Chapter Nine: The Fine Print

Sophia's POV

Dante leaned back in his chair, studying me as though we were old friends catching up over coffee instead of discussing a contract marriage worth millions of dollars.

"The engagement party is on Saturday," he said casually. "Which means you're moving into Ethan's penthouse this week."

I blinked. "So soon?"

"Mrs. Blackwell, nothing about this arrangement is slow."

I almost choked. "I'm not Mrs. Blackwell yet."

Dante grinned. "Not yet. But you will be."

The title sounded strange. Wrong, even.

Mrs. Blackwell. I had spent three years calling Ethan "Mr. Blackwell." Now everyone expected me to become Mrs. Blackwell. The thought alone felt surreal.

"But Saturday is only four days away."

"It's in the contract," Ethan said from across the room.

His voice was calm, as though announcing a quarterly budget meeting instead of a life-changing engagement. I turned toward him.

He stood beside the window again, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city. That seemed to be his favorite position. Staring at the skyline while delivering information that made everyone else's life more complicated.

Dante picked up another stack of papers.

"Once the engagement is announced, you'll be publicly introduced as Ethan's long-term girlfriend."

I frowned. "Long-term?" "People need a believable story." I supposed he had a point.

Nobody would believe the CEO of Blackwell Enterprises met a woman and got engaged within a few days.

A secret relationship made more sense. Even if it was completely fabricated. Dante handed me another document.

"Read carefully."

I took it. The pages felt heavier every time he gave me something new. "You are not permitted to date another man during the duration of the contract."

I nodded. "That won't be a problem."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "No boyfriend waiting somewhere?"

I almost laughed. "When exactly would I have time for a boyfriend?"

Between eighty-hour work weeks, hospital visits, debt collectors, and family disasters, romance wasn't exactly a priority.

"Fair point," Dante admitted. He flipped another page.

"You will be publicly addressed as Mrs. Blackwell after the wedding."

The title sounded even stranger the second time. Mrs. Blackwell. A secretary from a small apartment suddenly becomes the wife of one of the most powerful men in the country. Life was strange.

"No hookups," Dante continued.

I rolled my eyes. "Understood."

"Good."

He slid another document across the desk.

I glanced down.

Then I froze. My eyes widened. "Two million dollars?"

The number practically jumped off the page. I looked at Ethan. "Yesterday you said one million."

His expression remained unreadable. "It was revised."

"Revised?"

He nodded. "I don't want complications."

Translation: he was desperate. Apparently Dante had the same thought. "Translation," Dante said, smirking, "he's desperate."

"Stop talking."

"I'm just helping."

"You're not."

Dante looked delighted by Ethan's irritation.

I found myself smiling despite everything.

For the first time all morning, the atmosphere felt almost normal. Almost. Then my gaze drifted toward Ethan. The smile faded. He was frustratingly attractive. Tall. Dark-haired. Sharp jawline.

The type of man magazines featured on covers. The type of man who dated actresses, socialites, and billionaire heiresses. Women who belonged in his world. Women who wore designer dresses worth more than my yearly salary.

A memory flashed unexpectedly through my mind. The fire exit. His hands. His mouth. The kiss. Heat immediately rushed to my face. I looked away.

Miss Sophia. His voice cut through my thoughts.

I jumped. "What?"

Ethan was watching me carefully.

"I asked if you understood the terms."

"Oh." Wonderful.

I had been daydreaming during a legal briefing. Professional. Very professional.

"Yes," I said quickly.

"I understand."

His eyes lingered on me for another second. Then he nodded.

Dante suddenly stood. "Well."

He adjusted his suit jacket. "I'll leave the happy couple alone."

Neither Ethan nor I looked particularly happy. Dante laughed anyway. Then he disappeared through the door.

The office instantly felt quieter. Smaller. More uncomfortable.bI became very aware that Ethan and I were alone. Again. He returned his attention to the city beyond the windows.

For a few moments, neither of us spoke. Then he finally broke the silence. "Take the documents home." I nodded. "Read everything."

"I will."

"Carefully."

The word sounded more like an order than advice.bI stood. The contract felt like a brick in my hands. Forty-five pages. Forty-five pages capable of changing my future.

Without another word, I left his office. Back downstairs, I settled into my own office chair and spread the documents across my desk. The first page stared back at me.

Terms and Duration: Two years beginning from the date of legal marriage. Two years.

Seven hundred and thirty days. Twenty-four months. Long enough to change a person's life. I turned the page.

Page seven: Cohabitation

Both parties shall reside in the primary residence of Ethan Blackwell for the duration of the agreement. I blinked. Then read it again. We will live together. Actually living together.

The realization hit harder than expected. The man barely tolerated me at work. Now we would be sharing the same home. The same breakfast table. The same living room. For two years. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or panic. I continued reading.

Page twelve. Public Appearances

Both parties shall attend social events, business functions, family gatherings, and public engagements as required. I stared at the words. Public appearances. Holding hands. Photographs. Smiling for cameras.

Pretending we were in love. Pretending his touch didn't affect me. Pretending we were something we weren't.

The thought made my stomach twist. I turned to another page.

Page eighteen. Exclusivity

Both parties agree to refrain from romantic or intimate relationships with third parties during the duration of the agreement. I laughed quietly. Not because it was funny.

Because it was absurd. Who exactly was waiting to date me? I worked too much. Slept too little. And spent most of my free time worrying about bills. Dating wasn't exactly competing for my attention.

Page twenty-nine. Early Termination

Either party may terminate the agreement early by compensating the other party with five million dollars. Five million. I nearly dropped the document.

That was enough money to completely change my family's future. I continued reading.

Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. The pages seemed endless.

By the time I finished, my eyes burned. My neck hurts. And my brain felt exhausted. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.

Two million dollars. Actually, three million now. An amount so large it barely felt real. I pulled out my phone. The screen reflected my tired face. A secretary secretly dating her billionaire boss.

If someone had told me that would be my life a month ago, I would have laughed in their face. Yet here I was. Signing contracts. Planning engagements. Preparing to move into a penthouse. I closed my eyes. Two years. I could survive two years.

After that, I would quit. Take my mother somewhere peaceful. Help Leo attend a better school. Start over somewhere far away from debt, hospitals, and Ethan Blackwell.

My phone suddenly vibrated. A banking notification appeared on the screen. For a moment, I didn't understand what I was looking at. Then my breath caught.

Deposit Received: $1,000,000.00

My heart stopped. One million dollars. Transferred instantly. I stared at the number. Then I stared again. The amount looked unreal. Like something belonging to another person's life. Not mine. For the first time since signing the contract, the reality truly sank in.

This wasn't pretend anymore. The deal had begun. And there was no turning back.