A Convenient Offer

I stared at Noah Sterling.

Remember him?

I searched my memory, trying to place his face anywhere other than a television screen or a billboard.

Nothing.

"I'm sorry," I said flatly. "I don't."

A low, easy chuckle escaped him. He explained softly that we had been friends back at the orphanage before the Sterlings adopted him. I studied his face, trying to picture him in the dusty courtyard, but my mind remained a complete blank.

"Don't worry," he added, his dark eyes softening. "We were just kids."

"Perhaps we could discuss your childhood another time," Cesar interrupted, settling into an armchair. "We're here to discuss marriage, aren't we?"

"A potential betrothal," I corrected coldly.

"Same difference," Cesar smirked. "Why not skip the engagement and simply get married right away?"

We had known each other for approximately five minutes, and he was already making my skin crawl. He was a definite no—not even for a purely transactional engagement, much less a marriage.

Cesar pulled out his phone, turning the screen toward me. Ethan’s face filled the display—sitting in a softly lit room, looking genuinely heartbroken. It was a masterclass in performance.

"Jasmine and I shared everything," Ethan said into the camera, his voice tight with fake emotion. "I watched her struggle for years. I wanted to help her succeed, but when she realized she couldn't match Vivienne’s brilliant work on the intelligence draft, she took a shortcut. She copied Vivienne's files. I tried to stop her, but..." He paused, swallowing hard, looking down as if carrying the weight of the world. "I just hope she gets the help she needs."

A cold, nauseating quiet settled in my chest. He wasn't just stealing my work—he was rewriting our entire history, framing my years of endless studying as the desperate spiral of an untalented cheat. He took every late night we shared and weaponized it.

Cesar scrolled through thousands of live comments calling me a fraud, a leech, and a pathetic fake. "He's posted several statements. This one's going viral."

The second the clip ended, I turned on my heel and left the room without a word.

I walked down the hall to my room, grabbed my laptop, and retrieved my encrypted external hard drive containing every raw data log, timestamped draft, and video recording of my research.

When I returned a minute later, Sebastian stood near the door, stretching lazily.

"I'm withdrawing," Sebastian announced. "No offense, but my reputation matters. I won't tie myself to a plagiarism scandal."

"Understandable," I replied evenly.

He paused, looking surprised. "You're not offended?"

"You're free to choose who you marry," I said. "So am I."

He paused, looking a little troubled, as if re-evaluating his stance based on my response. But in the end, he turned and walked out.

One down.

Ignoring Cesar, I opened my laptop on the coffee table. The candidate portal had finally updated: Appeal Submission: Open.

I attached my encrypted archive—months of grueling, meticulously cataloged work—and hit submit.

Status: Evidence Received. Case Pending Review.

I closed the laptop lid with a snap. "The people who actually need to know I'm innocent have received the evidence."

Madam Marsh’s eyes narrowed, demanding to know why I hadn't consulted her first. Beside the window, Victor hid a faint, approving smirk.

Cesar scoffed, adjusting his cuffs. "Marry me anyway, and the Sterling name will make the story disappear overnight. It doesn't matter if you're innocent—that's how the world works."

"Not my world," I said flatly. "I'm not marrying you."

His jaw tightened. He barked a warning to Madam Marsh about my attitude, turned on his heel, and was about to walk out. But at the last second, he stopped, returned, and sat back down like he was settling in to watch a show, smirking as if he'd already won.

Just what had been offered to them to make him this desperate to marry?

Noah stepped forward from the window. "I have a proposal. Not marriage—just an engagement."

His tone was calm, but his gaze was intense. As if anticipating I might walk away, he spoke in a deliberate, measured cadence that forced me to listen.

"Our families want us engaged," Noah said quietly. "Neither of us wants to get married right now. Why not accept the betrothal, get them off our backs, and continue living our lives? We don't have to get married—that's not what this is. It's purely an image clause they're looking for to elevate both families. You win something, I win something. I'm not demanding forever, just your time."

He was actually right. We would both be gaining something, and I desperately needed the plant for Brandon. I would have accepted Cesar if it meant saving Brandon's life, but Noah? He was offering a simple front for the time being.

"An eternal engagement?"

"A convenient one."

A tiny spark of amusement tugged at my lips. "And what do you expect from me?"

"Nothing beyond the title. We establish our boundaries, but I won't expect you to act like my girlfriend."

"I have conditions," I stated firmly. "No set wedding date, no binding marriage contract, and no decisions about my future without my consent. Either of us can walk away whenever we want."

"Agreed," Noah said without hesitation.

I glanced at Victor. He looked grim, but he didn't intervene.

I turned to Madam Marsh, demanding Nathan get the plant samples verified today. When she gave a single, satisfied nod, I looked back at Noah.

"I accept."

Noah extended his hand. "Partners?"

I took it, his grip warm and steady. "Partners."

I walked him to the front door, an unfamiliar awkwardness settling over me. Catching my hesitation, Noah offered a charming smile, told me a simple goodbye was enough, and stepped out onto the porch.

Before heading down the steps, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "For what it's worth... I'm glad you chose me."

I watched him walk away, puzzling over the quiet intensity in his voice.

When I returned to the sitting room, Madam Marsh was smoothing down her skirt, looking entirely too pleased with the outcome.

"The plant," I demanded, cutting straight through her silence.

Her smile faltered slightly. She informed me that the Sterling family was hosting a formal gala tomorrow evening to publicly announce the engagement—and my presence was required.

When I flatly refused to attend a ball, Madam Marsh met my glare with unyielding steel.

"Attend the gala, Jasmine, and the plant is yours."