CHAPTER 3
1169 Words
Victoria’s pov
I had never felt so stripped bare in my life.
The glow of the television still burned in the background, that humiliating headline
repeating itself like it was tattooed into my brain.
They found out who she’s sleeping with—an 80-year-old billionaire.
The lies, the filthy, calculated lies.
This was all Julian’s doing. Of course it was, there was one else who would it be.
The walls of my office closed in on me. My company, my reputation, my name, all of it
was dangling by a thread, and the man holding the scissors was Julian Saint Clair.
And he f*****g knew it.
By the time the building emptied out that night, I was still pacing, still thinking, still
trying to find a way out that didn’t involve him but every road led back to the same
conclusion.
That's when I realized……..He had me cornered.
I hated myself for it.
***************************************
The next morning, he was back like a f*****g pest.
How does he keep entering the building?
He looked calm, dressed in a navy suit that fit his arrogance like a second skin, and
carrying a folder under his arm as if it were the keys to my kingdom.
Well, it was.
“Good morning, Victoria,” he said smoothly, setting the folder down on my desk. “Have
you thought about my offer?”
“Offer?” I spat the word out like poison. “You mean blackmail.”
His lips twitched, but his eyes still lacked emotion. “Call it what you want. It’s still your
only way out.”
I wanted to lunge across the desk, claw that smug expression right off his face. Instead, I
sat back, arms folded tightly across my chest. “What’s in the folder?”
He slid it toward me with two fingers, deliberate, almost teasing. “The contract.
Everything is spelled out. It is just five years, Victoria. Five years, and then you’re
free.”
“Free?” I snorted bitterly. “After you’ve dragged me through the mud and chained me to
your side like some kind of trophy?”
“Not a trophy,” he corrected, voice low. “A partner. At least, that’s what the world
will see and what the world sees is all that matters.”
I stared at him, trying to keep myself in check. Then, with shaking hands, I opened the
folder.
The contract was long, pages upon pages of legal jargon, but the highlights of each page
were clear as crystal.
1.Five years of marriage.
2.Mandatory public appearances together.
3.Hale Enterprises becomes a subsidiary of Saint Clair Global.
4.No intimacy required.
5.No infidelity permitted. If discovered, Saint Clair gains full ownership of Hale
Enterprises.
My chest tightened as I read the last clause again.
No intimacy, but no cheating either.
Who wrote this?
It was a trap, like a pretty cage, and yet… it was also the only chance my company had to
survive.
“You’re insane if you think I’ll agree to this,” I said finally, slamming the folder shut.
Julian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t have to
agree. You only have to survive and you don't look like you are surviving without me.”
His confidence was like a blade pressed against my throat and his pride irked me so much
that I wanted to throw up.
I stood abruptly, pacing toward the window, staring out at the city I had fought tooth and
nail to carve my place into.
Every skyscraper, every shining light was a reminder of what I was about to lose.
Two days, well just one more day. That’s what he had given me.
One day, the world had already decided if I was a desperate gold digger sleeping with men
old enough to be my grandfather.
By that night, I wasn’t sleeping anymore. My phone buzzed constantly with reporters,
investors, and so-called “friends” wanting the truth. Every headline was sharper than the
last.
Victoria Hale: Ambition or Affair?
Is Hale Enterprises a Front for Scandal?
From Boardroom to Bedroom: Hale’s Fall from Grace.
I couldn’t take it.
The morning of the third day, I walked into my office with eyes ringed with exhaustion and
hands trembling from too much coffee and too little hope. The folder was still there on my
desk, waiting for me.
Julian showed up minutes later, perfectly calm, with the perfect smile, as if the entire world wasn’t burning around us. “Well?” he asked softly, as though we were discussing
nothing more serious than dinner reservations.
I looked at him. The man who had orchestrated all these, the man who had cornered me
into this, the man who was about to win.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
His smile was faint, but his eyes gleamed. “Good, hate keeps things interesting.”
I yanked open the folder and grabbed a pen. My hand shook as I scribbled my signature
across the bottom line, every letter carving itself into my soul.
Julian leaned back, satisfied, watching me like a predator who had finally caught his
prey.
“It’s done,” I said hoarsely, tossing the pen down.
He reached forward, slid the contract toward himself, and tapped it lightly with one
finger. “Not quite. The conditions, Victoria. State them. I’ll allow it, if it is within
reason.”
My head snapped up. “Conditions?”
“Yes. You said there would be rules.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “So tell me your
rules.”
For a moment, I was silent. My throat ached, my eyes burned, but then I forced the
words out.
“No intimacy, ever. This is strictly business.”
He nodded once. “Agreed.”
“I keep a private bank account, untouched by you.”
His smile thinned, but he inclined his head. “Fine.”
“And,” I said, gripping the edge of the desk, “you will never, ever use my name to
smear me in the press again. If you do, the deal is over.”
Julian’s eyes glittered, calculating. Finally, he gave a single sharp nod. “Very well.”
I exhaled shakily, as if I had just bought myself a sliver of air in a drowning ocean.
He rose smoothly to his feet, gathering the folder. “Five years, Victoria, starting now.”
My stomach twisted violently. “What happens now?”
His smirk was lethal. “Now? We announce the engagement.”
I froze. “What?”
He glanced at his watch. “The Press conference is in an hour. Don’t be late.”
And with that, he walked out, leaving me reeling in my office, staring at the closed door.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed into the chair, head spinning. The pen was
still warm in my hand, the ink barely dry on the contract that had just bound me to Julian
Saint Clair.
- Writer
