CHAPTER TWO
1274 Words
The Hidden Clause
Ryan slammed the folder shut, her hands trembling.
“This is a joke,” she said quietly. “Tell me this is a joke.”
Across from her, Lilian Wills, the family’s long-time estate attorney, didn’t blink. “I wish I could, Ryan, but it is what it is.”
They sat in a private legal suite on the 46th floor—far from the boardroom, but not far enough from her father’s reach.
“You’re saying my grandfather—a man who built this company from nothing—wrote into his will that I have to be *married* to take over Salvador Global?”
Lilian nodded. “Married and reputably stable. It’s a conditional clause. Quietly buried in a sub-section of the original trust.”
Ryan rubbed her temple. “What does that even mean? ‘Reputably stable’?”
“Married in good public standing. No scandal. No temporary arrangements.” Lilian looked at her gently. “Your father knew about this. I believe he’s been counting on it.”
“Of course he has.” Ryan stood, pacing. “He didn’t think I’d ever agree to marry Richardo, but now he doesn’t ‘need’ me to. He just needs me to fail this clause.”
“Without fulfilling it,” Lilian said carefully, “you can’t assume full executive control. Even with the board’s support. This has been in the criteria for attaining the position and it has to be respected.”
Ryan stopped pacing.
“So basically, I either marry someone fast… or Nelly becomes the fallback heir. This is funny. Like it sounds so funny.”
Lilian didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Ryan let out a dry laugh. “This whole company is being held hostage by a dead man’s idea of tradition. This is the 21st century. They shouldn't use such a phrase as a tradition.”
The city lights shimmered behind the frosted glass wall, casting fractured shadows across the polished oak table. Ryan's reflection stared back at her, a blur of anger, disbelief, and fatigue.
“You know,” she muttered, “when I was fourteen, my grandfather told me I had the sharpest mind he'd ever seen in a boardroom. I was going to lead this company into a new era. And now? Now, I'm disqualified unless I find a husband?”
“I know,” Lilian said softly. “He never anticipated your father turning that clause into a weapon. But legally, it stands.”
Ryan leaned heavily on the edge of the table. “What am I supposed to do? Find someone on the street and beg them to fake a life with me? Walk into a bar and propose to the first guy in a suit?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” Lilian slid a discreet black folder across the table. “There is one… possible solution. It might be your answer to all this.”
Ryan eyed it warily. “What is this?”
“It’s a firm that handles reputation-based crisis control. Quietly. Legally. Effectively. Come take a look at it.”
Ryan flipped it open. There was no name on the cover. Just a matte-black card inside with a phone number and a Latin phrase: *f****m Vincit Omnia* — *Fabrication conquers all.*
Her brow arched. “This is a fake marriage agency.”
“A contract partner service,” Lilian corrected. “They craft long-term agreements for public and corporate benefit. Ironclad NDAs. Tailored stories. Full background fabrication. Nothing illegal.”
Ryan hesitated, weighing the impossible with the unthinkable. “And you’re telling me this is my best option? Mrs. Lilian?”
Lilian gave her a look. “You have six months and a clause that demands perfection. Yes, this is your best option—unless you have another plan.”
Ryan sat back down, feeling the weight of the decision settle on her shoulders like armor.
“Fine,” she said. “Set up a consultation.”
---
Three hours later, Ryan sat in a private lounge above a nondescript tower in Alpha Detroit. Dim lighting. No receptionist. Just a discreet voice from a hidden speaker.
“Miss Salvador,” the voice called out to her. “Due to the unique conditions of your case—and the media risk involved—our list of viable matches has narrowed.”
A sleek, transparent screen slid to life in front of her, the names blurred except for one, which hovered in the center like a target.
Ryan crossed her legs. “How narrow are we talking?”
“One.”
She blinked. “One?”
“One candidate. Fully vetted. Background secured. No criminal history. No active ties to major corporations. Former military intelligence. Clean but… unconventional.”
“Name?”
A pause. Then:
**“Mason Hale.”**
The name landed with unexpected weight.
Ryan frowned. “That sounds made up.”
“It isn’t.”
“Is he aware of what this arrangement requires? Has he been briefed?”
“He’s been briefed. His terms are non-negotiable. He doesn’t do more than one contract at a time. And his availability ends at the close of this week.”
Ryan exhaled slowly. “Why does he do this?”
Another pause.
She shouldn't be concerned about why he does that kind of job, she just couldn't help but get to know why he is taking up her case.
“Because people like you need someone like him. And he doesn’t mind being needed. As long as his conditions are being met.”
Ryan glanced down at the folder in her lap. Mason Hale stared up at her. Broad shoulders. Serious eyes. Military file tone. Clean-shaven. Zero social media footprint.
Everything about him screamed *warning.*
And somehow… exactly what she needed.
She turned her gaze back to the screen. Beneath Mason’s photo, there were sparse details—a military commendation from an operation that was still classified, three languages spoken fluently, one honorable discharge, and a note: *No personal affiliations. No prior contracts in media-visible domains.*
“What’s his price?” she asked, tone flat.
“He doesn’t work for money,” the voice replied. “His requirements are different.”
Ryan narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘different.’”
“Exclusive autonomy within the relationship boundaries. No interference from your legal team. He constructs half the narrative, controls exit terms, and requires a private residence.”
“A private residence?” she echoed. “As in we… live together?”
“For the story to hold under pressure,” the voice said calmly, “yes.”
A deep silence fell between her and the screen. Ryan pressed her fingertips together, thinking.
She wasn’t afraid of difficult men. She’d been raised by one. Surrounded by them. She knew how to navigate pride, ego, and secrets. But something about Mason Hale didn’t feel like just another calculated risk.
He felt… untouchable.
“What if I say no?”
“Then the opportunity is passed. And the next available candidate won’t arrive within your timeline. You have five days left to announce your intent.”
Ryan swallowed hard. In the grand scheme of Salvador Global, her legacy, her entire life—five days felt like a cruel joke.
But she’d played harder games with worse odds.
She looked back at Mason’s picture.
Unsmiling. Mysterious. Waiting.
“Set the meeting,” she said quietly.
Because if the world wanted her to play the perfect wife—she’d play it better than anyone.
Even if it meant making a deal with a man who didn’t exist until now.
- Writer
