CHAPTER 3

Michelle sat across from Raymond in his private office, her hands folded tightly in her lap as he slid a contract toward her. The thick document looked intimidating, the pages crisp and filled with legal jargon she barely understood.

“This outlines everything,” Raymond said smoothly, his fingers tapping the desk. “Terms, expectations, some rules , financial arrangements, go through it and sign.”

Michelle swallowed, staring at the contract as if it might jump up and bite her, she was fidgeting with the pen in her hand. This is insane. She was about to sign a marriage contract with a man she barely knew, a rich and powerful man feared by half of New York. A man every woman in the city wanted.

She hesitated. “You really had this drawn up already?”

Raymond’s lips curved slightly. “I had a feeling you’d come around.”

She exhaled sharply, gripping the pen he handed her. “Arrogant much?”

“Confident.”

Michelle shot him a glare, but he only smirked, clearly unbothered.

She flipped through the pages, scanning the terms. One year of marriage. No emotional involvement , no invasion of privacy, no sexual obligations.

Her face heated at that last part. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended.

Her fingers hovered over the paper. “And if I refuse?”

Raymond leaned back in his chair, his sharp blue eyes unwavering. “Then you’ll be back home and at your father’s mercy by morning.”

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t need a reminder of what awaited her if she walked out of this office. If she let this opportunity slide, she would never be free from her family's manipulation.

She stared at the contract, her heart hammering in her chest. She was about to make a deal with the devil.

And yet… wasn’t that better than being a prisoner in her own home?

With a deep breath, she pressed the pen to the paper and signed.

Raymond watched her, his expression unreadable.

“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

The next morning, Michelle woke up to a flurry of chaos.

She had barely stepped out of the house when she was met with flashing cameras, reporters shouting her name, and a mob of curious onlookers watching the show. The news of her engagement to Richard had somehow got out. Luckily, her parents and her twin had all gone out early and they weren't here to witness the chaos. She wouldn't know how to explain herself or deal with their anger if they were here.

“Michelle Davenport! Is it true you’re marrying Raymond Hawthorne?”

“Was this an arranged deal?”

“Are you in love?”

In love? She nearly choked.

Before she could answer, a sleek black car pulled up beside her, and the back door swung open.

“Get in.”

Raymond’s voice was calm but firm, cutting through the chaos like a knife.

Without thinking, she obeyed, sliding into the leather seat as he shut the door behind her.

The car sped off, leaving the reporters scrambling, trying to get answers and a picture of Raymond.

Michelle let out a breath. “That was—”

“Expected,” Raymond said, typing something on his phone. “The news broke this morning. We’re officially engaged.”

Her heart stuttered. “Just like that?”

He glanced at her, his expression cool. “You knew what you signed up for.”

Michelle slumped against the seat. “I didn’t expect to be ambushed before breakfast.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You’ll get used to it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you always enjoy making people suffer, or is that just a perk of your personality?”

Raymond chuckled—a low, deep sound that sent a strange shiver down her spine.

“I think I’m going to enjoy being married to you, Michelle.”

She groaned, pressing her palms against her face.

What had she gotten herself into? It was too late to regret now, she thought to herself.

An hour later, they arrived at one of New York’s most exclusive boutiques, where a team of stylists, makeup artists and designers were already lined up waiting for her.

Michelle glanced around, confused. “What are we doing here?” She asked, wondering what the big fuss was about .

Raymond adjusted his cufflinks. “You need a new wardrobe and a change of appearance”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You’re marrying me, Michelle. Your appearance has to reflect that.”

She scowled. “What’s wrong with the way I dress or look?”

Raymond arched a brow. “Do you want the list alphabetically or by level of severity?”

Michelle gasped. “You—you arrogant—” before she could complete the sentence…..

“Mr. Hawthorne!” A woman in a sleek black dress hurried forward, swaying her hips seductively—or at least, that’s what she intended. Instead, she looked like a duck with a sprained ankle. Beaming affectionately at Raymond. He found it amusing but he kept a blank expression. she added, "We've already prepared the selections based on your preferences.”

Raymond nodded , barely acknowledging her. “Good. Make sure she gets everything she needs.”

Michelle gawked at him annoyingly. “I can dress myself, thank you very much.”

Raymond leaned in, his voice low. “Consider this an investment. My wife should look the part.”

Her fingers clenched. “You mean like a doll you can dress up ?”

He smirked. “If the shoe fits.”

Michelle gritted her teeth. Oh, this man was impossible, he was getting on her nerves.

But as much as she wanted to argue, she knew one thing for certain—this was just the beginning of more unexpected things to come.

And if she thought signing the contract was the hard part, she had no idea what was coming next and she had a feeling she wasn't prepared for it.

