chapter 2 - the contract

Voss Tower rose from the city like a monument to power.

Isabella stood across the street, neck craned upward, staring at the glass-and-steel structure that pierced the winter sky. The building seemed less like an office and more like a warning. Cold. Untouchable. Watching.

This is real, she told herself.

Her fingers curled tighter around her coat as she crossed the street and stepped through the revolving doors.

Warmth wrapped around her instantly, along with silence so thick it pressed against her ears. The lobby was vast, all marble floors and muted lighting, the kind of place where voices lowered themselves automatically. A few people moved through the space, polished and purposeful, their shoes whispering against the floor.

No one looked at her twice.

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or offended.

“Mrs. Voss.”

Isabella turned sharply.

A woman in a tailored navy suit stood near the reception desk, tablet in hand. Her smile was professional, practiced.

“I’m Clara,” the woman said. “Mr. Voss asked me to escort you.”

Mrs. Voss.

The title landed strangely in Isabella’s chest.

She followed Clara toward a private elevator tucked discreetly behind a frosted glass wall. As the doors slid shut, Isabella caught her reflection in the mirrored interior. She barely recognized herself. Same face. Same eyes. But something in her expression had hardened overnight.

The elevator ascended smoothly, numbers climbing faster than her pulse could settle.

“Thirty-ninth floor,” Clara said. “Private access only.”

Of course it was.

The doors opened into silence.

The penthouse didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a controlled environment. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a painting, distant and unreal. Everything gleamed. Glass. Chrome. Dark wood polished to perfection.

Alexander stood near the windows, his back to them, phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “No, not yet. Keep digging.”

He ended the call and turned.

“You’re early,” he said.

“I didn’t want to be late,” Isabella replied.

His gaze flicked over her, quick and unreadable. He wore a charcoal suit, crisp and flawless, as if chaos had never touched him.

“Good,” he said. “We need to talk.”

Clara set a slim folder on the desk and excused herself, the elevator swallowing her presence seconds later.

Isabella suddenly felt very alone.

Alexander gestured toward the desk. “Sit.”

She did.

The folder stared back at her, thick and intimidating.

“The contract,” he said. “You signed the marriage license last night. This covers everything else.”

“Everything else,” she repeated.

He opened the folder and slid it toward her.

Confidentiality agreements. Non-disclosure clauses. Media conduct. Personal boundaries. Financial arrangements. Exit conditions.

Her eyes skimmed the pages, heart pounding harder with each line.

“This isn’t a marriage,” she said quietly. “It’s a containment plan.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s protection.”

“For who?” she asked.

“For both of us.”

She looked up at him. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” he replied evenly.

At least he was honest.

“And the six months?” she asked. “Is that still real?”

“Yes.”

“And after that?”

“You leave with everything promised.”

She swallowed. “And if I don’t want to?”

A pause.

Alexander studied her carefully, as if she had just stepped outside the role he had assigned her.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Something about his answer unsettled her.

She flipped another page and froze.

“Restrictions?” she asked. “Curfews? Security clearance? I can’t leave without notifying your head of security?”

“There are threats,” he said simply.

“You didn’t mention threats.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Her fingers curled against the paper. “You said this was simple.”

“I said it was necessary.”

She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “My mother?”

“Her treatment has begun,” he said. “She was moved to a private room this morning.”

Relief crashed through her so suddenly her eyes burned.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Alexander looked away.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “You paid for it.”

The words stung, even if they were true.

He closed the folder. “You’ll have your own rooms. Your privacy will be respected.”

She almost laughed. Privacy in a glass tower guarded by men with guns.

“The press conference is tomorrow,” he continued. “You’ll stand beside me. Smile. Answer nothing.”

“And if they ask how we met?”

“We met through mutual acquaintances,” he said smoothly. “Anything personal stays vague.”

She nodded slowly. “You’ve done this before.”

His expression flickered.

“No,” he said. “I haven’t.”

Silence settled between them.

Isabella rose and walked toward the windows. The city stretched endlessly below, cars moving like ants, people unaware that her life had just been rewritten.

“Do you ever look down there,” she asked, “and wonder what it’s like to be normal?”

Alexander joined her, standing just far enough away to feel deliberate.

“I was never normal,” he said.

She turned to him. “You could’ve chosen anyone.”

“I chose you.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer.

“Because you didn’t recognize me as an opportunity,” he said quietly. “You looked at me like I was just another man.”

She let out a breath. “That’s because I was drowning.”

His gaze softened briefly, then hardened again.

“That’s exactly why this will work.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She stiffened.

Alexander noticed immediately. “Answer it.”

She pulled it out.

Unknown number.

Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t open it.

“Isabella,” Alexander said sharply.

She hesitated, then unlocked the screen.

MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE.

Her pulse spiked.

If you want to know why he really married you.

She locked the screen.

“What is it?” Alexander asked.

“Spam,” she lied.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. “If anyone contacts you, you tell me.”

“I just told you it’s nothing.”

“Nothing becomes something very quickly in my world.”

A chill crept up her spine.

“Is that a warning,” she asked, “or a threat?”

His voice dropped. “It’s survival.”

She stepped away from him, suddenly needing distance.

“I want air,” she said. “I need to walk.”

“You can’t.”

Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“Not alone,” he corrected. “Not yet.”

She laughed bitterly. “So this is it. I traded one hospital room for a golden cage.”

“That cage is keeping you alive.”

She met his gaze, defiant. “You don’t get to decide that.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, he nodded once. “We’ll talk later.”

She retreated to the guest suite assigned to her, closing the door with more force than necessary.

The room was beautiful. Neutral tones. Soft lighting. A bed that looked untouched by human weight.

Isabella sat on the edge of it, heart racing.

Her phone buzzed again.

He’s lying.

Her breath caught.

Ask him about the will. Ask him who else benefits if he fails.

She stared at the screen, fear curling tight in her chest.

Somewhere beyond the glass walls, a car engine hummed.

Waiting.

And for the first time since signing the contract, Isabella understood something terrifying.

Marriage wasn’t a danger.

The secrets were.