Bargaining with Fate
Three Years Earlier Calista stood before the imposing doors of the Windsor Law Firm, her hands trembling in the cold air of the waiting room. Her father’s future hung in the balance, and Ranya Windsor was her last hope. Lila, her father’s colleague, had assured her that he could help. The firm was one that loan sharks found quite intimidating. She desperately wanted to save her father from jail, not only because her family name and image would be tarnished but also because she couldn’t bear to watch them take him away. She knew he was not responsible for the allegations imposed on him by Lewiston Corporation. “Miss Calista MacQuoid, Mr. Windsor will see you now.” The receptionist’s voice jolted her back to the present. She took a deep breath and stepped inside, her eyes meeting the icy gaze of Ranya Windsor for the first time. “Don’t mind his cold demeanor when you meet him. He can help you.” Lila’s voice echoed in her head as she walked into the room, the receptionist closing the door behind her. “Please, have a seat,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. Calista sat down, feeling small in the large leather chair. She bit her lower lip, fighting the urge to look at the undeniably good-looking man before her. His looks left her tongue-tied, and she averted her gaze elsewhere, missing the hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched her nervously bite her lip. The woman before him was undeniably beautiful, with smooth skin, a finely shaped nose, and full, rose-petal lips. Even in distress, she looked magnificent. She must have been in a hurry before coming to his office because her hair looked rough and messily packed. Her deep brown eyes flickered behind her glasses. With a deep sigh, he picked up a pen and a book, ready to be professional. He had never looked at other women aside from Vivian, the way he was looking at this lady before him. “How may I help you?” he asked, jolting her back to life. She had been able to book an appointment with him with the help of Emily. She furrowed her brow, wondering if he hadn’t gone through her portfolio. “I sent...” she started, returning her gaze to him, the troubled and impatient look returning. “I sent a portfolio to the secretary yesterday.” “I know,” he replied, making rhythmic sounds with the pen as he watched her furrowed brow turn into frustration. “This is a law firm, and I’m here to assist you. It would be more professional for you to explain to me why you’re here.” “My dad’s life is falling apart, Mr. Windsor.” “Windsor,” he interrupted calmly but sternly. She stopped looking at him, confused. “What?” she inquired, a little irritated at the interruption. “Windsor, Miss MacQuoid,” he repeated. “Windsor is the name.” Calista smiled, pushing her displeasure aside. ‘He’s arrogant for a lawyer,’ she thought. “I’m sorry, Mr. Windsor, but I really need your help. I’ve been told you’re the best at this. Please, I beg of you. He’s in prison and will be convicted if…” “I understand, Miss MacQuoid," he interrupted, preventing her from breaking down. He despised seeing tears and remembered being in that position. “Lewiston Corporation, right?” “Yes,” Calista responded almost immediately, hoping he would accept to help her. “Fine,” he said after a brief pause. “Please make the necessary payments. We can only proceed once the payment is complete.” Calista’s heart shattered into pieces. She had nothing, not even a dime on her. She immediately dropped to the floor, clasping her hands together in supplication. Ranya stared, his expressionless and unfazed look unchanged. “You don’t have any money?” His lips twitched with mockery. It was bold of her to think he offered free services. “Yes, please," she begged, tears streaming down her face, a sight he detested. A pang of hatred washed over him. He had climbed this ladder of greatness with money, and it was funny how some peasants thought he ran a charity organization. How on earth would Vivian return if he was still struggling? “Get up,” he ordered calmly, undisturbed. Calista raised her head. She knew that voice meant something, something like he’s not moved by her show of pity. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t,” she begged, still stubbornly clinging to the floor. “I said get up!” he ordered, a little more sternly. “Please, I will do anything—anything at all. Don’t let my dad go to jail. Please.” Is she serious? Apart from the no-payment service she’s begging for, he would have to fight in court against his father’s company. As much as he was pleased to take the case, payments were necessary. “I will do anything... I will do anything, please.” He sighed, standing up from the chair. “Get up and sit,” he ordered, now more calmly—the very voice Calista wanted to hear. She raised her head gradually, her face damp from tears, a long strand of hair clinging stubbornly to her face. She stood and sat while watching him shove his hands