CHAPTER 3: The First Marlowe

I sat in Dad's Bentley, staring up at it. My hands were shaking. I'd put them in my lap so he wouldn't see, but they wouldn't stop.

"We're late," Dad said, checking his watch for the third time.

"You said nine. It's eight fifty-seven."

"In business, early is on time. On time is late."

I didn't answer. Just grabbed my purse and got out of the car before I could talk myself into running.

Marlowe Industries was a forty-story glass tower.

The lobby was all marble and glass. Our footsteps echoed. A woman at the reception desk smiled the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes and directed us to the top floor.

The elevator ride felt like forever. Dad straightened his tie twice. I focused on breathing. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Like Mom taught me when I had panic attacks in middle school.

The doors opened to another reception area. More marble. More glass. A blonde woman behind a desk looked up.

"Mr. Sutherland? Mr. Marlowe is expecting you. Conference room three."

She didn't look at me. Like I wasn't even there.

Dad led the way down a hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. The city spread out below us. From up here, everything looked small. Manageable. Like you could control it all with the right moves.

The conference room was massive. A table that could seat twenty people. Windows on two walls. And at the head of the table sat Warren Marlowe.

He was exactly what I expected. Silver hair. Expensive suit. The kind of presence that filled a room. He stood when we entered, and I realized he was tall. Over six feet. Broad shoulders. He looked like someone who'd built an empire with his bare hands and would kill to keep it.

"Richard." He shook Dad's hand. "Good to see you."

"Warren. Thank you for meeting with us."

Then Warren's eyes moved to me. Sharp. Calculating. Like he was adding up my worth in his head.

"Miss Sutherland. Please, sit."

I sat. Dad sat beside me. Warren returned to his position at the head of the table like a king on a throne.

"My son will be here shortly," Warren said. "In the meantime, let's discuss the terms."

He slid a thick document across the table. I looked at the first page. The words blurred together. Marriage contract. Three-year term. Dissolution clause. My name in black and white, binding me to a stranger.

"You understand this is a business arrangement," Warren said. His voice was calm. Matter-of-fact. Like we were discussing a merger, not my life. "My son needs rehabilitation of his image. Your family needs your debts cleared. This benefits everyone."

I stared at the contract. Three years. That's all it said. Three years and then I'd be free.

"What do I get?" The words came out before I could stop them. "Besides being Mrs. Marlowe in name only?"

Dad tensed beside me. Warren's eyebrows lifted slightly.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to know what I'm actually getting. Not what my family gets. Me."

A small smile tugged at Warren's mouth. "Direct. I like that." He leaned back in his chair. "You'll receive a monthly allowance of twenty thousand dollars. You can maintain your career. The contract includes a separate bedroom clause if you choose. After three years, if the marriage dissolves, you keep whatever assets you've acquired during the union."

Twenty thousand dollars a month. That was more than I made in three months at the gallery.

"And what does Sterling get?"

"A wife who makes him look stable. Respectable. Someone to appear at events and convince the board he's settled down." Warren's eyes narrowed. "My son has made mistakes. This marriage will help him move past them."

Mistakes. That was one way to put it.

The door opened and a man walked in. Thirties, maybe. Dark hair. Sharp suit. He carried a folder and didn't smile.

"Ah, Tobias." Warren gestured. "My assistant. He'll witness the signing."

Tobias nodded at Dad. Then his eyes met mine and something flickered in them. Interest. Curiosity. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Miss Sutherland." He set the folder in front of Warren, then slid a separate document toward me. Smaller. Stapled in the corner. "This addendum covers additional terms regarding the family art collection."

I looked at Warren. "Art collection?"

"A formality," Warren said. "You're an authentication expert. The contract stipulates you'll consult on family assets as needed."

I picked up the addendum. The legal language was dense. Something about authentication services. Consulting fees. Access to private collections. I didn't understand half of it.

"You'll want to read that carefully," Tobias said quietly.

I looked up. He was watching me with those sharp eyes. Like he was trying to tell me something without saying it.

"How long do I have to review this?"

"We'd like to finalize everything today," Warren said.

"Today?" My voice came out higher than I meant it to. "This is a legally binding contract. I need time to have a lawyer look at it."

"You can have your lawyer review it after signing," Dad said. His tone was clipped. Warning.

"That's not how contracts work."

"Nora." Dad's hand clenched on the table. "We discussed this."

No. He'd discussed it. I'd just agreed to show up.

"I'm not signing anything I haven't read," I said.

Warren's smile widened. "Smart. Take thirty minutes. Read it thoroughly. We'll wait."

I pulled the contract closer and started reading. The words were still a blur but I forced myself to focus. Three-year marriage term. Automatic dissolution unless both parties agreed to continue. Separate residences allowed. Public appearances required at minimum twice monthly. Financial compensation. Asset division.

The addendum about the art collection was stranger. Consultation services. Unlimited access to Marlowe family holdings. Authentication as needed for insurance purposes. It seemed excessive for a marriage contract, but maybe that was normal for wealthy families.

Tobias had moved to stand by the windows. He was watching the city below, but I could feel his attention on me. Like he was waiting for something.

"Where's Sterling?" I asked.

Warren checked his watch. "Running late. He'll be here."

Late. Forty minutes late to sign his own marriage contract. Great start.

I kept reading. My eyes caught on another clause. Fidelity expectations. I almost laughed. After everything I'd read about Sterling's affairs, they'd actually put that in writing.

"Is something funny?" Warren asked.

"No." I flipped to the next page. "Just thorough."

The minutes ticked by. I read every word twice. Dad shifted in his seat. Warren made a phone call in rapid-fire Japanese that I didn't understand. Tobias stayed by the window.

When I finally looked up, Warren was watching me.

"Satisfied?"

"I want the separate residence clause in writing. Not just implied."

"Done."

"And I want it clear that my career remains mine. No restrictions."

"Agreed."

I looked at Dad. He nodded once. His way of saying don't push your luck.

I picked up the pen.

The door opened.

"Sorry I'm late." The voice was deep. Rough. Nothing like I expected.

I looked up.

The man who walked in wasn't the Sterling from the photos.

He was taller. Broader shoulders. His hair was darker, almost black. And his eyes were steel blue instead of that cold pale color I'd seen in every picture online.

He stopped when he saw me. Just stopped. Like he'd walked into a wall.

Those eyes. They looked at me like he was seeing a ghost. Like he knew me. Like seeing me had knocked all the air from his lungs.

Something twisted in my chest. Familiar. Wrong. I didn't know this man.

So why did it feel like I did?