A DEAL WITH MR HEARTBREAKER

Chapter4

The drive to the estate felt longer than it should have.

I sat in the back of a sleek black car that they had sent to pick me up almost instantly, my damp clothes clinging to my skin. The driver, silent and expressionless, hadn't spoken a word since I got in.

I clenched my hands in my lap, my stomach twisting. I had no idea who I was meeting. The email had been simple. Come to this address. An opportunity awaits.

I should’ve been suspicious. But I had nothing left to lose.

The car pulled through iron gates, winding down a long, lantern-lit driveway lined with cherry blossom trees. The rain had stopped, leaving the world washed clean, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and jasmine.

It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even. But there was something wrong with it.

Too perfect. Too carefully designed.

A cage wrapped in gold.

The car slowed to a stop in front of an exclusive lounge.

A woman dressed in black opened the door before I could move. “Miss Sinclair. This way.”

I hesitated, then stepped out.

The woman led me through the entrance—a stunning glass structure that opened into a sprawling indoor garden. Everything smelled like roses and citrus, the soft hum of water trickling from a marble fountain in the center.

It felt like stepping into another world.

I followed her past twisting vines and flowering archways, my shoes sinking into the plush carpeted path.

“Where am I?” I finally asked.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stopped at a side door and gestured inside. “You’ll find everything you need here. Change into the clothes provided.”

My brows furrowed. “I don’t understand—”

The door shut behind me.

I exhaled slowly, turning around.

The room was lavish, with walls lined with dark wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a moonlit garden. A set of clothes lay neatly folded on the bed—a simple black dress, delicate but elegant.

I should have questioned it. But exhaustion tugged at me, and I couldn’t show up looking like a drowned, broken woman.

I showered quickly, washing away the cold and the blood. When I stepped out, the dress fit perfectly, clinging to my body in a way that felt almost intentional.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

I took a breath, then opened it.

The woman from before stood there. She inclined her head. “This way.”

I followed her through a maze of corridors until we reached a grand dining hall. The air inside was warm, laced with the scent of aged wine and wood smoke.

A figure stood by the fireplace, his back turned to me.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair, neatly styled.

He turned.

And my heart stopped.

Ronan Cade.

I went still.

It couldn’t be.

This had to be some sick joke.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Not him.

Not the boy who used to make my life a living hell.

The one who had shoved my books off my desk in high school, whispered cruel things in my ear, smirked when I tried not to cry.

The one I had spent years trying to forget.

But now—

He was here.

In a suit worth more than my parents’ house, his silver cufflinks glinting in the firelight.

He didn’t look like the careless, smirking boy from high school anymore.

He looked like a man who owned the world.

His gaze flicked over me, slow, assessing.

Then he smirked. That same goddamn smirk.

I stiffened.

“Aria Sinclair,” he murmured, his voice deep, unshaken. “It’s been a long time.”

I forced my chin up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He stepped closer. “You’re here for a job, aren’t you?”

Something in his voice sent a chill down my spine.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “The surrogacy—”

His smirk widened. “I don’t need a surrogate.”

The room went silent.

I blinked. “What?”

His gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering in those storm-gray eyes.

“I need a wife.”

The words barely registered.

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. The cruel, inevitable joke that would make this whole thing make sense.

But he wasn’t joking.

Not even a little.

I laughed, but it was hollow, unnerved. “You expect me to believe that?”

Ronan leaned back against the table, his arms crossed. “Believe it or not, I don’t really care.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why the hell am I here?”

His smirk faded. “Because you need this as much as I do.”

My stomach twisted. “You don’t know what I need.”

He tilted his head. “Don’t I?”

I clenched my fists. “What’s the catch?”

Ronan exhaled slowly, pushing off the table. He reached for something near the fireplace—a leather folder.

He flipped it open, then slid it across the table.

I hesitated, then glanced down.

And suddenly—I couldn’t breathe.

Photographs. Documents. Secrets.

I flipped through them with shaking fingers, my mind spinning.

Gabriel. Anaya. Everything they had done.

Their scandals. Their lies. Their real motivations.

My heart pounded. This was—this was enough to ruin them.

To burn their entire world to the ground.

But it wasn’t the worst part.

At the very bottom of the stack, tucked behind the other pages—

A medical report.

I pulled it out, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Patient Name: Anaya Sinclair.

