President Tony, Let's Perfect Our Marriage

Elena

The city lights were dim outside the car window as I clenched my hands in my lap, sweating despite the air conditioning in the car. My heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the choice I was about to make—a choice that felt more like a death sentence. I have been here before. The towering glass building. The suffocating scent of wealth and power. But tonight was different. Tonight, I was selling my soul. I tried my best to dismiss any second thoughts but I couldn’t help but think that I was making a mistake. Maybe I was. But did I really have a choice? The elevator ride to the top floor crawled at a slow pace. My worn-out dress felt like a second skin of shame among the sleek business attire of those around me. They barely spared me a glance. To them, I was invisible. But to him, I was a pawn. The doors slid open with a silent ding. A pristine office stretched before me, all cold steel and ruthless efficiency. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city like a king surveying his kingdom. And at the center of it all, behind a sleek black desk, sat the man who was going to be my husband.

Sebastian Wolfe.

Billionaire. CEO. Devil in a tailored suit.

His gray eyes found me the moment I stepped forward, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor, the only sound breaking the silence of his office. He didn’t smile. He almost never did. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, one hand tapping a sleek fountain pen against a stack of papers.

“You’re late.” He said, his voice smooth but authoritative.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Traffic.”

A brow arched, unimpressed. “Or second thoughts?”

I forced myself to meet his gaze. “My family needs the money, Sebastian. Let’s get this over with.”

His lips curled slightly, a hint of amusement evident in his eyes. Without another word, he slid the contract toward me.

Marriage Agreement

Between Sebastian Wolfe and Elena Parker

The letters burned into my vision, branding themselves onto my soul.

Six months. That’s all it would take. Six months as his wife, bound to his every demand. No escape. No turning back.

“You’re hesitating,” he observed, his voice calm, almost mocking. “Have you finally realized what you’re signing up for?”

I inhaled sharply. “I can read flawlessly. I know what I’m doing.”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his expression. “Then sign.”

My fingers trembled as I reached for the pen. One signature, and my fate was sealed. I pressed the tip to the paper, forcing my name onto the contract. The ink smudged slightly from the sweat on my palms, but it was done.

Sebastian took the contract, scanned it with cool efficiency, and then—just like that—he stood.

“Welcome to hell, Mrs. Wolfe.”

Before I could process the words, he stepped around the desk and reached for my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. His grip was firm, possessive, as if reminding me who owned me now.

“We have a wedding to attend tomorrow,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. “And a honeymoon after that.”

A sick twist of dread coiled in my stomach. “You can’t be serious—”

“Dead serious.” His thumb brushed my jaw, a mockery of affection. “A deal is a deal, sweetheart. From now on, you belong to me.”

The words settled over me like chains, cold and unbreakable. And with the stroke of a pen, my world shattered.