Chapter 5: The Deal
1136 Words
Sarah’s POV
The ride home was a blur. My thoughts raced faster than the cab weaving through the late-evening traffic. I clutched my phone like a lifeline, rereading the message again and again.
“Come home, Sarah. It’s urgent.”
There was no name. Just that message
I’d tried calling my dad twice more. Voicemail again.
My chest tightened the closer we got to home. Something was wrong. I could feel it, creeping along my spine like a warning I didn’t understand yet. My mind spiraled through every terrible possibility. Has something happened to him? The company? Was it Mom? But no. Mom had been gone for ten years. She’d left without goodbye, leaving us to pick up her mess, she abandoned us, me. That grief was old, worn in but the scar remained. This was different. Sharper, and more immediate.
As we turned onto my street, my breath caught.
Two black, luxury SUVs were parked directly outside our house, a Mercedes-Benz S-Class and a Land Rover defender. Sleek, bulletproof, government-grade. The kind you only saw in political thrillers or nightmares. I didn’t recognize the plates.
I paid the driver and stepped out slowly. The wind bit at my bare arms, but I barely noticed. Something about the way our front door was cracked open, just a sliver, made my heartbeat thud louder in my ears.
“Dad?” I called, stepping through.
His voice came from the living room. “In here.”
I stepped in and froze.
There were three people inside: my father, sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, and two men standing near the fireplace. One was tall, mid-fifties, commanding in a tailored navy-blue suit with silver cufflinks and an air of barely concealed authority.
The second, younger and broader, stood partially in shadow, silent and unreadable.
But my eyes locked onto the older man as he turned to face me. His smile was practiced, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You must be Sarah,” he said smoothly.
I hovered at the threshold. “Who are you?”
My father stood, his face pale. “Sarah, this is Mr. Philips.”
The name struck something in me Philips. I knew that name. From headlines and also of course from whispered boardroom gossip.
“He’s Andrew’s father,” Dad added quietly.
My stomach dropped.
“Andrew,” I echoed. “Andrew Philips? The construction mogul? The billionaire?”
Mr. Philips stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve followed your academic success closely. Very impressive.”
I blinked. “Why would a billionaire care about a journalism student?”
The silence said everything.
“I think we should sit,” my father offered, but I shook my head.
“I’m fine standing,” I replied, my voice shaky. “What’s going on?”
Dad looked tired, older. “Simon Media… It's in trouble, Sarah. We’re days from collapse. There's a lot of debt. Lawsuits. Our investors are gone. I tried everything.”
My throat tightened. “And?”
Mr. Philips answered. “Your father and I have reached a solution. One that benefits all parties.”
The cold truth began to settle like dust. “What kind of solution?”
“A marriage,” my father whispered. “Between you and Andrew.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“He needs a wife,” Mr. Philips said flatly. “For appearances. As he prepares for public office, he needs a woman by his side. Someone poised, intelligent, respectable. You.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Dad looked at me like he was already apologizing. “Sarah, if you agree… he’ll pay the debts. He’ll save the company.”
“No,” I said instantly. “Absolutely not.”
Mr. Philips’s gaze didn’t flinch. “You wouldn’t be mistreated. Andrew is disciplined. He's generous too. Comfort, luxury, and status would be your ultimate lifestyle.
“I don’t want any of that,” I snapped. “I want my life. I’ve worked too hard. I’m one week from graduating.”
My father stepped forward. “You’d be saving our legacy. Your future.”
“You’re asking me to give up everything to become some trophy wife to a man I don’t even know?”
“He’s not just any man,” Mr. Philips cut in. “He’s Andrew Philips.”
“Still a stranger,” I muttered.
Neither of them had a response. Just silence and expectation.
I turned toward the door. “I need air.”
“Sarah” my dad called, but I was already outside. The cold slapped my face, grounding me. I kept walking until the house was just another warm shape in the dark.
Then I heard footsteps.
I stopped and turned.
He stepped from the shadows like he belonged in them. He is tall, composed, an air of detached confidence in the way he moves. He wore a slate grey suit beneath a black wool coat, perfectly tailored to his powerful frame. Broad shoulders, long legs, every inch of him sculpted and intentional, like someone designed him to draw attention without asking for it.
But it was his face that rooted me to the ground.
Sharp cheekbones. A defined, angular jawline dusted with a deliberate hint of stubble. His skin was warm olive, smooth except for the shadow of a long-healed scar near his right brow. His hair is thick, dark brown, and carelessly tousled, looking like it hadn’t been combed, but somehow made sense that way. His lips were full, unsmiling, carved in a permanent line of authority.
And his eyes, god…, his eyes were a stormy silver-grey, so clear and piercing they seemed to strip away every layer of resistance I had. They locked onto mine with unnerving precision. Unreadable, icy, calculating.
His voice broke the silence deep and controlled, with a slight rasp that curled down my spine. “I figured you’d run and I was hoping I’d catch you first.”
I stared, heart hammering. “Who are you?”
He took one step closer. “Andrew.”
The name landed like a challenge. “ You were the person that called in the morning? So you were serious all along?”
“Yes, but you hung up,” he said, “ So rude of you but it's okay”.
He was nothing like I expected. Too young to be that rich. Too intense to be that calm. He looked like trouble carved in marble.
“Sorry we had to meet like this,” he said. “But we don’t have much time.”
I crossed my arms. “Time for what?”
“To make a decision,” he said. “One that might change both our lives.”
And just like that, the world shifted.
- Writer
