SIX

Delilah's pov

The hotel room felt like a suffocating cage. I couldn't believe I had agreed to be Calix Knight's temporary wife.

I was questioning my sanity when a knock echoed from the entrance. I got up from the mattress and walked to the door. Barefoot and dressed in a hoodie that had seen better days, I opened the door of the hotel room.

Two sharp-dressed professionals—one man and one woman — stood at the door, looking like they'd just walked off a courtroom. Their suits were perfectly ironed, and their briefcases looked like they cost an arm and a leg.

The tall woman in front had her hair pulled back so tightly that it looked like it hurt. She offered me a polite but cold smile.

"Miss Delilah," she said, extending a hand. "I’m Mr Knight's lawyer. I’ll be walking you through the contract."

My stomach churned. This was it. The next step into this new reality.

"Right," I said, stepping aside to let them in. "Come on in. I hope you don't mind the heat. The A/C is broken, and no one has come to fix it yet."

She didn’t say anything, just gave a stiff nod before pulling out a sleek leather folder and opening it on the chipped coffee table.

“This is the marriage contract. Mr. Knight has instructed us to walk you through its key provisions. It outlines the six-month marriage arrangement.”

I sat down slowly, my fingers twitching in my lap. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. The document looked like a small novel.

She started reading.

“The marriage will be dissolved at the conclusion of the six months. Mr. Knight will provide you with the agreed-upon sum of one million dollars upon successfully completing the six-month term.”

I nodded, and she continued.

"Clause one: confidentiality. You are to speak to no one outside of the designated PR team regarding the true nature of this marriage."

She flipped the pages. "Clause two: media and public appearances. You will be expected to accompany Mr. Knight to all necessary social and business functions, presenting yourselves as a happily married couple. This includes but is not limited to, galas, dinners, press conferences, and any events considered important by Mr. Knight for the success of his business interests. A minimum of one joint interview per month is required."

“Happily married couple, my foot,” I scoffed. My last attempt at ‘happily married’ had ended with a betrayal.

She cleared her throat, completely ignoring my comment. “Remember, any public disclosure of the nature of this agreement, or any disparaging remarks about Mr. Knight or his business, will result in immediate termination of the contract and forfeiture of the compensation.”

My eyes widened. Forfeiture. That million dollars could vanish if I slipped up. My throat tightened.

"Clause three: financial separation. All assets acquired by either party prior to this agreement or during the term of the agreement remain entirely separate. There will be no sharing of assets or shared accounts. You will, however, be provided with a reasonable allowance for personal expenses, wardrobe, and anything necessary to fulfill your public duties.”

Of course. He was protecting his empire, making sure I couldn’t touch a dime beyond the agreed f*e. It was just as he’d stated: no emotional attachment, just business.

The lawyer handed me the contract. “Please take your time to review it. We’re here to answer any questions, even though I believe there should be none.”

I picked up the contract and went over every page. My name was printed right beside Calix Knight's on the first page.

Finally, when I got to the signature page, I looked up.

“Do you have any questions, Ms. Delilah?”

I shook my head, and my hand trembled slightly as I took the pen from the man. I penned down my signature and capped the pen.

I felt like I was stepping into a movie role, and everything would be over once the director yelled, ‘Cut.’

“A copy will be provided to you shortly. Mr. Knight’s driver is waiting outside the hotel and will take you to his residence. You can grab your belongings if you wish to.”

My belongings? The small backpack with my meager possessions?

True to the lawyer's word, a sleek black car with tinted windows that whispered "billionaire" was parked outside the cheap hotel when I got downstairs. A tall, polite driver ushered me into the plush interior, and before I could even process what was happening, I was being whisked away.

The next few minutes were a blur. The drive to Calix’s residence was smooth, and I stared out the window, watching the people and buildings of New York breeze past me. Soon, we arrived at a penthouse quite different from the one he had been at the previous day.

The driver led me through a grand hallway into a massive living area with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of the city. My breath hitched before I could stop myself. From here, New York looked like a glittering, sprawling tapestry, impossible to grasp truly.

The penthouse was more of a gallery than a home—expensive artworks lined the walls, and huge chandeliers brightened up the waiting room. There were no cozy throws, personal items, or lingering scent of home-cooked meals. It was cold and immaculate, a reflection of the man who owned it: powerful and without any warmth.

Calix stood by one of the massive windows, his back to me. He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit that clung to him like a second skin.

In my worn jeans and simple top, I felt ridiculously underdressed, like a stray pigeon that had accidentally flown into a grand cathedral.

He turned as the driver quietly announced my arrival.

“Delilah,” he said. “Welcome.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Let me show you to your suite.”

He didn’t wait for my reply; he simply turned and walked down another hallway, expecting me to follow. I did.

He stopped in front of a pair of large wooden doors. He pushed one open, revealing a room that made me gasp. It was a guest suite, as he called it, but it felt more like a private apartment within a palace. A king-sized bed dominated the center, covered in crisp white linens. There was a sitting area, a walk-in closet that was bigger than my room at the cheap hotel, and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a five-star spa.

“This will be your space,” he stated, sweeping his arm dismissively around the lavish room. “You can redecorate if you wish. Just don’t destroy anything.” The last part was delivered with a hint of warning.

What did he think I was? A five-year-old? Did he think I was going to take a sledgehammer to his walls?

With a small smirk, I responded. "No promises."

He didn’t respond. Just leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. "There are rules."

I turned to him, arms crossed. "Of course there are. Hit me."

“In public, we will be a couple. You will present as my devoted wife. This means appropriate attire and gestures – holding hands, a light touch on the arm, smiling at me, occasional kiss, and a hand on the back. Nothing too passionate, but enough to convey the image. We will be photographed together often. You are expected to be charming and discreet. Always. Our personal lives within these walls remain entirely separate. You have your space; I have mine.”

He straightened. "The PR team is having a meeting soon. They’ll walk you through all the necessary details."

I nodded, trying not to stare at him too long. He was undeniably attractive in an intimidating way. His features were sharp, his eyes intense. His shirt hugged his frame snuggly. But the way he spoke, so precise, so devoid of warmth, was like listening to a highly advanced machine.

It was unfair. No man that emotionally stunted should be that attractive. He was too handsome for a man who sounded like he was reading from a user manual.

“Understood?” he asked, his gaze unwavering.

“Understood, Mr. Knight,” I managed, my voice a little breathless.

“Good. The staff will bring up your new wardrobe shortly.”

And with that, he turned and left, the soft click of the doors closing behind him echoing in the silence of the suite.

I stood there for a long moment, trying to come to terms with my new reality. My ‘belongings’ sat neatly by the huge bed. The contrast between my former life and this extravagant new reality was almost laughable.

I walked over to the windows, gazing out at the glittering expanse of the city.

Later that night, after eating a world-class meal that one of the maids had brought to my room, I lay in the huge bed, staring at the ceiling. The silk sheets felt soft against my skin, and the pillows were like clouds. The comfort was appreciated. But the silence was loud, the kind of loud that made your thoughts echo.

Had I just sold my soul? Or rescued it?

I reached for the pillow beside me, hugging it like it might give me answers.

It didn’t.

All I could do was breathe, one shallow breath at a time, in a room that didn’t feel like mine, in a life that didn’t feel like me. Wondering if I’d just made the worst or best mistake of my life.