Chapter Ten – The Contract
979 Words
Chapter Ten – The Contract
I don’t sleep much after Malcolm.
I lie awake staring at the ceiling, replaying his smile. The way his voice never rose. The way he didn’t need to threaten me loudly to make the threat stick.
Destroyed completely.
The words cling. They follow me into the morning. Into the shower. Into the mirror when I look at myself and barely recognize the girl staring back.
By the third day, something inside me hardens.
Fear doesn’t disappear. It just… changes shape.
I think of Helena’s friends. Their sons. Smiling strangers with polished manners and empty eyes. Men who would see me as an object they paid for. A solution.
I think of Malcolm.
And then I think of Reid Ashcroft.
Cold. Cruel. Predictable.
The devil I know.
That’s how I justify it when I open my wardrobe and pull out the dress.
It’s simple. Soft fabric. Falls just below my knees. Hugs my waist, my hips, the curve of my chest without trying too hard. I add a light jacket—not for warmth, but armor. Flat sandals. Clean. Minimal.
If I’m doing this, I won’t look desperate.
Lina watches me from my bed, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“So,” she says. “You’re really going through with it.”
“I’m hearing him out,” I say.
She snorts. “That’s not what this is.”
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right.
Ashcroft Enterprises looks like a city inside a city.
Glass. Steel. Height. Everything stretching upward like it’s trying to touch power itself. People move with purpose here. Suits tailored perfectly. Hair neat. Shoes polished. No one looks lost. No one looks unsure.
I feel it immediately—the difference between this place and Crane Industries.
This isn’t charm.
This is control.
I square my shoulders and walk in anyway.
The receptionist barely glances at me before checking her screen.
“Ms. Sullivan. Mr. Ashcroft is expecting you.”
Of course he is.
Lina leans close. “If he insults you, I’ll bite him.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
Reid’s office is… obscene.
That’s the only word for it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark wood. Leather. Everything expensive but restrained. No clutter. No warmth. Just dominance disguised as taste.
And him.
Seated behind his desk like he’s part of the furniture. Like the room was built around him.
His eyes lift.
And stop.
They don’t go to my face.
They go to my body.
Slow. Unapologetic. Thorough.
Heat crawls up my spine. Not pleasure. Awareness. The kind that makes you want to cross your arms and refuse to give him the satisfaction.
I clear my throat.
Only then does his gaze rise.
Cold. Focused. Sharp.
“Sit,” he says.
No greeting. No courtesy.
I do anyway.
Lina stays standing. Good.
“So,” Reid says, fingers laced. “You’ve decided to be reasonable.”
“I’ve decided to listen,” I correct.
His mouth twitches. Barely.
“Same thing.”
I lean forward. “Before we talk about marriage, we talk about school.”
His expression doesn’t change. That’s how I know I hit something.
“You’re in your final year,” he says. “You’ll homeschool.”
“No.”
It’s immediate. Instinctive.
He stares at me like I’ve said something amusing.
“You don’t get to refuse.”
“I do,” I say. “Because if you turn me into a recluse, I’ll become a liability. People will talk more. Not less.”
Silence stretches.
Lina clears her throat loudly. “She’s right.”
Reid’s eyes flick to her. Then back to me.
“You’ll be accompanied.”
“By a leash?” I snap.
“By security.”
I shake my head. “No classrooms. No isolation. I finish school like a normal person.”
“You stopped being normal the moment your name touched mine.”
The words sting. Sharp and deliberate.
Anger flares—but it doesn’t control me this time.
“Then don’t marry me,” I say quietly.
That does it.
He leans back, studying me like a chess piece that just moved unexpectedly.
“You’re not here to negotiate.”
“I am,” I reply. “Because you need this as much as I do.”
A pause.
Then—slowly—he exhales.
“You’ll attend classes,” he says. “With a bodyguard. At all times.”
Lina’s eyebrows shoot up.
“That’s… surprisingly reasonable,” she mutters.
Reid ignores her.
“Any attempt to disappear,” he continues, “and I pull you out immediately.”
I nod once. “Fine.”
The contract is thick.
Heavy.
Every page smells like ink and finality.
I read every line. Slowly. Carefully. Lina watches over my shoulder, whispering when something sounds off.
No romance clauses.
No promises.
Just terms. Control. Image. Compliance.
This isn’t a marriage.
It’s an acquisition.
My hand shakes when I reach the signature line.
I hesitate.
Reid notices.
“Once you sign,” he says calmly, “there is no undoing this.”
I look up at him.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’ve never been anything else.”
That’s the problem.
I sign.
The pen feels too heavy. The paper too permanent.
When I finish, Reid takes the document, scans it, then signs beneath my name without hesitation.
He slides it back into the folder.
Then he stands.
The room feels smaller immediately.
He steps closer. Too close.
I don’t move.
His voice drops.
“You belong to me now.”
The words settle deep.
Not romantic.
Not gentle.
A statement of ownership.
Lina inhales sharply.
I lift my chin. Meet his eyes.
“Then don’t regret it,” I say.
For the first time—
something dark flickers there.
Interest.
And I know.
I didn’t just sign a contract.
I stepped into a war.
- Writer
