CHAPTER 2: A YEAR, NO MORE

Jaydon

The silence in the room was a heavy, physical thing, but I was used to it. Silence had been my only constant for two years.

Two years since the fire and the blood. Two years since I lost Hera and the tiny life she was carrying. I could still taste the ash in the back of my throat if I thought about it too long. I’d traded the Mafia throne for a corporate glass cage, trying to scrub the scent of the family business off my skin, but the hollow ache remained.

My mother’s voice rang in my head, a relentless, polished blade. 'You need a wife, Jaydon. You need an heir.'

She didn't realize I was already dead inside. Love wasn't a luxury I could afford twice. It was a trap, a blood-soaked promise that ended in a cemetery.

I looked at the woman sitting across from me. Isayanna.

She was a mess. A beautiful, high-definition mess. Her long black hair was slightly disheveled, and her eyes—a startling, clear blue—were rimmed with red. She was vibrating with a nervous energy that made her fingers twitch against her cheap handbag. She was desperate. I could smell it on her, like rain before a storm.

"W-wait, what?!" she shouted. The sound sliced through my grim thoughts.

I didn't blink. I just watched the way her pulse jumped in the hollow of her throat. "Take a seat."

She hesitated, her gaze darting around my office like she was looking for an exit or a hidden camera. Finally, she sank into the leather chair, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated. She looked like she was about to snap in half.

I leaned back, crossing my legs, projecting a calm I didn't truly feel. My heart was a stone.

"You feeling chill now?" I asked. My voice was dry, devoid of the warmth she was probably looking for.

She nodded fast, a jerky movement. She reached for the glass of water on my desk, her hand trembling so hard the ice clinked against the glass. She took a long, desperate swallow.

"Awesome," I said, leaning forward. I rested my elbows on the mahogany, closing the distance until I could see the golden flecks in those summer-sky eyes. "So, here’s the deal. This is a marriage of convenience."

Her brow furrowed, a small line appearing between her eyes. She didn't interrupt. Smart girl.

"I need a wife for exactly one year," I continued, my voice dropping an octave. I kept it simple, surgical. "Nothing more. No romance, no soul-searching, no forever. When the clock hits three hundred and sixty-five days, we sign the papers and you disappear. I’ll make it worth your while. Five hundred thousand dollars total."

I watched her pupils dilate. 

"Two hundred and fifty thousand the moment we sign the contract," I added, letting the number hang in the air like smoke. "The rest when the year is up."

I waited for the light to come back into her eyes—the greed or the relief. Most people chose greed. But Isayanna just stared at me, her breath hitching as she tried to process the fact that her life was about to be bought by a man who had forgotten how to feel.

"One year," I repeated, my gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before I snapped back to her eyes. "Do we have a deal?"

The silence in the office didn't feel peaceful anymore. It felt heavy, like the air right before a storm breaks. 

Isayanna didn't jump for joy. She didn't even look at the check. Instead, her mouth wobbled and her eyes filled with a sudden, drowning wetness. A single tear tracked through the dirt on her cheek, leaving a pale streak behind.

I let out a breath, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Got it?"

She shook her head. Slowly. Deliberately.

I felt my jaw tighten. My patience was a thin thread, and she was sawing at it with every sob. "Look, what’s the problem? Why are you crying?"

"Getting hitched?" Her voice was a wrecked whisper. She swiped at her eyes with the back of a trembling hand, but the tears kept coming. "Why me? Why like this?"

I didn't do soft. I didn't do comfort. "Are you in or not? It’s a contract. Black and white. Nothing shady, nothing hidden. You read the fine print, you sign, or you walk. It’s that simple."

I crossed my arms, my muscles straining against the fabric of my suit. "But let’s be real. You’re lucky. I’m handing you a lifeline and you’re acting like I just gave you a death sentence."

Her shoulders crumpled. She looked small in that oversized leather chair, like she was being swallowed by it. 

"Sorry, sir," she breathed. "I can’t do this."

"Why not?"

She looked away, her throat working as she swallowed hard. "I just... I can’t."

I felt a sharp, bitter laugh bubble up in my chest. It broke out of me, sounding more like a bark than a joke. "So that’s the hang-up? The contract? What, you want to marry me for real?"

The idea hit a nerve. I didn't want real. Real was what I had with Hera, and real ended in a casket. This was supposed to be a transaction. Clean. Cold.

The bitterness turned into a flash of heat. I slammed my fist onto the mahogany desk. The 'crack' was like a gunshot. 

Isayanna jolted, her entire frame shaking as she stared at me with wide, terrified eyes. My pulse was drumming in my ears, the old darkness from the family business clawing at my throat.

"You know what?" I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, low edge. "Forget it."

She flinches, frozen in place.

"Leave," I snapped.

She opened her mouth, her lips parted as if she wanted to plead or explain, but no sound came out. She just looked at the floor, her fingers white-knuckled around her bag.

"I said leave!"

The shout echoed off the glass walls. She didn't wait for a third warning. She scrambled up, her movements frantic and clumsy, and bolted for the door. She paused for a split second at the handle, her back to me, looking like she might turn around. 

"Out!" 

The door slammed so hard the glass vibrated. 

I sank into my chair and buried my face in my hands. The scent of her—something like cheap vanilla and rain—still lingered in the air, mocking me. This was a disaster. I should have listened to Christian. I should have gone to the club and picked some vacuous girl who only cared about the rock on her finger. 

I’d tried to buy a solution, and all I got was a reminder of how much I hated feeling anything at all. A complete waste of time.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

Christian: So? Did you seal the deal with the blue-eyed girl or am I calling the strippers?

I stared at the screen, my chest tight. 

Jaydon: She walked.

Christian: No way. Nobody walks away from that kind of money. What did you do to her, Jay?

I didn't reply. I just stared at the closed door, wondering why the hell my heart was beating so fast for a woman I’d just kicked out.