A CONTRACT MARRIAGE

Chapter3_The Offer

Gwynne sat stiffly in the back seat, her fingers cold and trembling against her knees. Her thoughts ran wild — Were they going to kill her? Hide her somewhere? Sell her organs?

Her breath hitched as the car slowed to a stop.

This is it, she thought miserably. My end.

But when she dared to look out the window, her eyes widened in confusion.

They weren’t in an alley or an abandoned building. They were parked in front of a towering glass building — modern, pristine, and glowing with soft golden lights. A large sign gleamed near the entrance: St. Claire Medical Center.

“A hospital?” she whispered.

The car door opened, and one of Damien’s men gestured for her to step out.

“Why… why are we here?” she asked nervously, her voice trembling. “Are you going to… do something to me? Or—oh my God—are you going to sell my organs?”

The guard blinked, expressionless. “Please, miss. Just come with us.”

That didn’t sound comforting at all. But with no other choice, she followed them through the clean white halls, her shoes echoing softly against the floor. Nurses passed by, casting curious glances at the strange group being escorted by men in suits.

Gwynne’s heart pounded harder with every step until they stopped in front of a private room.

One of the guards opened the door.

And Gwynne froze.

Inside, lying on the bed with an oxygen tube on his nose, was the old man from the street. The one she’d helped. His face was pale but gentle, and sitting beside him in a crisp black suit was none other than Damien Cole — the man who had accused her, ordered her capture, and scared her half to death.

He looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, then turned his gaze back to the old man.

What are they up to now? she wondered anxiously.

But before she could speak, the old man’s eyes brightened when he saw her. “You!” he exclaimed, smiling warmly. He slowly pushed himself up, ignoring the nurse’s protest. “My dear girl, it’s you!”

Gwynne blinked, startled. “Sir?”

“I must apologize,” he said, his voice filled with genuine remorse. “I heard what happened — my grandson was… a little too quick to act.”

Her eyes darted toward Damien, who sat silently beside the bed, his jaw tight and eyes fixed on the floor.

The old man continued kindly, “I’m Chase Cole. And this,” he gestured toward the silent figure beside him, “is my grandson, Damien Cole.”

Gwynne’s eyes widened. Cole? She’d heard that name before — Cole Enterprises, one of the most powerful companies in the city.

Mr. Chase gave her an apologetic smile. “I’ve already explained everything to Damien — that you were simply helping me when I slipped and made a mess of things. I’m deeply sorry you were treated so unfairly.”

She blinked, still trying to process everything. “It’s… alright, sir. I understand. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Still,” Mr. Chase said gently, “you didn’t have to help me, yet you did. That speaks a lot about your character.”

She smiled awkwardly, rubbing her hands together. “It was nothing, really.”

He chuckled. “Oh, it was something.” Then his tone softened. “And, by the way… you dropped something when you were helping me.”

He reached for the bedside table and picked up a folded paper. It was her résumé — slightly crumpled, but still neatly written.

Her eyes widened. “Oh! I thought I lost that!”

Mr. Chase nodded. “I happened to read it.”

Gwynne blushed, feeling her cheeks heat. “You… read my résumé?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling kindly. “You’re looking for a job to support your college education. That’s very admirable.”

Gwynne’s voice softened. “My parents can’t afford my tuition right now. Our farm failed because of a pest infestation, and… I just wanted to help them get back on their feet.”

Mr. Chase looked at her with both pity and respect. “You remind me of someone I once knew — hardworking, selfless, and far too young to carry such burdens.”

Then, after a pause, he said, “Miss Sinclair, I’d like to offer you a job.”

She blinked. “A job?”

“Yes.” His smile grew. “I need someone trustworthy, kind, and patient. I’d like you to become my grandson’s personal assistant.”

Gwynne’s mouth fell open. “His… assistant?” She glanced at Damien, who was now standing behind his grandfather, arms crossed.

Before she could say another word, Damien’s cold voice sliced through the room.

