Chapter 2: The Clause

Seven years ago

 I stood in a room filled with people who hated me.

The memory still lived vividly in my mind, as sharp and jagged as a blade. The air inside the lawyer’s office had been thick, heavy with a tension that made it hard to draw a full breath. Stately velvet curtains framed the tall windows, muting the vibrant daylight of the world outside, as if the room itself were in mourning. At the center sat a long, polished table, a mahogany stage for the Michael family and a phalanx of stone-faced board executives.

I didn’t belong there. I knew that. Every judgmental glance reminded me.

My hands were clasped so tightly in front of me that my knuckles were white, my usual caregiver uniform replaced by a simple black dress. My chest felt hollow, my mind still reeling from the devastating truth: Victor Michael, the man I had cared for during the final, grueling months of his life, was gone. He had been kind to me. Kinder, certainly, than the wolves currently circling this table.

Adrian Michael sat at the head of that table, leaning back in his chair with the effortless arrogance of a man who owned the world. Which, in many ways, he did. He looked bored, his jaw set in an expression of complete disinterest in the will reading that would determine the future of his family’s sprawling empire.

His dark eyes flicked briefly toward me. A cold, dismissive spark. Then, he looked away. I lowered my gaze, feeling the weight of my own insignificance.

The lawyer cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the silent room as he adjusted his glasses. “Thank you all for gathering today,” he began, his voice formal and practiced. “We are here to review the final will and testament of Mr. Victor Michael.”

Papers rustled softly, a sound like dry leaves, as he unfolded the heavy document. The room fell into a deafening silence. Adrian drummed his fingers against the table impatiently, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud marking the seconds.

“Can we speed this up?” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. “I have somewhere to be.”

Several relatives shot him disapproving looks, but the lawyer simply ignored the interruption. “Mr. Michael’s estate includes his personal assets, multiple properties, and his controlling shares in Michael Industries.”

A few executives leaned forward, their hunger almost palpable. Everyone already knew what was coming. Adrian would inherit it all. He was the only son. The heir. The inevitable King of the empire.

The lawyer continued, reading through minor assets distributed to distant relatives and charities. Adrian remained unmoved, a king waiting for his crown. Then, the lawyer reached the final section. He paused. For a moment, his eyes lifted, locking onto mine. Something about that look made my stomach tighten into a hard knot.

“Regarding the majority shares of Michael Industries…” The lawyer’s voice dropped an octave. The room grew impossibly quiet. “Mr. Michael has left fifty-one percent of his controlling shares to—”

He hesitated, a brief flicker of hesitation. Then, he finished the sentence.

“—Elena Hamilton.”

The silence that followed wasn't just quiet; it was deafening. My heart simply stopped beating.

“What?” someone blurted out, the word sharp and ugly.

Chairs scraped loudly against the floor as people jolted in their seats. Every single pair of eyes in the room turned toward me like spotlights. Shock. Disbelief. Pure, unadulterated anger.

Adrian’s chair creaked slowly as he sat upright, his casual posture vanishing. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses again, his hands steady despite the rising heat in the room. “Mr. Michael has left the majority controlling shares to Ms. Elena Hamilton.”

I felt the oxygen leave the room. I couldn't breathe. “This… this must be a mistake,” I whispered, my own voice sounding foreign to my ears.

Adrian stood up suddenly, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the table. His expression was no longer bored. It was dark. Lethal. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice a low hiss of ice.

The lawyer shook his head. “There is an additional clause.”

The room hummed with a new, frantic energy. Adrian folded his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving mine. “Well?” he snapped.

The lawyer cleared his throat one last time. “The shares will remain under Ms. Hamilton’s management for a period of seven years.” My fingers trembled. Seven years?

“However,” the lawyer continued, “Mr. Adrian Michael may reclaim the shares if he agrees to the conditions stated in the will.”

Adrian laughed, a jagged sound that contained no humor. “What conditions?”

The lawyer looked directly at him. “You must marry Ms. Elena Hamilton for a period of seven years.”

The world stopped spinning. No one spoke. No one moved.

Then, chaos erupted.

“What kind of nonsense is this?!”

“This is outrageous!”

“Why would Victor do something like that?”

Through the shouting and the madness, Adrian slowly turned toward me. His eyes didn't just look at me; they burned. “You,” he said. The word sounded like pure poison.

I shook my head immediately, my voice trembling. “I didn’t know about this.”

He took a step toward me. Then another. His presence filled the room like an approaching storm, suffocating and vast. “Didn’t know?” he repeated, his laugh cold and mocking. “That’s interesting.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as dust. “I swear I didn’t—”

“So that’s why you were always around my father,” Adrian cut in sharply, each word a strike. The accusation hit me like a physical slap. “You were planning this.”

“No,” I said quickly, the desperation rising in my chest.

“You thought if you played the sweet, devoted caregiver long enough, he’d fall for it.”

“That’s not true!”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice? You appear in the hospital right when he’s sick… and suddenly you’re the majority shareholder of my company?”

My chest tightened painfully. “I never asked for this.”

“Save it,” he snapped.

The room had gone completely silent again. Every executive, every relative, they were all watching us. Waiting for the kill. Adrian stepped closer until he stood directly in front of me, his scent of expensive cologne and cold anger enveloping me. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper.

“You wanted my father’s money.”

I shook my head again, my eyes stinging. “I just took care of him.”