into his pockets. “Sit here and wait,” he ordered, walking out of the office. Calista sighed, sinking into his fresh masculine smell as the door closed slightly behind him. A few minutes later, he returned, his left hand in his pocket while the right held onto a file as he walked majestically to his seat. He sat and opened the file, bringing out a pair of delicate paper sheets, and pushed the file to her, his eyes boring into her keenly. She sensed the look on his face, but couldn’t grasp it. Her pale face shifted from his handsome and extremely calm looks to the neatly newly printed sheet on the table. “I understand you’re in a difficult situation, Miss Calista,” Ranya began, looking over the file. “Your father’s case is substantial.” Calista nodded, her throat too tight and her voice too coarse to speak. She watched as Ranya leaned back, his hazel eyes studying her. His eyes were captivating and enchanting. Why had she only just noticed? “I can help you,” he continued as a slight grin of amusement pushed itself to his face. “But it will come with conditions.” “What kind of conditions?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I will do anything as long as he doesn’t go to jail.” Ranya pointed at the file before her, his eyes on her. “This,” he added, “is an agreement for companionship.” He paused, taking in her confused gaze. He pointed at it, indicating that she should go through the file before her. She gasped at the content. ‘Will father be happy?’ she thought, staring blankly at the contract, ‘if he finds out I’m about to trade myself for him?’ ‘He would do this over and over if you were to be in his shoes, Calista,’ she reminded herself. After all, money would be available—anything and everything that would guarantee her a soft life, and most importantly, an assurance that Dad would be vindicated. “You,” he continued, “will be available to me whenever I require, and in return, I will ensure that your father’s debt is paid, and he stays out of jail. He will be vindicated.” Calista stared at the content with burning eyes, her heart heavy beyond words. Ranya noticed but remained unfazed by her emotions. He took delight in pushing Lewiston into the mud, but he needed something to clear his mind with—something with no strings attached. Ranya knew what he was doing was unethical, but she stubbornly pleaded with him to do anything. Calista raised her eyes, determination glistening in them. He owed her no explanation as to whether she was the first he had proposed such a contract to; she was just relieved there was a solution. Sleeping with him was her way of getting back at her cheating boyfriend. “It’s a decision you can refuse,” Ranya stated, but she nodded and, with trembling hands, picked up the contract. It was clear and concise, outlining the terms of her commitment. Desperation clouded her judgment, and she signed her name at the bottom, sealing her fate. Ranya stood up, his lips twitching in an unreadable expression, extending his hand. “Welcome, Miss MacQuoid. Our arrangement begins now.” She shook his hand, feeling a chill run down her spine. She had saved her father, but at what personal cost? --- Three Years Later Calista sighed as she walked out of the firm, the check weighing heavily in her hand as she stared at it intently. She gave the company a long glare and turned, marching out of the building with an ego fit for a queen. Ranya couldn’t help but stare at the position she had sat in during the meeting. He longed for lasting peace as he settled into his chair, wondering about Calista’s thoughts on everything. Hmm, she did well to conceal her emotions. He sat down and opened his laptop, trying to clear his mind and focus on the most important news, when his phone beeped. He picked it up, and a wide grin spread across his face as he read the message. “Wow!” he exclaimed calmly. “Just wow, Miss Calista MacQuoid.”The hospital buzzed with urgency as medics wheeled Calista into the emergency room. Tubes snaked across her fragile body, her face pale and lifeless. The doctor barked orders to his team, his voice sharp with authority.“She’s in critical condition! We need to stabilize her heart!”Ranya stood frozen in the hallway, his hands trembling as they clutched the edges of his blood-streaked jacket. His throat burned from inhaling smoke, but the agony in his chest far outweighed the physical pain. He paced, his eyes darting to the operating room’s red light. Every second felt like an eternity.When the doctor emerged, his face grim, Ranya rushed toward him, gripping his coat. “Save her!” His voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Do whatever it takes. I’ll pay any amount, give up anything—just save her!”The doctor placed a firm hand on Ranya’s shoulder. “We’ll do our best, but her heart is weak. She’s on life support now. The next 24 hours are critical.”Ranya staggered back, the weight of th
