Chapter 5.

A scoff of disbelief leaves me.

“Why would you marry me? You don't even know anything about me.”

I stare at him, waiting for an explanation that will make any of this sound remotely reasonable, but he remains completely composed, sitting on the couch as though proposing marriage to a woman he barely knows is just another business decision that needs to be discussed and finalized.

“Well, I think I know everything I need to know about you,” he begins, his voice calm. “This marriage isn't something that's going to be built on love. I don't need love. I need partnership, intelligence, discretion, and I think you have all of those qualities.”

I narrow my eyes at him, still trying to understand how he could possibly know enough about me to make such a judgment.

Silence fills the room for a moment before he continues.

“The marriage will be for three years, renewable by mutual agreement. There are clear exit clauses, and you'll have full financial security. I will provide for my wife as a husband should. I would also perform all my marital duties, including consummation of the marriage, if you wish for it.”

My fingers tighten around the edge of the paper, and I feel a strange warmth creep up my neck at the bluntness of his words. He says it so casually that I almost wonder if I heard him correctly.

“These days, investors have more faith in you when you present a loving and stable family front,” he continues. “And that's all I need you to do for me. You're intelligent, confident, goal-driven and tactical, and I believe you have what I need in a wife.”

A small knot forms in my stomach.

How is he able to come to this conclusion about me?

I look down at the document again, trying to concentrate on the words instead of the uncomfortable feeling growing inside my chest. I turn the second page, then the third, carefully reading through everything.

Protection clauses.

Mutual public support.

Professional autonomy.

Financial security.

Everything has been considered, but the more I read, the more unsettled I become.

This man is literally offering me everything I've ever dreamed of having, and all I have to do is be his wife.

I bite down on my lower lip as I stare at the pages. It sounds too good to be true.

I mean, he is a complete stranger. I don't know anything about him beyond what I've heard about his reputation. For all I know, this entire contract could be a carefully planned trap.

There has to be something he's not telling me.

I lift my eyes to him.

“I don't trust you,” I say honestly. “And I don't even know what makes you think I'm the kind of woman who would wake up one morning and decide to marry a stranger she's meeting for the first time.”

His lips twitch slightly.

“Well, technically, we're meeting for the second time.”

I roll my eyes.

“That doesn't make it any better.”

“No, it doesn't.” His expression becomes serious again. “But the decision is yours to make. I won't force you, and I won't cajole you into accepting. Take your time and think about it properly.”

He reaches into the drawer in front of him, pulls out a small white card and slides it across the desk toward me.

“When you've made your decision, give me a call.”

I stare at the card for a few seconds before finally picking it up, my eyes moving over the name printed neatly across it.

Adrian Sinclair.

I slip the card into my bag without saying anything else. All of this feels like a beautiful dream, the kind where a rich CEO marries a struggling woman and somehow changes her life for the better. But this is reality, not some storybook fantasy. Things like this don't happen in real life, and certainly not to someone like me.

Without bothering to bid him goodbye, I turn around and walk out of his office.

The moment the door closes behind me, I release a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

I make my way through the building, barely paying attention to the people passing by, before finally stepping outside. A few seconds after raising my hand to hail a taxi, one pulls over, and I slide into the back seat.

“5812 West Ashbury Street, please.”

“Alright, ma’am.”

The taxi pulls away from the building, and I sink into the seat, staring out of the window.

I shouldn't be thinking about Sinclair's ridiculous proposal. I should have dismissed it the moment he mentioned it, so why can't I stop wondering why a man like him would choose to marry someone like me?

Instead, my mind keeps going back to the contract.

Three years.

Financial security.

Professional autonomy.

Protection.

Everything I could possibly ask for.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. There is no way I'm actually considering this. Not in this life.

My hand slips into my bag, searching for my phone, and after a few seconds, I finally find it and immediately call Clare.

“Girl, do you know what just happened to me now?”

“What?”

Clare's voice comes through the phone calmly.

“I almost got married.”

There is a brief silence on the other end.

“What?! To whom? What happened?!”

A silly laugh escapes me as I lean my head against the seat.

“Calm down. I'll give you all the gist when I get back, okay?”

“You better, because—”

“Love you.”

I end the call before she can continue.

For the first time since leaving Sinclair's office, I smile. Clare would probably think I'd completely lost my mind if I told her everything over the phone, so I'll just explain it properly when I get home.

I unlock my phone again, intending to distract myself, but before I can open anything, a notification from I*******m pops up. My favorite celebrity couple just posted a new video.

I tap on it immediately.

The two of them are standing close together, laughing as they talk to each other, and within seconds, I'm smiling at my screen.

“God, they look so cute together,” I murmur, my cheeks warming slightly as I watch the video to the end.

For a few minutes, I forget everything else and continue scrolling until a video from one of the popular blogs I follow catches my attention.

I almost scroll past it, but something about the face in the video makes my thumb stop.

My stomach drops.

This looks like Sam.

No. It can't be.

I tap on the video, and when the image becomes clearer, the man standing in the middle of the crowd is unmistakably him.

Sam.

My heart begins beating faster as I stare at the screen, unable to process what I'm seeing. The caption says he's getting married.

I blink several times, hoping I've somehow misread it, but I haven't.

He's getting married.

My fingers move quickly as I enter the page, and before I've even had time to think, I click on another video, then another, and another. Every video confirms the same thing.

Sam is getting married.

Something twists painfully inside my chest as I watch him speak about her, telling everyone how she's the best thing that has ever happened to him, how she came into his life and made everything easier, and how lucky he feels to have found her.

My mind starts replaying the things he once said to me, the promises he made and the moments I thought had meant something.

My grip on the phone tightens as I force myself to keep watching, even though every word makes the ache in my chest worse.

So that's it? He's moving on. 

Maybe he already has.

I swallow hard and force myself to look away from the screen, but the image of him standing beside another woman has already settled painfully in my mind.

I sit there with the hurt settling heavily inside me, staring out of the window and watching the city pass by without really seeing any of it.

Then my eyes fall on my bag, and I remember the card inside it.

I hesitate for a moment before reaching into my bag and pulling it out. I stare at it, remembering Sinclair’s words from earlier.

A three–year marriage of convenience.

A part of me knows this is probably the worst possible reason to make such a huge decision. I'm hurt, and I know that. Perhaps I'm allowing what I just saw to cloud my judgment.

But another part of me is tired of feeling like I'm always waiting for someone to choose me. This is reckless, and maybe I'll regret it. Maybe I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

But right now, I don't care.

I pick up my phone and dial the number printed on the card.

He answers after a few rings.

“Hello.”

His voice is calm, just as it was earlier.

I close my eyes for a moment and draw in a slow breath, trying to convince myself that I'm not making a decision I'll regret.

Then I open them again.

“I'll do it.”

There is silence on the other end.

My fingers tighten around the phone as I stare out of the taxi window.

“I'll marry you.”