CHAPTER 5

SCARLETT HAYES POV

The silence that followed Lucien’s words was heavy, suffocating, and absolute.

I forgot how to breathe. Beside me, Ethan looked like he had just been slapped. His jaw hung open, his face draining of what little color it had left. Selena’s hands began to visibly shake, her fingers twitching against her sides as she stared at Lucien, then at me, as if trying to calculate if she had suddenly fallen into an alternate reality.

"F-Fiancée?" Selena stammered, her voice cracking under the sheer weight of the word. "But... Mr. Reed, she’s a maid. She just got hired yesterday. There must be some kind of mistake—"

"The only mistake here is your presence in my house," Lucien said, his voice dropping to a low, icy register that made everyone in the room flinch. He didn’t even raise his voice, yet the authority he carried was absolute. "I do not tolerate staff who orchestrate cheap, pathetic dramas to settle personal vendettas. Pack your things. Both of you. You have ten minutes to clear out of my estate."

Ethan’s eyes widened in sheer panic. He took a frantic step forward, completely abandoning his smug attitude. "Mr. Reed, please! I’ve been your personal driver for two years! I was just trying to protect your property! Scarlett is a liar, she—"

"Nine minutes," Lucien interrupted coldly, not even looking at him.

"Ethan, babe, do something!" Selena hissed, her voice rising in pitch as tears of anger and fear welled in her eyes. "He can't just fire us over her!"

But Ethan was already ruined. He knew exactly who Lucien Reed was, and he knew that arguing with him was a fast track to getting blacklisted from every wealthy estate in the country. He glared at me, a mixture of intense hatred and disbelief burning in his eyes, before he grabbed Selena’s arm and dragged her toward the back exit.

The other maids quickly scattered like ants, terrified of being caught in the crossfire. Within seconds, the grand foyer was dead silent.

I stood there, my hand still resting against my bruised wrist. My knees felt like jelly. The sheer adrenaline of the confrontation was fading, leaving me completely hollowed out.

"Are you hurt?" Lucien asked, turning his sharp gaze toward me.

"No," I whispered, rubbing my wrist. "Just... a little shaken. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It was a business decision," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "If my future wife is dragged off to jail for stealing her own family heirlooms, it complicates my timeline. Come with me. The lawyer has sent over the draft."

I followed him up the grand staircase, my mind still spinning. Fiancée. The word felt foreign, heavy, and terrifyingly permanent. But as I looked at the dark back of Lucien’s tailored jacket, I reminded myself of the alternative. Toby's surgery was paid for. He was going to live. If I had to play the part of a billionaire's wife to keep him safe, I would play it to perfection.

We entered his private study. The room smelled faintly of old paper, leather, and that same cedarwood and rain scent that seemed to follow him everywhere. On his massive mahogany desk sat a thick, cream-colored document.

Lucien walked behind the desk, sat down, and slid the paper toward me.

"Read it carefully," he commanded, handing me a sleek, heavy gold pen. "Once you sign, there is no going back. You belong to this arrangement for exactly twelve months."

I sat in the plush leather chair opposite him and pulled the papers closer.

The terms were laid out in clear, precise legal English. No confusing jargon, just straight facts. I would receive a monthly allowance of two hundred thousand pesos. All of Toby’s medical bills, rehabilitation, and future check-ups would be fully covered by the Reed Foundation. In exchange, I would move into the master bedroom, accompany Lucien to all public and family events, and maintain the public image of a deeply devoted couple.

There was a strict non-disclosure clause. If I breathed a word of this arrangement to anyone—including the press—I would forfeit everything and face legal action.

"No physical intimacy is required," Lucien added, his silver eyes locking onto mine, reading my expression with unsettling ease. "This is a marriage of convenience. We will share a suite for the sake of the staff and my grandfather's spies, but my private quarters are off-limits to you. We are partners in a contract, nothing more."

"And after the year is up?" I asked, my voice steadying.

"We file for a quiet, uncontested divorce," he replied simply. "You walk away with a generous settlement, enough to secure your brother’s future, and I keep my company. It’s a clean break."

I looked down at the signature line at the bottom of the page. Scarlett Hayes. Beside it was the space for his signature.

This was the boundary line between my old, desperate life and a new, gilded cage. I didn't care about the gold. I didn't care about the luxury. I just wanted my brother to breathe.

I clicked the gold pen. Without another second of hesitation, I pressed the nib to the paper and signed my name in a smooth, dark stroke.

I slid the paper and the pen back across the desk to him.

Lucien took the pen, his fingers brushing against mine for a brief, electric second. He didn't blink as he signed his own name next to mine, his signature sharp and jagged, like a blade.

He closed the folder, slid it into his desk drawer, and stood up. He walked around the desk, stopping right in front of my chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. When he clicked it open, a massive, flawless emerald-cut diamond ring caught the light of the study’s chandelier.

"Give me your hand, Scarlett," Lucien said.

I stood up and slowly extended my left hand. His fingers were warm and surprisingly gentle as he took my hand, sliding the heavy platinum band onto my ring finger. It fit perfectly, cold and heavy against my skin.

He let go of my hand, but his gaze remained locked onto mine.

"Welcome to the family, partner," Lucien said.