Chapter 9

Zenith’s POV

Maybe I had said too much. I shouldn’t have mentioned that he wasn’t like his brother. But he really wasn’t.

The biggest difference was simple, Helton James actually listened. Not just heard words, but listened. He understood. And when he shared his thoughts, it never felt like a lecture or that he was above me. His voice was calm, steady, almost gentle. No pride. No sharpness. Just reason and a touch of empathy.

Or maybe… maybe my standards had sunk too low.

The silence inside the car stretched out, but it wasn’t heavy. The earlier tension slowly faded as the city lights blurred past the window. By the time the car slowed in front of a tall glass building, night had already taken over the sky. My chest buzzed with a mix of tiredness and something that felt like anticipation.

I looked up at the tower. “We’re… going to sign the contract in your office?”

Helton glanced at me, one brow lifting. “This is also where I live.”

“Oh.”

He lived here? Right, I remembered now. He didn’t stay at the family mansion. This place fit him better, anyway. Clean. Quiet. Separate. A place made for a man who probably worked more than he rested.

He pulled into the underground parking and stopped in a reserved spot. I reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped me.

“Wait.”

He got out first, buttoning his coat with practiced ease, then walked around and opened my door.

I blinked, surprised. Slowly, I took his hand and stepped out.

“Thank you,” I muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “But… you don’t need to do that.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “Do what?”

“Open the door for me,” I sighed.

A small smile curved his mouth. “I can’t help it. You’re going to be my wife, even if it’s just for a year. You deserve at least this much.”

He offered me his arm. After a brief pause, I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow. His touch was warm, steady. A strange shiver rushed through me.

“So… do you do this for all your girlfriends?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. I winced. Why was I being so nosy?

He chuckled. “I said wife, not girlfriend. And no. It’s been years since I had one of those.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward anymore. It was curious. I found myself sneaking a glance at him, wondering what kind of man didn’t date. A man like him could have anyone he wanted. So why no one?

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and we stepped inside. The ride to the twenty-seventh floor was quiet and smooth. When the doors opened again, they revealed his office.

High ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A faint hum of soft music.

I had noticed little of the interior before, when I came here the first time. Now that I did, I was surprised. It wasn’t the sharp black-and-white look I expected. Instead, it had an antique warmth, old wood, rich colors. Rare these days. It suited him more than I thought it would.

A knock came at the door just as we walked in. His secretary stepped inside. I hadn’t realized Helton was still working this late.

The name tag read Felix. His sharp eyes and no-nonsense energy felt stronger now than they had in the morning, when he’d guided me in.

“Mr. Blake,” Felix said, placing two glasses of wine on the low table beside the couch. “The documents, as requested.”

“Thank you, Felix,” I said quickly, offering a polite smile.

He looked almost startled by the acknowledgment, but gave me a small, awkward smile before leaving.

Helton sank onto the couch, one arm resting casually across the top. “Take your time,” he said. “Go through each clause. Tell me if anything confuses you, or if you want something changed.”

I nodded stiffly and took a slow sip of wine before opening the folder.

The first page was simple: names, dates, duration - one year. A clean exit if either of us wanted out. Straightforward.

I flipped to the next page.

Spousal protection, medical, housing, education, everything covered. He really had thought of everything. The preparation unsettled me.

Why?

This seemed like too much of a loss for him. If he wanted to embarrass his brother, he could’ve done it without me. That would’ve been easy. The only reason I could think of was… sex.

I kept reading, eyes skimming through the heavy legal jargon. My vision blurred for a moment. I blinked, refocused, then stopped.

My eyes ran over the line again, slower this time.

“What does an intimacy clause, minimum five sessions per week, with flexibility based on mutual desire mean?” I asked, my voice tighter than I meant.

Helton James didn’t even blink. “Exactly what it says.”

I looked up from the folder. “You mean… sex?”

He smirked. “Yes, Malishka. Sex.”

Obviously. What a stupid question. But what actually caught me off guard wasn’t that, it was the frequency.

“Five times a week?” I repeated, incredulous.

He nodded, still far too amused. “Minimum. But if you’re enthusiastic, I’m happy to exceed expectations.”

I shot him a glare sharp enough to melt steel, but he only raised a brow, unbothered.

Forcing a breath, I turned back to the contract. I had to remind myself why I was here. This was for my mom. A transaction. It didn’t matter that my cheeks were burning or that his gaze kept flicking down to my lips every time I fumbled.

I flipped the page and froze.

“Cohabitation?” I read aloud. “It’s required?”

“Yes,” Helton said, his tone finally more serious. “It would be strange if my wife lived somewhere else.”

“I can’t move in with you,” I said, snapping the folder shut. “Not right now.”

“Why not?”

“My mom,” I said firmly. “She just had surgery. She’s still recovering. I need to be with her.”

He tilted his head, thinking. Then, casually, “We could move her in with us.”

I choked on my wine. “What?”

He shrugged. “We have space.”

“She would never agree to that,” I said quickly, panic rising at the thought.

Helton arched a brow. “You haven’t asked.”

I groaned. “She wouldn’t even let me quit my part-time job without a three-hour lecture on responsibility. If, no, when she finds out I married for money, she’ll probably disown me and make me work it off at the nearest diner. It’s going to be hard enough just making her understand this… there’s no way she’ll move in with us.”

Not to mention she’d never want to leave the house filled with memories of Dad.

“I see.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Still, it will look odd if we’re married but living apart.”

“I could stay with you some nights,” I offered reluctantly. “Just until she stabilizes.”

He raised a brow, almost teasing. “Only some?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You want me to abandon my recovering mother just to fulfill a contract clause?”

He sighed dramatically and leaned back. “Fine. Part-time cohabitation. For now.”

I sank into the couch, exhaling slowly. “You could stay at my house,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

He blinked, clearly surprised.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, no. Never mind. You wouldn’t last a day. No elevator. No valet. No maid service. You’d have to wash your own dishes.”

But instead of bristling, a spark lit in his eyes. “I know how to wash dishes.”

I arched a brow. “Really?”

“I do,” he said simply. “I didn’t grow up in that house of yours, but I’m not useless.”

“You’re a billionaire with an army of people to do everything for you.”

“I became a billionaire because I know how to take care of what’s mine,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean I can’t handle my mess. I just usually spend my time on bigger things.”

My lips twitched. “So if I handed you a mop and asked you to scrub the kitchen floor…”

He paused, then let out a short laugh. “I’d do it. Probably not well. But I’d learn.”

That shut me up.

Because I hadn’t expected that answer.

The last time I’d asked Dexter to cut fruit for me, he’d said, ‘I don’t know how. Just ask the maid.’

A wry smile tugged at my mouth as the memory surfaced.

What a joke.