Falling for the Contract

Isabelle's Louboutins tapped in time as she made her way through the marble-adorned lobby toward the shimmering elevator banks of Wilcox Mergers & Acquisitions. Her stylish chignon emphasized her determined expression and the well-defined features of her cheekbones.

Her once-in-a-lifetime chance to join Wall Street's elite by leveraging a billion-dollar merger was here.

It took years of hardship, lost holidays, and damaged relationships to get to this pivotal point. There was no room for failure.

The elevator doors opened, and she entered while taking great care to correct her skirt suit. She appeared like a powerful woman who maintained her composure in the face of expectations when reflected in the mirrored walls.

When the doors opened, she entered the elegant atmosphere of the upper-level offices. Anna, her assistant, went alongside her, clutching an iPad that already showed the timetable.

"Mr. Rothschild is prepared to meet you. "I have gathered the team in the Royale Boardroom."

Isabelle gave a quick nod. Jonathan Rothschild is a descendent of the financial aristocracy and one of the few surviving powerful figures who adhere to the old establishment's traditions. His permission was the final and most important hurdle.

She entered the room, and the group of top negotiators became silent as she took her place at the head of the exquisite oak table. She placed a slim black briefing book on the beautiful leather surface and squeezed her fingertips together.

We've been working for months to make this merger a reality. Saxon Industries is a market leader in our industry, and this transaction will propel us to a new level of dominance.

She added, looking at the hopeful expressions, "But I just got word that there's...an unexpected condition to finalizing the Saxon partnership."

Anna stood up and turned on the screen, exposing a legal clause that caused Isabelle's jaw to tighten.

The older board members of Saxon appear to still retain some rather...outdated beliefs. Their regulations specifically require that any representative with whom they enter into a merger deal be...married.

Whispers echoed around the table as everyone considered the consequences. Isabelle lifted her hand to keep the room silent, her desire firm.

"I appreciate that this reminds you of a bygone age, one that was far from fair. However, we have progressed too far to be discouraged by such an archaic and even repulsive rule."

She gestured at the screen once more. "My personal life should not be an issue here. Our focus should be on the predictions, which include potential synergies, vertical integrations, and market leverage. This transaction is a very strategic move that will result in billions of dollars in valuation gains."

The air was thick with her words, daring anyone to object to the sacrifice she was willing to make for the sake of the deal. Nobody dared to speak.

"Good. Our next step is to plan something appropriate. Anna, I need a list of suitable applicants who are open to a contract marriage by tomorrow morning.

Isabelle rose, the harsh noise of her chair serving as a clear indication of dismissal.

"This arrangement will go through. "At any cost."

As her colleagues dispersed, Isabelle exhaled deeply, relieving the strain on her shoulders. She had endured harassment and entrenched sexism her entire career. This was just another difficulty that could be easily overcome with common sense and persistence.

Looking out at the sparkling Manhattan cityscape, she couldn't help but feel a tinge of unease sneaking into her mind. How far was she willing to go to cement her legacy?

The next day, Isabelle drank her espresso gently while looking through Anna's portfolios of potential suitors for her arranged marriage. Her screen was packed with personal adverts, social media profiles, and background checks. Among them were wealthy heirs and celebrities seeking fame, all hoping to trade transitory matrimony for fortune and reputation.

Her finger paused on a certain profile: Damien Blackwood. Even the most stalwart Wall Street magnates were taken aback by the name alone.

The man was a living shark-toothed legend, equal parts philanthropist, and cold-blooded corporate raider. He bled companies dry with cunning yet merciless economic aggression. Nonetheless, he made enormous charitable contributions, his reasoning as puzzling as his jade-colored eyes.

Damien Blackwood, according to the media, was a man of apparent contradictions linked together by ambition and a power of will that outweighed Isabelle's immense drive.

She couldn't help but go through the pictures in the file. Blackwood stalked a red carpet like a jaguar among lambs, dressed in a sinister charcoal suit.

Raven hair was disheveled by a hand that was continuously raking through it, and the features were carved like those found on old Greek coins. He resembled money incarnate and had the kind of animal charisma that lured fans like moths to a flame.

But the veiled intensity in those emerald depths made Isabelle's breath catch. This was a man who got what he wanted when he wanted it. His eyes alone appeared capable of consuming a woman whole.

She grimaced and snapped the file closed, annoyed by her body's visceral reaction. This was business, not a series of transient, tainted illusions. Blackwood was the type of man you didn't want anywhere near your heart, let alone your life.

No, the goal here was to find someone pliable. Someone who is used to taking direction and is pleased with the results. An investor seeking notoriety, or a businessman seeking legitimacy. Not a brutally powerful alpha like Damien Blackwood, who would undoubtedly attempt to seize control.

And yet...

The more she thought about it, the more perverse the concept seemed in her mind. Blackwood was a fundamentally irrational driving force in the world of high-risk finance. If she could bind such a guy to her, even for a limited time, it would be an unprecedented coup. To tame the beast, so to say.