Worlds Apart

The Contract

The folder sat between us like a loaded gun. Thick, official, stamped with Kingston & Co.’s seal as if this marriage was just another business transaction.

I hated how neat it looked. How organized. How… cold.

“You’re really serious about this,” I muttered, eyeing him across the table.

Alex leaned back in his chair, calm as ever, his suit jacket unbuttoned but his posture rigid. “I don’t do things halfway, Zara. If we’re going to do this, it has to be airtight. No loopholes, no scandals, no misunderstandings.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Right. Because marriage is supposed to be so tidy.”

His eyes flicked to mine, sharp, unreadable. “This isn’t about romance. It’s about survival. For both of us.”

The words stung more than they should have, but I forced myself to nod. “Fine. Terms then. Let’s hear them.”

He didn’t hesitate. “One year. Minimum.”

My stomach flipped. A year of pretending?

“And after that?”

“After that,” he said smoothly, “we dissolve it quietly. No drama. No loose ends.”

I bit my lip, weighing the idea. One year wasn’t forever. I could survive twelve months of Alex Kingston’s intensity… couldn’t I?

“What else?” I asked.

His jaw ticked before he answered. “Public appearances. Events. Dinners. Whatever is required to make this look real. You’ll be expected to stand beside me.”

“Stand beside you,” I repeated softly, my chest tightening. “Not behind you.”

Something flickered in his gaze, something almost vulnerable, but it was gone too quickly. “Exactly.”

I crossed my arms. “And in private?”

His expression hardened. “In private, we set boundaries. You’ll have your space, I’ll have mine. No expectations beyond what’s necessary to keep up appearances.”

The air thickened between us, and I couldn’t stop the question before it slipped out. “So, no… intimacy?”

His silence stretched, heavy, suffocating. Then, finally, his voice dropped lower. “Not unless you want it.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I looked away, pretending to study the folder instead of the man across from me who could unravel me with a single glance.

I flipped it open, scanning the clauses, the legal jargon. Everything about it screamed business. But my pulse raced like this was anything but.

“One year,” I whispered again, more to myself than to him. “Events. Appearances. Boundaries.”

Alex leaned forward then, his voice softer, more dangerous. “And one more thing, Zara.”

My eyes met his, despite myself.

“When you wear my name, no one touches you. No one questions you. You’re untouchable. That’s the deal.”

The words were meant to be protection, but they sounded like possession. And God help me, a part of me didn’t hate it.

I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the cameras.

The way they flashed—so merciless, so hungry—like they could peel away layers of me until nothing was left but the story they wanted to tell.

Only this time, I wasn’t reading the story.

I was the story.

The press conference was Alex’s idea, of course. His kingdom, his rules. He wanted to silence the gossip before it swallowed us both whole. A clean announcement, broadcast live, to shape the narrative.

The ballroom at the Kingston Hotel was packed. Reporters jostled for space, microphones waved like weapons, cameras blinked red, ready to devour every word. And there I was, standing at Alex Kingston’s side, dressed in a cream suit I barely recognized myself in.

My pulse hammered so loud, I was sure the microphones would pick it up.

Alex, on the other hand, looked untouchable. Impeccable suit, controlled smile, that unnerving calm that made even his enemies lean in when he spoke. He squeezed my hand—gently but firmly—as if reminding me I couldn’t run.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice cut through the noise, smooth and commanding, “thank you for being here on such short notice. I’ll keep this brief.”

The room quieted like someone had thrown a switch. That was Alex Kingston’s power—he didn’t just command a room, he owned it.

“There has been speculation,” he continued, “about my personal life, about the woman beside me. Some of what’s been said has been intrusive, unkind, and untrue.”

Every lens turned on me. My throat went dry.

Alex’s smile didn’t falter. “So let me set the record straight.” He glanced at me then, his eyes locking onto mine for a heartbeat that lasted far too long. “This woman is not a fling. She is not a scandal. She is the woman I intend to marry.”

The room erupted. Shouts, flashes, questions flying like bullets:

“When’s the wedding?”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Zara, did you know about his past relationships?”

“Is this a merger or a marriage?”

My knees wobbled under the weight of it, but Alex’s hand anchored me. He raised his other hand slightly, and just like that, the chaos hushed again.

“The wedding will be private,” he said firmly. “But understand this—Zara Hayes is the future Mrs. Kingston. She has my full respect, my full commitment. And anyone who doubts that—” His gaze swept the room like a challenge. “—will soon find themselves very wrong.”

I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning under the storm of flashes. His words sounded like a vow, but I knew better. This wasn’t love. It was strategy. Protection. Business.