Michelle stood stiffly as the boutique staff fluttered around her like a swarm of overly enthusiastic butterflies, draping her in fabrics she didn’t ask for and shoving designer heels at her feet.

“This one is divine, Mrs. Hawthorne,” a stylist gushed, holding up a sleek, emerald-green dress.

Mrs. Hawthorne.

The name sent a jolt through Michelle. It wasn’t official yet, but the world was already treating her like Raymond’s wife.

“Try it on,” Raymond’s voice commanded from behind her.

Michelle turned sharply, glaring at him. He had made himself comfortable on a plush leather couch, legs crossed, one arm lazily draped over the backrest. He looked like he owned the place—which, knowing him, he probably did.

“Do I have a choice?” she muttered under her breath.

Raymond smirked. “Not really.”

Michelle shot him a fierce look before snatching the dress from the stylist and marching into the fitting room. “If looks could kill, Raymond would already be six feet under.”

Raymond chuckled at her reaction, he found her interesting and was enjoying the little show she was putting up.

Two hours —including the time spent on her makeover and hair styling and three near-death experiences later—one from tripping over an extravagant gown, another from a zipper getting stuck, and the last from a pair of six-inch stilettos that almost broke her ankle—Michelle emerged in the emerald-green dress.

The boutique fell silent. Even the workers were astonished…She looked nothing like the person who stepped into the fitting room two hours ago.

Raymond’s gaze lifted from his phone, and for a brief second, something flickered in his icy blue eyes, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the woman staring back at him. He was speechless, a sudden possessive urge washed over him—he wanted to keep her to himself, to shield her from the eyes of other men. His body heated unexpectedly and he was surprised at his own reaction. It was still her, yet she looked like an entirely different person—more beautiful. Her skin glowed, her makeup was flawless, and her freshly trimmed and dyed hair was styled to perfection.

Michelle shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny and silence. “Well?” Did she look terrible? She thought to herself while waiting for his comment.

One of the stylists sighed dreamily. “You look breathtaking.”

Michelle turned to the mirror, expecting to roll her eyes at yet another overpriced outfit and makeover. But when she saw herself, she froze. She almost couldn't recognize the woman staring back at her

The dress fit her perfectly, hugging her perfect curves without being too revealing, the rich color bringing out the depth of her eyes. It was sophisticated, powerful—nothing like the simple, forgettable dresses she usually wore.

She almost didn’t recognize herself.

She turned back to Raymond, expecting a snide remark. But instead, he just studied her, his expression unreadable.

Then, he stood and adjusted the cuffs of his crisp black suit.

“We’ll take it,” he said.

Michelle blinked. “Wait—what? I didn’t even—”

“She likes it,” Raymond said smoothly, cutting her off. “That’s all that matters.”

Michelle opened her mouth to protest but stopped when she saw the boutique staff nodding in agreement.

“Excellent choice, Mr. Hawthorne.”

Michelle groaned. This man was insufferable. She loved what she saw and was going to take it anyway, but he should have waited for her approval at least.

By the time they left the boutique, Michelle was armed with a brand-new designer wardrobe, lot's of make up products from expensive brands , hair products for styling her new hair—and a headache.

As they stepped outside, Raymond’s driver gawked at Michelle, his mouth practically watering. Before he could embarrass himself further, Raymond shot him a withering glare. The man straightened so fast, it was a miracle his spine didn’t snap. But just as Michelle moved to get in the car, a sudden camera flash nearly blinded her.

“Michelle! Mr. Hawthorne!”

A swarm of reporters had gathered outside, microphones thrust forward, cameras clicking furiously, the light almost blinding them.

“Is this a love marriage or a business arrangement?”

“Michelle, are you prepared for life as Mrs. Hawthorne?”

“Raymond, what do you see in her?”

Michelle’s eye twitched at that last question. Rude.

Raymond, however, remained perfectly composed, adjusting his cufflinks before slipping an arm around Michelle’s waist.

Her breath hitched.

The reporters went wild.

“Mr. Hawthorne, is this an official confirmation?”

Raymond’s smirk was subtle but dangerous. “We’ll see you at the wedding.”

Michelle barely had time to react before he guided her into the car and shut the door behind them.

She turned to him, scowling. “What was that?!”

He leaned back against the seat. “Damage control.”

Michelle crossed her arms. “I don’t need you handling me like some PR project.”

Raymond’s gaze flickered to her lips for a full one minute before he smirked. He found it difficult to take his eyes off her plump , glossy lips.

“You’re going to be my wife, Michelle,” he said smoothly. “You better get used to the attention and fame”

Michelle exhaled sharply, looking out the window as the city skyline blurred past.

She wasn’t just stepping into a contract.

She was stepping into a new life she wasn’t sure she could survive.

And from the way Raymond was watching her—like a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out—she had a feeling this was just the beginning of many unexpected things to come and everything was moving so fast.