Chapter 4: A Contract

Pamela's Point of View

I freeze outside of this mansion; the façade is grand and imposing, a fortress that could not be breached. The man, so tall and imposing, so arrogant, draws me inside by a cool detachedness, his fingers firm on my arm yet not hurting me. The warmth and richness in the interior of the mansion did little to thaw the coldness deeply in my bones.

Long corridors are passed, tapestries of the richest kind, floors shining bright, and walls adorned with expensive art catch my eye. Everything about this place screams of wealth and power, but to me, it's no different from a prison. My mind begins to juggle various thoughts. My father had sold me to this man-literally. It's a burning betrayal, but there's no time for that either. Somehow, I have to get out of this nightmare.

We eventually stop before a heavy oak door. The man turns into me, his eyes gleaming with mirth in the dark and a glimmer of superiority.

“You should know with whom you're dealing,” he says, his tone oozing arrogance. "I'm Rowan Hamilton, CEO of Hamiltons Corporation, the biggest business in the top chain."

The name sends a jolt through me. Hamiltons Corporation is synonymous with power, influence, and unimaginable wealth. And this man, Rowan Hamilton, is its king. I swallow hard as I try to mask my fear threatening to overwhelm me.

He watches me for a moment, obviously enjoying the effect his name has on me, before he pushes the door open. The room beyond is a study lined with bookshelves and a huge desk at the center. He motions for me to take a seat in one of the leather chairs facing the desk.

"Sit," he commands, his voice brooking no argument.

I sit down now, far more unwillingly, my eyes squinting as I watch him move behind the desk. He opens a drawer and pulls out a pile of papers, slapping them in front of me with panache.

"This is the contract," he says, tapping the top page with his finger. "It outlines the terms of our arrangement. Your father has already signed his part; now it's your turn."

I stare at papers of some sort, my mind racing. "What exactly am I signing away?" I ask, a hint of defiance lacing my tone.

"Your freedom, essentially," Rowan replies silkily. "But in return, your sister's medical bills will be covered and your father's business will be saved. It's a fair trade, don't you think?”

The fogginess in my brain is sliced through by his ice-cold words. I want to scream, tear the contract into a hundred pieces, but a vision of Joana lying helpless in that hospital bed sticks me to the spot. Just can't let her die, no, and just can't let my father's company collapse either-despite all the hatred I have for him. But the idea of signing my life away to this man.

"What if I refuse?" I ask, my last-ditch attempt to somehow regain some semblance of control.

The darkening in Rowan's eyes is immediate as he leans toward me, his gaze locking fast onto mine. "Then your sister dies, your father's business crumbles, and you'll have nothing. And nobody else is going to help you, Pamela. You have no other options.”

His words hang heavy and oppressive in the air. I know he's right, much as the urge to fight, to resist, is overwhelming. I have no choice.

I reach out, shaking hands, for the pen he extends to me. My fingers wrap around it, move to the first page of the contract. The ink flows across the page in the strokes that spell my name, but each movement feels like a nail entering the coffin of my old life.

Finished, I drop the pen onto the desk, push the papers away from me, and feel empty. Wordless, Rowan takes them from me, tucks them back into the drawer. His face unreadable, his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"Good," he said, standing up. "Now, you'll be expected to play your role of being my fiancée. We will be announcing it shortly, so you'd better get used to the idea."

The very thought churned in my stomach. "Why me?" I asked him, needing to know why he chose me for this perverted arrangement.

He stops, and his eyes dart on me with that intensity that sends shivers down my spine. "You have something I need," he declares out of nowhere. "And I always get what I want."

And before I can ask him to explain, he is out of the room, leaving me to my thoughts. Of course, I am angry, and frightened, but there is almost a resolution I hadn't known I possessed. The situation might be imposed upon me, but I am not going to let the great Rowan Hamilton destroy me. I will endure this arrangement, somehow, and possibly-even-worm my way out of it.

I sit there in the quiet of the study, and then it hits me: the game has only just begun. And if Rowan thinks he is the only one holding all the cards, well, he is going to learn real quick that I'm not some helpless little lambie-pie.