Chapter Eight: The Contract

Sophia's POV

My alarm went off at six o'clock sharp. For a few seconds, I lay still beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling.

Then reality came crashing back. The debt. My mother's hospital bills. Victor's deadline. The contract. Today was the day.

I slowly pushed myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The morning routine felt strangely normal considering I was about to agree to something that would change my entire life.

I brushed my teeth. Took a shower. Combed my hair. Applied light makeup.

When I looked up at the mirror, my stomach tightened.

The bruise was still there. Faint but visible.

A reminder of the argument with my father the night before. A reminder that the man who was supposed to protect me had become the person I feared most.

I reached up and touched the fading mark on my cheek. Then I looked away. There was no point dwelling on it. Not today. Today I needed to survive.

By the time I left the apartment, it was already 8:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes. That was all I had before I was expected in Ethan Blackwell's office.

My future is waiting behind a signature.

I hurried down the stairs. And nearly screamed.

"Jesus Christ!" Victor.

He was leaning against the wall outside my building as though he owned the place.

My heart jumped into my throat.

"What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed.

"Where's your father?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Victor folded his arms. The look on his face made it obvious he didn't believe me.

"He disappeared after stealing my money."

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

For the first time, Victor looked genuinely surprised. "Your father stole from you?"

"Three thousand dollars." His eyebrows rose. "I don't believe Lucas would steal from his own daughter."

I laughed again. This time there was no humor in it. "Believe whatever you want."

Victor studied me for a moment. Then his expression hardened.

"You know your deadline ends today."

My stomach twisted. As if I needed reminding. "I know."

"No more extensions."

"I know."

For a second, neither of us spoke. Then I glanced at my watch. 8:48 a.m. Damn it. "I'm late."

Victor stepped aside. "Good luck."

I didn't answer. I simply walked past him.

Luck had nothing to do with it anymore.

As I made my way through the crowded streets, one thought repeated endlessly in my mind.

I'm about to marry the devil. The thought should have terrified me. Maybe it did. But fear wasn't stronger than desperation. Not anymore. I needed the money. I needed it badly.

The city bustled around me. People hurried to work. Street vendors shouted. Cars honked. Life continued as if my world wasn't falling apart.

A few blocks later, two young boys ran across the sidewalk in front of me.

They were shoving each other while their exhausted mother chased after them. "Stop fighting!"

One of them turned suddenly. His arm collided with mine. The coffee cup in my hand flew sideways. Cold coffee splashed across the front of my blouse.

The boy froze. "Oh no! I'm sorry!"

I looked down at the stain. Wonderful. Just wonderful. "It's okay," I said.

The poor child looked terrified. His mother apologized repeatedly before dragging him away. I sighed. There was no way I could walk into Ethan Blackwell's office looking like this.

Reluctantly, I turned around and headed back home. The apartment was exactly as I had left it. Messy. Chaotic. A reflection of my life.

I hurried to my bedroom and opened my wardrobe. The moment I did, another problem appeared. Most of my clothes were wrinkled.

Some hadn't been washed in nearly two weeks. Between hospital visits, overtime, and family disasters, laundry had become the least of my concerns. After digging through several hangers, I finally found a clean blouse. Not perfect. But acceptable.

At least acceptable by normal standards.

Probably not by Ethan Blackwell's.

I changed quickly and rushed back out.

By the time I reached the subway station, I was already running behind schedule.

The train arrived. Then refused to move.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. No announcement. No explanation.

Just delay after delay. I wanted to scream.

When the train finally started moving again, I knew I was hopelessly late. By the time I reached Blackwell Enterprises, it was already 9:45. Forty-five minutes late.

My palms were sweating as I crossed the lobby.

I didn't even stop at my office. I went straight to Ethan's floor. Straight to his office. Straight toward my fate. I knocked once.

"Come in."

The familiar deep voice sent a strange tension through me. I opened the door.

Ethan stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

His hands rested casually inside his pockets. Even from across the room, he looked intimidating. Powerful. Untouchable.

Another man stood beside him. Similar height. Similar confidence. Slightly older. And considerably more approachable.

Ethan turned toward me. "You're late."

I swallowed.

"Traffic." His eyes moved over my appearance. Slowly. Assessing. Judging.

The coffee stain was mostly hidden beneath my blazer. Mostly.

"Unprofessional." Of course.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I remained silent. The older man chuckled softly. Interesting. Apparently someone found Ethan entertaining.

"This is Dante Romano," Ethan said. "And my lawyer."

Dante offered his hand. I shook it. His smile was warm. A complete contrast to Ethan. Ethan walked toward the desk.

"You're moving into my penthouse this week."

No greeting. No small talk. Straight to business. Typical.

"You'll attend events with me."

I nodded.

"Galas."

Another nod.

"Board dinners."

Still nodding. "Business meetings."

I understood.

"You will accompany me wherever necessary." His expression hardened. "And under no circumstances will you tell anyone this marriage is contractual."

The room became silent. I met his gaze.

"Not even my family?" "No one."

The answer was immediate. "If this arrangement becomes public knowledge, the deal is terminated."

I looked away. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

Dante leaned against the desk. "Wow." We both looked at him. "Listen to this romance."

Ethan ignored him completely. Dante grinned. 

"Move into my penthouse. Attend meetings. Keep my secrets." He looked at me dramatically. "Every woman's dream."

I laughed despite myself. Ethan looked annoyed. For some reason, that made me laugh harder.

"I'm right here," Ethan said dryly. "Unfortunately." Dante handed me a thick document. The contract.

My smile disappeared instantly. The papers felt heavier than they should have.

As if they carried the weight of my future.

Dante began explaining the terms. Public appearances. Business functions. Confidentiality clauses. Financial arrangements. Living requirements. The words blurred together.

Because in the end, none of it changed the reality. I was selling two years of my life. For my mother. For Leo. For survival.

When Dante finished, he slid a pen across the desk. I stared at it. My hand felt strangely numb. Then, before I could change my mind, I signed. Sophia Hart.

The ink dried almost immediately. And just like that, there was no turning back. I remained in Ethan's office for another thirty minutes discussing logistics. Moving arrangements. Schedules. Announcements. Plans.

The entire time, I felt detached. As though I were watching someone else's life unfold.

Eventually, I left.

The elevator ride down felt endless. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls. I barely recognized the woman looking back. Was I really doing this for my mother? I thought about her hospital room. Her smile. Her illness. Yes.

Of course I was.

Then another memory surfaced. The fire exit. Ethan's hands. His voice.

The night that had changed everything. I quickly pushed the thought away. This wasn't about that. It couldn't be. This was about money. About survival. About saving my family.

I repeated those words silently all the way home. Again. And again. Until eventually, I almost believed them.