Untitled Episode
1136 Words
Diana pov
"Good day, ma'am. You must be Miss Diana Hamilton." A man dressed in a sharp black suit speaks the moment he reaches my table.
"Yes, I am," I say, looking up.
"Please, right this way. Mr. Blake is waiting in the VIP lounge."
The VIP lounge? My forehead creases in confusion. Chloe never mentioned anything about a private area, but she was so firm when setting this up. “You must not refuse this one, Diana,” she had insisted.
I stand up and follow him into the hotel elevator, watching the floor numbers light up one by one as we rise toward the top.
I smooth down my dress, my stomach twisting into nervous knots. I barely remember the name of the man Chloe said I was meeting tonight. She's arranged so many dates for me since my publishing company threatened to drop me
The publishing house had approached me because of the success of my previous novels. They picked me for the job based on my talent, but there's a huge problem: I write romance, but I'm terrible at writing intimate scenes, which I've always avoided in the past. But this new contract demands them.
My editor rejected my last draft, and if my revision fails, I’ll lose the contract and have to pay back money I’ve already spent on my aunt’s house mortgage. Losing that house isn't an option. It's the only real home my family has left.
That’s why Chloe keeps setting me up. She thinks experiencing real passion will fix my writing. The truth is, I’ve dated before, but I’ve never felt that electric spark people talk about.
The heavy door opens.
"Mr. Blake is sitting over there," the man says softly.
I step inside, and my feet freeze.
He looks nothing like the guys Chloe usually finds for me.
He sits across the room in a dark, perfectly tailored suit. His dark hair is neatly styled, and his sharp jawline looks like it was carved from marble. He looks completely relaxed, sitting there as if he owns the entire building.
The cold, powerful air around him makes the room feel small.
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force my feet to move. Chloe sent me here, I remind myself besides its the third date this week.
"Good evening, Mr. Blake," I greet, using the name the guard mentioned earlier.
"Good evening, Miss Hamilton. Please, sit," he says, pointing toward the empty chair across from him. His voice is deep, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth.
I sit down, my palms sweating against my knees.
"I don't have much time," he says, sliding a thick leather file across the table before I can even break the ice. "Here is the contract. I believe you already know the terms. Read through it and sign."
My brows pull together. A contract? Chloe said this was just a date!
I open the folder anyway. Formal black print stares back at me from the white page:
TERMS OF THE ARRANGEMENT
No Romantic Relationship — Zero emotional dependency, affection, or future together.
My breath hitches. "What do you mean, no romantic relationship?"
"It means this arrangement is strictly physical," he replies, his dark eyes meeting mine without a flinch. "We do not expect feelings from each other."
Panic spikes in my chest. Is this really the kind of experience Chloe signed me up for?
My eyes dart down to the rest of the text:
Exclusivity — Neither party may date, sleep with, or pursue other partners during the term.
Absolute Discretion — No interfering in Blake's personal life, and complete confidentiality regarding the arrangement.
Four-Month Duration — The arrangement automatically terminates after four months.
"If you agree, you can sign," his cold voice interrupts my racing thoughts. "I don't have all day, Miss Hamilton. You can send your account details for your upfront payment."
"Payment?" I blurt out, my voice squeaking. "Payment for what?"
He lets out an impatient sigh, checking his wristwatch. "I thought you already discussed this with my PA. It's payment for your services. Turn to the last page and look at the financial terms."
With trembling fingers, I flip to the back page.
The numbers on the paper leave me completely breathless. The upfront payment alone was more than enough to clear the mortgage and pay the legal costs of fighting my aunt's case. My throat goes dry. I desperately need this money to save my family and the experience might fix my writing career. But why is a stranger offering me this kind of cash?
Walk away, a quiet voice inside my head whispers. This is crazy.
I stare at the signature line, my chest tight with indecision. I would never sign something like this with a complete stranger, but Chloe wouldn't deliberately put me in danger. If she arranged this meeting, surely there had to be an explanation.
Trusting her judgment, I take the pen and sign my name.
"I really must get to my meeting," Mr. Blake says, pushing back his chair. His imposing figure towers over the table as he buttons his jacket. "My PA will handle the transfer."
He walks out without looking back. Half a dozen men who were sitting quietly in the corners of the room stand up in unison and fall into line behind him—not restaurant guests, but his private security detail.
Another man in a dark suit approaches me, holding a digital tablet. "Your bank details, Miss?"
My hands shake as I read out my account number. Seconds later, my phone vibrates in my palm.
A notification pops up on my screen: Deposit Confirmed. A massive, life-changing sum of money sits in my account.
"Have a good day, Miss," the assistant says with a polite bow, taking his tablet and leaving me alone in the heavy silence of the room.
My legs feel like jelly as I collapse back into the chair, trying to make sense of the madness.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It's a text message from Chloe. Thank goodness.
She must have an explanation for all of this.
I open the message, my eyes racing across the screen:
Chloe: “So sorry Diana! John just texted me—he can't make it to the date today. He had an urgent meeting and apologizes for standing you up!”
The phone slips from my numb fingers and crashes onto the carpet below.
If my date stood me up... then who did I just sign a contract with?
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