Ranya gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension as he pushed the car to its limits. The tires screeched on the asphalt, leaving behind faint trails of smoke as the vehicle hurtled through the deserted road.His heart pounded violently against his ribcage, every beat a painful reminder of the urgency that gripped him. The image of Calista’s face - her laughter, her warmth - flashed before him. He gritted his teeth, muttering to himself.“Hold on, Calista. Hold on for me,” he whispered, his voice a mix of desperation and determination.Lynn’s voice crackled in his earpiece, updating him on the location. “Boss, the building is fully engulfed. Be careful.”“Careful?” Ranya barked back. “She’s in there, Lynn! Do you understand what that means?”Lynn’s silence was answer enough. Ranya’s foot pressed harder on the gas pedal as he weaved through traffic. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Was she alive? Was she trapped, crying out for him? The thought of her s
The whole crowd stirred the moment the old man spoke up, his voice reverberating through the grand hall. Chairman Hamilton, with trembling hands, pointed toward Signoral, his face etched with desperation. “Tell me now!” he rasped, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “What did you do to my Allen?”Allen had always come to him in dreams, begging him to remember. Yet he would wake up to find his mind a blank slate—unable to recall anything.The guests murmured among themselves; the atmosphere turning electric. Whispers of confusion, disbelief, and anticipation rippled through the sea of faces.Signoral’s face turned pale, but she forced herself to remain composed. Clutching Ranya’s arm, her nails dug into his skin as she hissed under her breath, “Ignore him. Let’s finish this wedding. Now.”Ranya shoved her hands away and turned to her with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Afraid to lose, Signoral?” he asked mockingly, his lips twitching as he pressed a small button on his earpiece. “Ly
The wedding took place in the sprawling outdoors of a luxurious estate in Texas. Guests from across the globe - politicians, business moguls, and celebrities - graced the event. Despite the short notice, the wedding was a spectacle of grandeur. Ornate decorations, pristine floral arrangements, and the soft hum of a live orchestra created an enchanting ambiance. Ranya stood at the altar, his tailored suit exuding elegance, but beneath the surface, a storm of emotions churned. Worry for Calista tightened his chest with every passing moment. He fought to maintain his stoic facade, yet memories of his promises, and the potential consequences of this union—haunted him. Thoughts of Calista filled his mind: her smile, her trust, and the despair she must have felt. His hands, clasped tightly in front of him, trembled imperceptibly, a stark contrast to the composed image he projected. With every glance toward the arriving guests, the whispers of his conscience grew louder, questioning h
Signoral stood in front of the full-length mirror, her reflection a striking vision of elegance. Her white gown, meticulously crafted with intricate lace and shimmering beads, hugged her figure as though it had been made for her alone. Penelope and a small team of stylists hovered around her, making final adjustments to her veil and train. The air felt stiff, not just from the preparations, but from Signoral's brewing thoughts. She couldn't help but feel something was wrong. But she had made Penelope check over and over for any sign of leakage whatsoever. Charlotte, too, had seemed to be in good health, but she hadn't wanted to take any chances. That was why she had wired a lot of money to her, with stern warnings that she had to disappear for good this time. Her phone buzzed on the vanity table, drawing her attention. She picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, and swiped to answer. Charlotte's voice came through, sharp and accusatory. Talk of the devil. "Signoral," Charlott
The following morning, preparations for the wedding were in full swing. All of America buzzed with shock at the whirlwind announcement of Ranya and Signoral's wedding. Speculations ran wild, and everyone had an opinion about the sudden turn of events. Some believed Ranya was erratic, incapable of making rational decisions. Others celebrated, claiming that Signoral had finally secured her rightful place by his side. Meanwhile, a considerable number expressed disappointment, having grown fond of Calista and rooting for her relationship with Ranya. The media frenzy was unparalleled. Paparazzi and journalists flocked to both the Lewiston Estate and Signoral's residence, hoping for an exclusive statement from either of them. As expected, Signoral basked in the attention, offering vague yet tantalizing comments to reporters. Ranya, however, maintained a strict low profile, refusing to entertain any questions. Five hours before the open-air wedding—the most talked about in America—the