CHAPTER 4: THE CONTRACT'S EDGE

The subway to Manhattan feels like a one-way ticket to hell. My bag’s slung over my shoulder, Noah Thorne’s contract inside like a lead weight. It’s 2:45 p.m., and I’m headed back to Blackwood Tower, the glass monolith that looms over my life. Dad’s pale face, gasping in the hospital bed haunts me, his heart monitors beeping in my ears. The doctors stabilized him this morning, but the words $80,000 for his treatment echo louder than Mom’s prayers. 

I step off the train, the October wind cutting through my black blouse and jeans. My hair’s pulled into a tight ponytail, a feeble attempt to look in control. Blackwood Tower looms ahead, its sleek facade mocking my frayed nerves. The lobby’s still a cathedral of marble and chrome, security guards eyeing me like I’m an intruder. I flash the black card from Noah’s lawyer, Gerald Crane, and they wave me to the private elevator. It hums upward, each floor ticking like a countdown to my fate.

The doors open to Noah’s penthouse office, same as yesterday, glass walls, minimalist luxury, a desk that screams power. Noah’s there, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his broad shoulders filling a charcoal suit. The Manhattan skyline sprawls behind him, but his presence dwarfs it. He’s all sharp angles and dark hair slightly tousled, gray eyes cold as steel. My stomach flips,probably with hate. 

“You’re late,” he says, not turning, his voice low and commanding, like he’s used to the world bending to him.

“you don't own me, besides I'm already here now” I snap, my defiance flaring despite the exhaustion weighing me down. “Let’s get this over with.”

He turns, and those eyes hit me like a storm, he is assessing me. I think he's looking at my shoulders and I observe a faint smirk tugs his lips, but it’s not warm, it’s a challenge. 

“Miss Lee,” he says, gesturing to the leather chair across his desk. “Sit.”

I stay standing, arms crossed, my bag clutched tight. 

“I’m here to talk, not obey. You want this marriage, you’ll hear me out first.”

His smirk fades, replaced by a flicker of surprise, maybe respect I hope. He leans against the desk, mirroring my stance, his suit jacket pulling taut across his shoulders.

 “Fair enough. What’s your counteroffer?”

I take a breath, my heart pounding. Dad’s hospital bed, Mom’s tearful plea, they anchor me.

 “I’m not signing your contract as is. If I do this, I keep my design career. No controlling my work. I want a clause guaranteeing my business gets funded, specific terms, not your vague promises. And my family’s debt? Cleared the day we sign, not after your merger.”

Noah’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t interrupt. I push on, my voice steadier than I feel. “And no fake romance nonsense. I’ll play your wife in public, smile for your cameras, but I’m not pretending to love you. And before I forget no sex too, one year, then I’m out, no strings.” I remind him, with the way he stared at me earlier I have to set clear boundaries.

He studies me, silent for a beat too long, like he’s peeling back my layers

 “You drive a hard bargain, Scarlett,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue like a test. “But you’re in no position to dictate terms. Your family’s debt, seventy thousand with interest is due next month. Foreclosure’s imminent. I've not even added your father’s medical bills? I hear they’re steep.”

My blood boils. “Don’t you dare use my dad against 

me.”

“I’m stating facts,” he says, voice calm but cutting. 

“You need me as much as I need you. LinCorp’s merger hinges on stability, family optics. Your immigrant roots, your…um… authenticity, they sell it. But I’ll meet you halfway and I don't have time to delay this” 

He slides a revised contract across the desk, pages crisp and heavy.

 “Debt cleared upon signing you get one million for your business and after the agreement you get 5 million. Your career stays yours. But the marriage? You play the part fully, you'll show public affection, attend my events and live in my world. No half-measures.”

I stare at the contract, my hands trembling. The words swim: marriage… confidentiality… public duties. It’s a cage, just like I feared. But Dad’s oxygen mask, Mom’s desperate hugs are louder. 

“And if I say no?” I ask, though I know the answer.

Noah steps closer and I perceived his sandalwood cologne fill the space between us. “You won’t,” he says, voice low, almost intimate. “Not when your family’s counting on you.”

My throat tightens. He’s right, and I hate him for it. I think of Mom’s words. In our culture, family comes first. I’m American but their island roots run deep in me. One year of my life for their freedom, for Dad’s life just one year of my life I'll never get back. 

I grab the contract, flipping through it, my eyes catching phrases like no emotional entanglements and penalties for breach. It’s a deal with the devil, but I’m out of angels.

“I’ll read it tonight,” I say, shoving it in my bag. “You’ll have my answer tomorrow.”

Noah nods, but his eyes don’t leave mine, like he’s reading my soul. “Good. But don’t test my patience, Scarlett. Time’s not on your side.”

I turn to leave, my heart pounding, but his voice stops me at the door. “One more thing Scarlett, the press already knows we’re meeting. So Be prepared.”

I spin back, glaring. “What? You leaked this?”

He raises a hand, unapologetic. “Not me. My team’s handling optics so expect cameras.”

Anger surges, but I bite it back and I storm out, the elevator ride a blur of rage and fear. As I step into the lobby, flashes blind me , shouting my name, their cameras clicking like vultures. “Miss Lee! Is it true you’re engaged to Noah Thorne?” “What’s the deal with Blackwood’s merger?”

I push through, my face burning, shielding my eyes. My phone buzzes as I hit the street, Lena, my best friend, 

texting: Scar, you’re on TMZ! Wtf is going on? I open the link, my heart sinking. A blurry photo of me leaving Blackwood Tower yesterday, captioned: “ Billionaire Noah Thorne’s Mystery Fiancée?” 

The world’s closing and I haven't said yes. I know that Noah probably disclosed it to the press because he wants to reduce the chances of me saying no. I should have hit his head with my bag, I hate being manipulated or controlled. What is it with this billionaire men and not being able to stand it because they're scared of getting a NO. So immature. I get past the journalists and I had to shove some to let go of me. I'm heading over to Lena's place, I

'll probably tell her about my situation and get her opinion too.