Chapter 5: The Contract

That same day, Sebastian asked his lawyer to draw up a prenuptial agreement.

Richard Chen arrived at the mansion before noon, a leather briefcase under his arm and that carefully neutral expression he wore when he was about to do something dishonest.

Karen was sitting on the living room sofa, looking tense.

“Miss Karen,” Richard said, opening the briefcase on the coffee table. His voice was professional, courteous, but there was a softness there that Sebastian didn’t recognize.

“Would you like to read the terms of the prenuptial agreement before signing?”

Karen looked at the papers as if they were a snake about to strike. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the document, and Sebastian watched every micro-expression that passed over her face as she read.

Confusion first. Then shock. Then something close to panic.

“You’re giving me fifty percent of all your money?” She looked up, those dark eyes wide with disbelief. “I can’t accept this.”

Sebastian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. He had prepared this moment carefully. The contract seemed generous—absurdly generous. Half his fortune to a girl he had known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it was bait. And Karen, naïve as she was, was about to take it.

He let a slow smile form on his lips. “But you’ll also give me half of yours.”

Karen blinked, processing. “But... I don’t have anything.”

“That’s enough,” Sebastian replied.

The lie came out smooth. Now, it wasn’t dangerous. But in a few months, when she claimed the Salvatore billions, that contract would ensure Sebastian had access to half. Or at least, it would be the gateway to getting her to sign powers of attorney transfers.

Karen looked back at the paper, biting her lower lip. Sebastian noticed the gesture—she did that when she was nervous. He filed the information away.

“Please remove that clause,” she said finally, pushing the paper toward Richard. “I don’t want your money.”

Sebastian stepped away from the wall, slowly approaching her. “Are you sure?”

He stopped in front of her, forcing Karen to lift her face to meet his gaze. The difference in height, power, control—all intentional. She shrank slightly, but kept her gaze steady.

“I am,” she said, her voice lower but determined. “This isn’t about the money for me. I’m doing it because... because I want to survive.”

Something ached in Sebastian’s chest. Guilt, perhaps. Or just the recognition that this would be too easy.

She trusted him. Of course, she did. He had planned it that way.

The lawyer handed her the pen to sign, glancing quickly at Sebastian—one last chance to back out. Sebastian ignored him.

“Sign,” he mumbled.

Karen took the pen. Her hand hesitated over the paper for a moment, and Sebastian wondered if some survival instinct would warn her. If some inner voice would scream, don’t do it.

But then she signed. Full name in shaky letters: Karen Malcolm.

Karen had no last name. Orphans rarely did, so Mrs. Malcolm lent hers to the children.

Richard collected the papers, putting them in the folder without comment. “I’ll register it today. The wedding is set for two o’clock.”

Sebastian poured himself another whiskey. It was early to drink—not even noon yet—but he needed something to ease the strange feeling growing in his chest.

He downed the whiskey in one gulp, feeling the burn go down his throat.

“Karen,” he said without looking at her. “In a few hours, the justice of the peace will come to officiate our wedding. You can go to your room to get ready. I’ll send a servant to call you.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. Karen took a few steps toward the hallway but stopped at the door. Sebastian still wasn’t looking at her. “Sebastian, thank you. For... for everything.”

The gratitude in her voice was like a sharp knife.

He waited until he heard her footsteps fading down the hallway, the bedroom door closing softly. Only then did he turn to the lawyer. “What did you find out?”

Richard Chen closed his briefcase and sighed, as if the information he was about to share weighed physically on him.

“Her fortune is two billion. But she can only claim it until she’s nineteen. After that, a committee of shareholders takes permanent control of the money.”

“I’ll have to be quick,” Sebastian said, more to himself than to Richard.

“Quick about what, exactly?” The lawyer tucked the briefcase under his arm but didn’t move to leave. “What’s the endgame here, Sebastian?”

Sebastian took another sip of whiskey. “Get her to claim the inheritance and keep all the money. That’s pretty obvious.”

“And then?”

“Then?” There is no then. I’ll file for divorce, and we’ll each go our separate ways.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Richard took a step forward, his voice lower, more serious. “What will you do with her after that? When will you get what you want?”

Sebastian swirled the glass between his fingers, watching how the amber liquid caught the light. A dark part of him—the part that had survived in the orphanage, that had learned that feelings were dangerous luxuries—considered the options.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, and there was a casual cruelty in the words. “Maybe I’ll give her to my brother. I really don’t care.”

The silence that followed was heavy with judgment.

“You know what he wants to do with her.” Richard’s voice was cold now, with controlled anger. “He wants her kidney. You’d basically be signing her death warrant.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“It’s not?” Richard took a step forward. “Because it sure looks like you’re making her your problem. You’re marrying her in two hours.”

“It’s just a piece of paper.”

Richard’s mask of professionalism fell completely.

“She’s a person, Sebastian! A girl who just left the orphanage, who has no one, who trusts you because you share a damn tattoo.” He pointed to Sebastian’s wrist. “I’m a lawyer, and I don’t mind taking money from ambitious men. God knows I’ve helped you do just that dozens of times. But she’s a girl, Sebastian. A child, practically.”

Sebastian laughed—a dry, humorless sound. He walked to the window, looking down at Vegas below. In two hours, Karen would be his wife. Legally bound to him. And when she claimed the Salvatore billions, he would be perfectly positioned to take his share.

“Good men die poor. Now get out.”

“Sebastian—”

“I said, get out.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Come back just for the wedding. And leave your moral judgments at the door. I don’t pay you to have a conscience.”