carrying the billionaire secrets

Chapter 3- The Contract

The meeting is set for Friday at a private office downtown. I wear my only decent dress, the same black one from the fundraiser, because nothing else fits the part. The receptionist leads me to a glass-walled conference room on the fortieth floor.

A man stands with his back to me, looking out at the city. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. When he turns, the world tilts.

I know that jaw. I know the shape of that mouth even without a mask covering the rest.

Theo Winslow. CEO of Winslow Aerotech. The face that has been on the business pages for the past two years. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable.

He looks at me the way he looked at the room that night. Like he already owns whatever he is seeing.

“Miss Bellamy,” he says. His voice is the same low sound that told me to look at him while he was inside me. “Please sit.”

I sit because my knees are no longer reliable.

He slides a thick folder across the table. “The terms are straightforward. Twelve months. Shared residence. Public appearances as required. No emotional expectations. At the end of the year the marriage is dissolved and you receive the full payment.”

I open the folder. The numbers are real. The legal language is dense. My name is already typed in several places.

“Why me?” I ask.

“Your bakery is in distress. You need capital. I need a temporary wife who will not cause complications.” His gaze does not soften. “You fit.”

He does not recognize me. The masks worked. The low light worked. I am just another desperate woman to him.

I should tell him about the baby. The words sit on my tongue and refuse to leave.

Instead I look at the final page. The signature line waits.

If I sign, the bakery survives. The baby will have a roof and medical care. My father’s debt disappears.

If I walk away, everything ends in two weeks.

Theo waits without speaking. The city stretches behind him like something he could buy if he wanted.

I pick up the pen.

The tip touches the paper.

Somewhere under my ribs the bean of a baby shifts, or maybe that is only fear.

I sign my name.

Theo takes the folder, checks the signature, and nods once. “The ceremony is Monday. Pack whatever you need. A car will collect you at eight.”

He stands. The meeting is over.

I walk out of the glass room on legs that feel borrowed. The elevator doors close. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls.

Married in three days to the man who does not know he is the father of my child.

The doors open on the lobby. I step out into the bright afternoon and already feel the noose of the contract tightening around my throat.

Monday cannot come soon enough.

And I am terrified of what happens when it does.