He leaned closer, his eyes searching mine with a terrifying intensity. “So you’re telling me this is all a coincidence?”

I couldn’t answer. Because I knew then that nothing I said would ever matter. Adrian studied my face for a long, agonizing moment. Then, a smile touched his lips. But there was no warmth in it, only a promise of war.

“Fine,” he said softly. “If my father wants this marriage so badly… then we’ll give it to him.”

My heart sank into the pit of my stomach.

“But don’t misunderstand something,” Adrian continued, his voice turning to absolute ice. “I will make sure you regret every single day of those seven years. I will make your life miserable.”

The words echoed in the hollows of my mind long after the meeting ended, a curse that had lasted for years.

****

The rich, roasted smell of coffee pulled me back to the present.

Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows of Adrian’s penthouse, mocking the gloom of my memories. I stood quietly at the counter, flipping a piece of toast onto a plate. For seven years, this had been my routine. Wake up early. Prepare Adrian’s breakfast. Even though he almost never touched it. Still, I had done it. Every single day.

Part of me, the foolish, younger part, had always hoped that one morning he would finally sit down beside me. That maybe the man I had glimpsed outside the hospital years ago would come back. But that hope had withered and died a long time ago.

Today felt different.

I glanced at the table. There was only one plate. Mine. For the first time in seven years, I hadn’t bothered cooking for a man who didn't want to be fed by me. I sat down quietly and began eating. The toast was warm and simple. For once, my morning felt peaceful.

Footsteps echoed down the marble hallway. Then, Melissa Peterson sauntered into the kitchen. She was wrapped in nothing but a plush white towel, her blonde hair still damp and clinging to her shoulders. She leaned casually against the doorway, watching me eat with a smug, knowing look.

A slow, cat-like smile curved across her lips. “Well,” she said lazily. “Good morning.”

I continued eating, my eyes fixed on my plate. She walked farther into the room, her confidence radiating off her. “I hope we weren’t too loud last night,” she added, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

My fork paused for a fraction of a second.

Melissa smirked, enjoying the silence. “You know how Adrian gets,” she continued, her voice a suggestive purr. “He’s a beast. He just can’t get enough.”

For seven years, I had listened to comments like this. Seven years of pretending the knife didn't twist in my heart. But something inside me had finally snapped. Slowly, I looked up at her. A small, calm smile touched my lips.

“Aren’t you tired?” I asked quietly.

Melissa blinked, her smirk faltering. “What?”

I tilted my head slightly, observing her as if she were a curious specimen. “Aren’t you tired of this?” I repeated.

Her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“For seven years,” I continued, my voice steady and light, “you’ve just been his… sex tool. The woman he keeps in the shadows of his real marriage.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red instantly. 

“Have some decency” I added coolly.

The silence that followed was electric, buzzing with a tension that hadn't existed yesterday. Melissa stared at me as if she had never seen me before. Because in seven years… I had never spoken back.

“You little—” Her voice trembled with rage.

Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen. A moment later, another set of heavier footsteps approached. Adrian entered. He looked freshly showered, his presence commanding even in a simple dark shirt and jeans. His eyes landed on me immediately. Then, they flicked to the empty kitchen counter.

“Where’s my breakfast?” he asked, his voice sharp.

I shrugged slightly, not breaking my rhythm. “I didn’t expect you to eat.”

His eyebrow lifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “You never do.”

Adrian studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense. Then, a faint, mocking smirk appeared on his lips. “Wow,” he said. “You’ve changed.”

I shrugged again, my focus back on my toast. “I didn’t change. I just stopped bothering.”

Adrian chuckled softly, though there was no kindness in the sound. “Good,” he said, his voice turning cold again. “Because while we’re in this marriage, you’re not getting anything from me.”

Melissa reappeared behind him, having thrown on a robe. Her glare burned into my face. “See?” she said smugly, leaning into his side. “At least I have his heart.”

Adrian glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. “Go get dressed,” he told her. “I’ll take you shopping.”

Melissa’s expression brightened instantly, her triumph restored. Then Adrian turned back to me, his business persona snapping into place. “And don’t forget the warehouse.”

I nodded. “I won’t.”

The warehouse stood like a rusted giant on the west side of the city.

The drive had taken almost an hour, through neighborhoods that looked rougher and more neglected than any area Adrian’s company usually touched. When I stepped inside the cavernous, dimly lit space, the air felt heavy with dust and the smell of old machinery. Several workers glanced up from their tasks, their movements slowing as whispers immediately began to ripple through the floor.

“That’s her.”

“The wife?”

“Why is she here?”

“Did Adrian really send her?”

I squared my shoulders and ignored them, but their voices carried easily in the echoing space.

“Why would he send her to a place like this?”

“This area isn’t exactly safe for someone like her.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like her as much as the papers say.”

The words stung, familiar barbs in a new setting. But I kept walking, focused on the inventory. I did my job, finished the inspection, and left as quickly as I could.

The drive home felt unnervingly quiet. The city moved around me, but I felt trapped in a bubble of loneliness. Then, my phone rang. Adrian’s name flashed across the screen. I hesitated, my heart doing a strange little dance before I finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Elena,” his voice said, sounding oddly tense.

I glanced down at the phone for a split second, then back to the road. I didn't see the car in front of me slam on its brakes.

The sound of screeching rubber filled the air, a high-pitched scream of metal. Then—

Impact.