chapter 8

Isabella's POV

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, pressing my palms flat to the wood as if it could stop my thoughts from chasing me. My chest was tight, my heart hammering like I had just run a marathon. A proposal. A damn marriage proposal. Not even the romantic kind with flowers, a ring, or a man on one knee. No Julian’s version came wrapped in legal terms, dollar signs, and an expiration date.

I groaned, dragging both hands down my face. “Unbelievable.” Two weeks. I had only known this man for two weeks, and already he wanted me to play wife like it was some… some business transaction.

I started pacing the length of the room, my bare feet brushing against the cold marble floor. His words echoed in my mind. One million dollars every month. A house. A blank check when we divorce. The numbers alone made me dizzy. That kind of money could change my life. I could finally stop worrying about bills, stop hustling for scraps, stop being reminded every single day that I was nothing compared to people like Nathan and Sarah. My hands curled into fists at the memory of Nathan making love to my so-called best friend.

And now Julian, this arrogant, infuriating man, was offering me an escape. But at what cost?

“Sell your pride, Isabella,” I whispered bitterly to myself, staring at my reflection in the mirror across the room. My hair was still packed in a tight bun. I shook my head quickly, almost violently. “No. No, I can’t do it.”

The thought of marrying a man I barely knew even for money made my stomach twist. Marriage wasn’t supposed to be a contract. It wasn’t supposed to have an end date. And yet… what if this was my only chance?

I sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching a pillow to my chest. Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

That was when a knock sounded gently on the door. I quickly wiped my face with the pillow and straightened up.

“Come in,” I called, forcing my voice to sound steady.

Niles stepped inside, his usual calm smile in place.

“Sorry for disturbing you,” he said gently, “I just… needed some company.”

My brows lifted in surprise, but I gave him a small smile and gestured for him to sit.

Instead of sitting, he studied me quietly for a moment before asking, “Is anything wrong?”

“No,” I answered too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

But his eyes lingered on me, calm and sharp, as if he knew I was lying. The weight of his gaze made me shift uncomfortably.

“It must feel strange, living in such a big house,” he said.

I nodded. “It does. Honestly… does.”

And then, without pressing further, he gave me a polite nod and quietly left the room, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. I stared at the closed door, my heart heavy. Maybe pride doesn’t fill empty stomachs.

I didn’t sleep. No matter how many times I turned over, no matter how tightly I hugged the pillow, my mind refused to quiet down. Julian’s words clung to me like thorns, pricking me every time I tried to shut them out. A million dollars every month. A house. A blank check. What kept me awake wasn’t the money, it was the shame.

I pressed a hand over my chest, whispering into the dark ceiling. “Am I really considering this?” Marriage. A contract marriage, at that. I thought of the word and almost laughed bitterly. For a girl who once dreamed of falling in love, of being someone’s first and only choice, this felt like the cruelest joke. And yet, my empty pockets had their own voice. A loud, demanding voice that reminded me of every closed door, every insult, every rejection I had faced these past days.

By dawn, I gave up on sleep. Pulling a cardigan over my shoulders, I slipped out of the guest room and walked quietly down the hall. The house was silent, too silent for its size. My footsteps echoed faintly against the marble as I trailed my fingers along the walls. Everything gleamed: the chandeliers, the paintings, the vases that probably cost more than everything I had ever owned combined. How can someone have so much while I have so little?

I paused when I reached the end of the hall. A faint voice drifted from a half open door, the study.

Julian’s voice. Low and steady.

“No, that’s not acceptable. I don’t care what the board thinks. Handle it. And if they threaten me again, remind them who keeps this empire standing.”

I froze, hugging my cardigan tighter around me. His tone was icy, commanding, the kind of voice that could silence a room. It was so different from the rare moments I’d seen him soften, like the day he offered me that handkerchief. My heart squeezed painfully. That side of him felt like a distant memory.

I stepped back quickly before he noticed me, my slippers barely making a sound on the floor. Back in my room, I sank to the edge of the bed and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my hair a messy knot. I looked nothing like a girl who belonged here. Maybe Nathan was right. Maybe no one would ever love me. Maybe pride was all I had left and pride couldn’t keep me alive.

I swallowed hard and whispered to my reflection, “If this is the price I must pay… so be it.”

My legs trembled as I stood, but I forced myself forward. Step by step, down the hallway again, until I was standing before the study door. I raised my hand. And knocked. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, from inside, that low commanding voice I’d overheard earlier cut through the air:

“Come in.”

My breath hitched. I twisted the knob. The heavy door creaked as I pushed it open, and the study welcomed me with a quiet authority of its own. It wasn’t like the rest of the mansion, with its gleaming chandeliers and polished marble. This room was darker, quieter, bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes that smelled of leather and old money.

A single lamp glowed behind Julian’s desk, casting sharp shadows across his face. He was leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching me with those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to strip me bare. His dark curls fell over his forehead in that annoyingly perfect way… ugh, even when he looked like he hadn’t slept, he was still stupidly handsome.

“Why have you been hiding from me these past two weeks?” His voice was calm, but his eyes… sharp, as if he could see right through me.

My throat went dry. Hiding? Of course I had been hiding. After that ridiculous marriage proposal, what else was I supposed to do? But no way was I admitting that.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I muttered, rolling my eyes and hugging my arms. “I just… didn’t want to get in your way. You’re always stomping around like some grumpy CEO in a drama.”

For a moment, his lips twitched, almost like he was fighting a smirk. But then his face hardened again, unreadable, making me shift nervously where I stood.

He pushed himself off the desk and took a slow step closer, his voice dropping lower.

“Are you here because you’ve finally decided to accept my proposal?”

My jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?” I blinked at him, heat rushing to my cheeks. Did he just…?

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head.

“Wow. You really think highly of yourself, don’t you? I didn’t come here to give you an answer. I just came to…” My words trailed off, because honestly, why was I even here? He raised a brow, blue eyes gleaming with that irritating confidence.

I folded my arms, muttering under my breath, “Propose to me like I’m some item on clearance, and now act like I’ve been dying to say yes? Arrogant bastard.”

He gestured for me to sit, and before I could ask why, he reached into the drawer beside him and pulled out a thick envelope. He slid it across the table, his expression unreadable.

“What’s this?” I asked carefully.

“A contract.” His tone was sharp, businesslike. “Read it.”

My brows knitted as I unfolded the papers, eyes scanning line after line. Marriage. One year. Allowance. Alimony. Divorce. The words blurred together, my stomach twisting.

I snapped it shut, holding it against my chest like a shield.

“Okay, fine,” I said, lifting my chin. “But let me make one thing clear, I am not going to do anything sexual with you. Ever.”

For a moment, he said nothing. His blue eyes bored into me, then he leaned back in his chair and slowly scanned me from head to toe. My plain black maid dress. My scuffed shoes. The stubborn fire in my eyes that probably looked ridiculous to him. Finally, he scoffed.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re not even my type.”

The words hit harder than they should have, slicing straight through my pride. My mouth went dry, but I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as the heat of humiliation crawled up my neck.

“Good,” I whispered tightly. “Then we understand each other.”