Chapter 3: The Contract

The room was too quiet for something so life-altering.

Ava sat across from Grayson at a long mahogany table in his penthouse study. Everything around her screamed wealth  glass walls with skyline views, a bar cart that looked untouched yet worth thousands, books arranged by color not use. But the most terrifying object in the room was the thick legal document between them.

Stapled. Highlighted. Tabbed with color-coded markers like someone had prepped it for court, not marriage. And at the center of it all was a silver pen resting perfectly aligned on top, as if waiting to ruin her life in the most elegant way possible.

Grayson tapped a finger on the table. Calm. Controlled. Like he wasn’t about to propose legal bondage.

“You look nervous,” he said casually.

“I look sane,” Ava replied. “This is insane.”

“You’ve had three days to read it.”

“I’ve had three days to decide if I want to legally bind myself to a stranger with trust issues and control problems.”

He smiled faintly. “Don’t forget the trust fund.”

Of course not. The only reason she was here in a penthouse forty-six floors above normal people problems  was money. Not romance. Not attraction. Not even curiosity. Just desperation and a carefully curated arrangement by the devil in a three-piece suit.

Still, her fingers trembled as she flipped to the first page.

The title stared back at her in bold, all-caps:

MARRIAGE CONTRACT AGREEMENT

This document serves as a binding legal agreement between Mr. Grayson Alexander Wolfe and Miss Ava Grace Sinclair…

Her name looked strange there official, grown-up, like it belonged to someone who knew what she was doing.

“Clause One,” Grayson began, his tone all business. “This marriage is strictly legal. No romantic obligation is implied.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “Did someone fall in love in a previous contract?”

He ignored the jab. Typical.

“Clause Two,” he continued, “You’ll move into the guesthouse on my estate. You’ll have full access to common areas, not the main bedroom. Unless invited.”

She raised both eyebrows this time. “You mean unless summoned.”

He didn’t flinch. “Call it what you want.”

“Wow. Can’t wait to crash your boring millionaire dinner parties.”

Grayson didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Barely there. Like she was the first person in a long time who dared to poke at him and lived.

“Clause Three,” he said slowly, “Public appearances may be required. We’ll attend at least two events per month together. No PDA unless pre-discussed.”

“No hand-holding?” she asked, arching her brow.

“Not unless you’re about to fall and I need to protect the investment.”

She smirked. “Chivalry really is dead.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “You’re good at this.”

“Reading contracts or insulting people with money?”

“Both.”

Ava looked back at the page. Her eyes skimmed across neatly printed text, legal language that felt more like chains than words.

“Clause Four,” he added, “This contract will last exactly one year. Any early termination results in a financial penalty for either party.”

Her gaze stopped.

$250,000.

She swallowed. That number didn’t just make her stomach flip  it made her heart stutter. It was more than she’d ever dreamed of touching, let alone owing.

“What happens if we… catch feelings?” she asked carefully.

Grayson didn’t blink. “Clause Five: Any romantic development is irrelevant to the contract. But should either party wish to continue post-contract, that’s a separate negotiation.”

She laughed softly, humorless. “Oh. So you negotiate love, too?”

He shrugged. “Everything is negotiable.”

She stared at him, this man who’d somehow turned emotional safety into a business transaction. Arrogant. Controlled. Untouchable. And yet here he was, offering her a golden cage  velvet walls and a fire she didn’t dare name.

“Do you do this often?” she asked suddenly.

His expression didn’t change, but his silence stretched just a second too long.

“That’s not an answer,” she said.

“It’s the only one you’ll get today.”

Her fingers traced the edge of the paper. She could walk out now. Rip the contract in half and forget this ever happened.

But then what?

Debt. Eviction. A part-time job with no benefits. Watching her dreams crumble one unpaid bill at a time.

She exhaled sharply, trying to shove the emotion down.

“Okay,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “Let’s do this before I change my mind.”

He slid the pen toward her. Their fingers didn’t touch, but something in the air pulsed.

She picked it up and signed her name slowly, the ink soaking into the paper like a scar she couldn’t undo.

Then he signed. His signature was fast, precise, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe he had.

“Congratulations,” he said, standing. “You’re now officially Mrs. Wolfe.”

Ava stood too, grabbing her bag but not looking at him.

“Don’t get used to it,” she said. “This isn’t a real marriage.”

He gave her a smile lazy, dangerous, charming. The kind that made women forget themselves.

“No,” he agreed, stepping closer. “But it’s going to feel very real… very soon.”

A chill ran down her spine. Not from fear. From the unspoken promise in his voice.

Whatever she thought she was walking into it wasn’t this.

And it was only just beginning