“I don’t need a personal assistant,” he said icily. “Especially not her.”

The air went still.

“Damien,” Mr. Chase said sharply.

But his grandson didn’t even look at him. His gaze was fixed on Gwynne — hard, accusing, and unreadable.

“I don’t trust random strangers who appear out of nowhere,” Damien continued, his voice low. “She could’ve been anyone. For all we know, she planned this from the start.”

Gwynne’s heart clenched. “That’s not true—”

He cut her off, his tone turning colder. “Keep your excuses. I don’t want or need help from someone like you.”

Mr. Chase frowned deeply. “Damien Cole, that’s enough.”

But Damien didn’t answer. He turned and strode out of the room, leaving only silence behind him.

Gwynne stood frozen, unsure whether to cry or run.

Mr. Chase sighed, shaking his head with a sad smile. “Please, don’t mind him. He’s not as heartless as he seems… though he’s certainly trying his best to be.”

He turned back to her kindly. “Miss Sinclair, the offer still stands. Would you consider working for me — and perhaps, help my stubborn grandson remember what kindness looks like?”

Gwynne hesitated, her mind swirling.

A few hours ago, she’d thought her life was over.

Now, she was being offered a job by one of the richest men in the city.

Maybe… fate wasn’t done with her yet.

The silence that followed Damien’s exit felt heavy. Gwynne stood awkwardly by the door, her hands twisting together as she tried to find the right words.

Mr. Chase gave her a gentle smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “He may seem cold, my dear, but Damien has his reasons. Still, I can assure you he’s a good man — just… a little lost at the moment.”

Gwynne bit her lip. “Mr. Chase, I appreciate your kindness. Really, I do. You’ve already done enough just by believing me after everything that happened.”

He raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more. “But…?”

She looked down, her voice quiet but firm. “But I don’t think I can work for someone like your grandson.”

Mr. Chase blinked, surprised. “May I ask why?”

Gwynne took a deep breath, trying to sound respectful but honest. “Because he’s… emotionless, rude, and arrogant,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself. “He didn’t even listen to me when I tried to explain. I can’t imagine being around someone who looks at me like I’m a criminal every time I breathe.”

For a moment, Mr. Chase just stared at her — and then, to her shock, he laughed softly.

“You’re a brave one, Miss Sinclair,” he said warmly. “It’s been a long time since anyone dared to describe my grandson that honestly.”

Gwynne’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, sir. It’s just… I came to the city to find work, yes, but not at the cost of my sanity.”

Mr. Chase nodded slowly, understanding. “I see. Still, I had hoped you might be the one to teach that boy a lesson in humility.”

“I think that’s a challenge for someone much stronger than me,” she said with a small, nervous laugh.

Mr. Chase’s kind eyes softened. “You remind me of my late wife. She was headstrong, too.”

Gwynne smiled shyly but stepped back slightly. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Chase. Really. But I’ll have to decline. I need to find something more… peaceful.”

“I understand,” he said gently, though there was a hint of disappointment in his tone. He reached to the bedside table, took a small silver card case, and pulled out a crisp white calling card.

He handed it to her. “Here. Just in case you change your mind.”

Gwynne hesitated, then accepted it carefully. The card was elegant and simple — Chase Cole, Cole Enterprises — embossed in gold letters.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Mr. Chase smiled. “Something tells me our paths will cross again, Miss Sinclair. When they do, I hope it’s under kinder circumstances.”

Gwynne nodded, tucking the card into her bag. “I hope so too.”

As she turned to leave the hospital room, she cast one last glance at Mr. Chase — the man whose life she had accidentally stepped into.

Walking down the hall, her heart felt oddly heavy. She should have been relieved to be free… but somehow, she couldn’t stop thinking about those cold gray eyes that had looked at her with such anger and distrust.

She sighed. “Good riddance, Damien Cole,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m done with your mess.”

But deep down, a small voice whispered — or maybe, your story with him is only just beginning.