Diagnosis: First Trimester Pregnancy.

Father: Gabriel Gray.

The room tilted.

The paper trembled in my hands.

I couldn’t look away.

Couldn’t breathe.

Gabriel.

Gabriel and Anaya.

A baby.

My stomach twisted violently.

I heard a soft chuckle, but I barely registered it.

Ronan leaned in, his voice a whisper against my ear.

“Still think you don’t need me?”

The world blurred, rage clawing its way up my throat.

I lifted my gaze to his, my breath shaking.

And for the first time since this nightmare started—

I smiled.

"Tell me everything."

Ronan’s lips curved slightly. Not quite a smirk, but close. He reached for a glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip before setting it down with an easy confidence that irritated me more than it should have.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I forced my hands to stay still in my lap, even as my pulse hammered. The pregnancy report sat in front of me, a ticking bomb waiting to explode.

It didn’t seem real.

“She’s worked for years to build her reputation,” Ronan continued, casually flipping through the documents. “Do you know how many brands refuse to work with pregnant models? Especially one who got knocked up by her sister’s ex-fiancé?”

I swallowed, my throat dry.

“She’ll try to keep it a secret,” he mused. “But that won’t last long.”

The realization hit like a slap.

Anaya wasn’t just carrying Gabriel’s child. She was carrying a scandal that could ruin her career forever.

And Ronan was handing me the match to burn her entire world down.

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. “So, Aria. What do you want to do with this information?”

I should have felt guilty.

I should have felt something other than the twisting satisfaction curling in my stomach.

But I didn’t.

I exhaled slowly. “Why are you helping me?”

Ronan tilted his head, studying me like I was an equation he was trying to solve. “You think I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart?”

I scoffed. “I think you don’t have one.”

His lips twitched. “Fair point.”

I crossed my arms. “So what do you get out of this?”

He reached inside his jacket, pulling out a sleek black folder. The Cade family crest was embossed in silver on the front.

“I told you,” he said. “I need a wife.”

I stilled.

He slid the folder across the table.

“This is our contract,” he murmured. “A legally binding marriage agreement. You sign this, and I’ll make sure you get everything you need to destroy Gabriel and Anaya.”

My fingers curled around the armrest. “Why me?”

Ronan leaned back, watching me with that same unreadable expression. “Because you have nothing left to lose.”

I flinched.

Because he was right.

I had lost everything.

I had no family, no home, no money. I had nothing.

But this contract?

This was power.

My hands trembled as I flipped through the pages.

It was all there—the legal details, the conditions, the iron-clad clauses that made it impossible for either of us to back out.

A six-month marriage.

A mutually beneficial alliance.

And at the very end, in bold, black letters—

A non-disclosure agreement.

My gaze flickered to him. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

His smirk returned. “Of course.”

I exhaled, my heart hammering.

I should say no.

I should walk away.

But I couldn’t.

Not when the universe had finally handed me a way to fight back.

I reached for the pen.

And that’s when the door slammed open.

I jerked back as Gabriel stormed in.

His suit was pristine as ever, but his eyes—his expression—were anything but composed.

He looked furious.

The kind of fury that comes when someone loses control of something they thought they owned.

His gaze landed on Ronan first, then flicked at me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was low, sharp.

I stared at him, my fingers still frozen around the pen.

Gabriel’s eyes darkened as they fell on the contract.

Understanding clicked.

His jaw clenched. “Who the f**k do you think you are? This was my spot. I booked this place to propose to my girlfriend; who are you going to take over this place?”

My eyes widened, looking at Roman, who smirked.

Ronan, calm as ever, took a slow sip of his whiskey. Then he stood, walking toward me with deliberate ease.

He stopped beside my chair, his gaze never leaving Gabriel’s.

Then—he reached for my chin.

My breath hitched as he tilted my face just enough for Gabriel to see.

And then, in a voice smooth as silk, he murmured—

“She’s about to become my wife.”

The room froze.

Gabriel’s face morphed into something almost animalistic. His hands clenched at his sides, his breathing hard and uneven.

I should have been afraid.

I wasn’t.

For the first time since he destroyed me, I felt in control.

And then, slowly, I smirked.

The first real smile I had in months.

I didn’t look away as I pressed the pen to paper…

And signed the contract.

.