The Contarct
1331 Words
Skylar woke up later than usual. The clock blinked a little past ten, and for a moment she thought her alarm hadn’t gone off. But no—it had. She had simply slept through it. That was strange. For days, her sleep had been restless, shallow, shattered by anxiety, humiliation, and a constant stream of tormenting thoughts. But last night was different. It had been heavy, dreamless, and almost peaceful.
She lay there staring at the ceiling for a while, the sheets tangled around her, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Why today of all days? she thought. Maybe it was her body trying to prepare her for what she was about to do. Maybe it was exhaustion finally taking its toll. Or maybe it was because—for the first time—she had found a direction.
By the time she got up, washed, and dressed, her nerves returned in full force. She was about to sign her life into a contract marriage with a stranger. Not just any stranger—a man whose power overshadowed Henry in ways she was only beginning to grasp.
And the media. That thought alone made her palms sweat as she stood in front of the mirror, applying the lightest touch of makeup. Yesterday, they had snapped her leaving Logan’s car. They would be waiting today, circling her like hawks. By now, speculation must have caught fire. She imagined the lurid headlines: Disgraced fiancée seen with mysterious billionaire. Betrayal or survival? Her chest tightened.
She grabbed her bag and stepped out, bracing herself for flashes of cameras, for shouting reporters. But to her shock—nothing. The street was unusually calm. No mob outside her building, no cars idling suspiciously across the street, no curious eyes peeking from corners.
Her brow furrowed. It wasn’t natural. And that was how she knew. Logan.
He had moved them aside, somehow. Cleared the path for her. The realization sent a strange shiver down her spine. Relief mingled with fear—fear of just how powerful he really was. If he could manipulate the media, silence them overnight, what else could he control?
Her ride to King Enterprises was smooth, eerily smooth. No one followed her. No one dared to.
When she arrived, the glass towers loomed over her like silent giants. The King logo shimmered at the top, golden against the sunlit sky. She paused outside the entrance, clutching her bag tightly. Her breath came uneven. Once she stepped inside, there would be no turning back.
This is what you wanted, she told herself. Revenge. Freedom. A second chance.
Inside, the change was even more jarring. Employees glanced at her—longer than usual, almost studying her—but no one mocked. No snickers behind their hands, no whispers trailing after her. Instead, there was something else in their eyes. Caution. Respect. Maybe even fear.
The receptionist smiled too politely. The security guard nodded with a stiff bow. Even the secretary outside Logan’s office, who yesterday had looked at her like an inconvenience, stood and greeted her warmly, dipping her head as though Skylar was already someone.
Skylar’s heart pounded harder. It wasn’t her. It was him. His shadow stretched so far that people already adjusted their posture when she entered the room. It was intoxicating—and terrifying.
She walked into Logan’s office. He was seated behind his massive desk, sleek laptop open, his posture commanding yet casual. His fingers moved quickly across the keys, the faint tapping echoing through the silence.
Skylar swallowed, then spoke softly, “Good morning.”
Without looking up, Logan lifted one hand slightly, a gesture both dismissive and polite. “Good morning, Skylar. Have a seat.”
His voice was smooth, firm, not unfriendly. She obeyed, lowering herself into the chair across from him, nerves dancing in her chest.
For a few moments, only the sound of typing filled the room. Logan finished what he was working on, closed the laptop with deliberate calm, and leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes settled on her, steady and unreadable.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
Skylar clasped her hands together, trying to appear calm. “You gave me a choice,” she replied. “I’ve made it.”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Then let’s make it official.”
He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a sleek leather folder, and slid it toward her. She stared at it for a moment, hesitant, before opening it. Inside lay the contract—their future written in black and white.
Her eyes scanned the clauses carefully:
He would help her get her revenge.
He would cater for her needs, provide for her, and assume responsibility while the contract lasted.
No inappropriate advances while they were alone.
She must always present herself as his wife when necessary.
Neither of them was allowed to be entangled with other men or women.
If either party attempted to terminate the contract before a year, they would pay thirty million dollars.
If both parties agreed, they could end it earlier.
Skylar’s breath slowed as she read. It was strict, yes, but also… fair. More lenient than she’d expected. She had braced for worse. She had braced for a cage. But this—it was survivable.
And in its own way, liberating.
Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the pen. For a second, she paused, hearing the echo of her parents’ voices, their questions, their concerns. Are you being forced? Are you in trouble? And her own answer: I know what I’m doing.
With a final breath, she signed her name. The scratch of the pen felt like a drumbeat, final and echoing.
When she pushed the folder back across the desk, Logan glanced at it briefly, then nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”
He leaned forward slightly. “From this moment, Skylar, you’re under my protection. That means no one touches you without consequence. Not Henry, not Rose, not the press.”
Her pulse quickened. His words were both a shield and a warning.
Logan rose from his chair, moving toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. His figure cast a tall shadow against the glass. “Tonight, I’ll hold a press conference,” he said. “I’ll announce my marriage will take place in two days’ time. But I won’t disclose your identity.”
Skylar blinked. “You won’t?”
He turned slightly, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “The world will be shocked enough on the wedding day. Until then, secrecy is our advantage.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. He was right. It was strategic, ruthless even. He wasn’t just protecting her—he was crafting a spectacle.
When she finally left his office, her steps were unsteady, her mind spinning. She had just tethered herself to a man she barely knew.
By evening, she was back in her apartment, pacing the floor, her nerves refusing to settle. When the news alert flashed on her phone, she froze.
Logan King stood at a podium, elegant in his dark suit, cameras flashing furiously. Reporters shouted questions, but he silenced them with one firm raise of his hand.
“My wedding will take place in two days,” he declared. His voice was cool, assured, every word commanding. “And my bride is someone I intend to protect until the day comes. You’ll know who she is when the time is right.”
The room erupted into chaos. Questions flew, speculation surged. Social media exploded with theories.
Skylar stared at the screen, her stomach twisting. Some already whispered her name. Others dismissed it as impossible. But one thing was clear—Logan had thrown the entire world into suspense.
And she was at the center of it.
For the first time in days, Skylar allowed herself a small, trembling smile.
She wasn’t running anymore. She was fighting back.
- Writer
