alone?”

I shake my head slowly, stunned by the boldness, the insanity of it all. “This is manipulation.”

“No. This is clarity.”

“I was your son’s fiancée, Dominic!,” I snap, feeling heat rush through me, not just anger, but something deeper. “You do realize how disturbing this entire conversation is?”

He finally stands. “My son doesn’t value you. He discarded a diamond and picked up dust. I’m not my son. I don’t play with what I can’t hold. And to be more honest, Sophia. This isn't about desire. It’s about legacy. My company has a long-standing rule—two seats at the top. A president. And his queen. Without a wife, my authority dissolves. I have less than a month before the board forces me to hand control to William. I refuse to let that happen. He’s not ready. And he doesn’t deserve it yet.”

I smirk. “So that’s what this is really about? Keeping your throne?” I say as I step back toward the door.

Two men—bodyguards or whatever the hell they are—block it before I even touch the handle.

I turn slowly.

Dominic’s voice drops low. “Don’t be afraid. They won’t touch you. But we’re not done.”

He waves a hand, and the men step out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Silence.

“I’m not doing this,” I say, my voice quieter now, but firmer than it’s been in weeks. “I’ve been used enough. Betrayed enough. I don’t want another man offering me lifelines that come with shackles.”

His gaze darkens, not with anger, but with something else. “William isn’t ready. He’s reckless, distracted, and soft. He’ll ruin what I built. And yes—I’ve been watching you, Sophia. For over a year. Watching how you dragged Monroe Luxe up with no safety net. Watching how you handled every crisis without flinching. I saw a woman who didn’t bend. I saw a survivor. You’ve fought too long on your own. Let me make you unstoppable.”

“You’ve been watching me… for a year?” I ask, almost whispering.

He nods once. “I saw how the industry tried to crush you, how you stood firm while others sold out even though it's led you to some immense debt. You earned my respect, Sophia. If you accept, Monroe Luxe’s debts would be cleared, instantly. I want to marry you because you’re the only one who fits. You will gain more from this than you could ever achieve alone.”

I stare at him, a thousand thoughts swirling like a storm in my chest.

This can be my chance for revenge. This can also be my survival opportunity. But this is real madness.

But maybe this is also the first time someone’s offered me the throne instead of the scraps.

“If I accept,” I say slowly, the words tasting like fire on my tongue, “you clear every debt. You secure Monroe Luxe’s legacy. You shield me from every vulture circling my name.”

“And in return,” he says, “you become the queen by my side. At least on paper.”

I think of William. I think of Clara. I think of every time I begged behind closed doors for investors to believe in me. I think of the nights I went hungry to pay staff. I think of how many times I was told I was too soft, too female, too emotional to survive in a man’s empire.

Maybe this is how I change that.

“This would be killing two birds with one stone,” I murmur. “It’d be justice. Let William crawl back, let him realize too late what he threw away. He’d have to look up to me now—as his stepmother. He’d hate it. He’d burn with it.”

Dominic smiles faintly. “So. Do we have an agreement?”

“I have one condition,” I reply. “I want protection. No background enemies. No private assassins. No scandals dropped on my head when you change your mind.”

“You have my word.”

“Then get the damn papers.”

Dominic moves to his desk and opens a sleek, dark shelf, pulling out a single file with calm precision. “It’s finalized. Just your signature and email. I’ll send the formal terms and next steps shortly.”

I glance down at the pages.

There’s no hesitation in my hand as I pick up the pen.

I sign.

The silence that follows is heavier than thunder. Something irreversible just shifted inside me. And for once, I don’t feel like a pawn. I feel like the game.

I rise slowly.

“Can I go now?”

“Of course,” he says, stepping aside.

I walk out of the office, down the hall, through the cold corridors of power with my heart pounding, my mind replaying every word he said. Every promise. Every risk. Every possible consequence.

But then I see him.

William.

He’s leaning against a marble pillar, arms crossed, eyes already glued to mine like he’s been rehearsing this moment.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says, his tone cold but trying to sound casual. “Look, I get it. You probably hate me. You probably want to see me suffer. But I have to ask, why the hell did my devil of a father call you in there?”

I stop walking.

I stare at him. I let my eyes drag across every inch of him—his designer jacket, his arrogant smirk, the emptiness in his gaze that I used to mistake for love. I look at him like he’s nothing more than noise. And I don’t hide it.

His face twists.

“What the hell is that look?” he snaps, stepping forward. “You think you’re better than me now? Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

He raises his voice.

I raise my hand.

The slap lands across his face with the sound of justice. I don’t flinch. I don’t apologize.

He stares at me in shock, his palm pressed to his cheek, like the reality just hit him harder than my hand ever could.

I walk past him without another word, heels clicking against the polished floor, head held high like I’ve already won.

Because maybe I have.

Maybe, for the first time in a very long time… I’m no longer the woman left behind.

And then, my phone suddenly buzzes in my clutch.

Unknown Number.

“You just signed your death sentence, Mrs. Hertley.”