The CEO's Fake Bride

Chapter5

The elevator ride to the penthouse was different this time. Two days ago, it had carried her into terror, moving her closer to her downfall. Today, it felt like a ride down into another kind of downfall. Aria’s reflection in the brass doors looked pale , her eyes looking empty and lifeless. The frantic panic was gone , burned away by the cold certainty of her choice. What remained was a numb, heavy dread.

Elara, the stern assistant, didn't even look up from her screen as Aria entered the waiting area. “Go in, Ms Vance. He’s expecting you.”

Damian King was not at the window this time. He sat behind his massive desk, and he wasn’t alone . Beside him stood a thin , sharp-faced man in a perfect suit, holding a leather folio. The lawyer.

Damian’s ice blue eyes followed her as she crossed the wide room. He didn't look smug. He looked efficient. As if her arrival was just another item of the daily schedule now being checked off.

“Miss Vance. Punctual again. I appreciate that.” He gestured to the same chair she had sat on before. “This is Mr Thorne, my legal counsel.”

Aria sat down. She folded her hands in her lap to hide the tremor. She said nothing, there was nothing left to say.

Mr throne opened the folio. The document inside it was thick. He slid it towards her. The title, in bold black letters, made her stomach clench: CONFIDENTIAL MARITAL AND NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.

“Mr King has explained the general terms,” Throne began , “This contract gives the specifics. You will initial each page and sign the final page. I will guide you through the marked sections.” He began to read. His finger tracing lines of dense legal text. His words poured over her, turning her life into rules and clauses.

“....Clause 4b: The party referred to as “The Wife” will live at the main residence of the party referred to as ‘The Husband’ for the duration of the agreement. Curfew will be midnight unless written permission is granted ....”

A curfew. He was her a curfew,

“....Clause 7a: The Wife will provide a public and private display of affection as required by the Husband to show a believable marriage. This includes hand-holding, embracing, and kissing. Compliance must be immediate and without reluctance.”

Aria’s skin crawled. She remembered their first clash, his cold disgust . Now , that same disgust would become an act.

“.... Clause 9c: Confidence in this arrangement is mandatory. Telling anyone, including family or romantic partners , will breach . This will cause immediate termination , loss of payment, and possible lawsuits..”

Her mother. Chloe. She would have to lie to both of them. She would need to build a wall between her real life and this false one.

“... Clause 11e: An allowance will be provided for clothing and expenses suited to the role of Mrs . King. All spending must be approved by the assigned account manager…”

Pre-approval for clothes, she was to be dressed like a doll, controlled even in what she wore.

It continued . Rule about her behaviour, her words, her presence in public. It was a prison, built not from bars but from money and legal terms.

Throughout it all, Damian sat perfectly still, watching her. He was studying her. He was studying her reactions . Searching for her breaking point. But she gave him nothing. She kept her face to look calm, even as each clause cut deeper.

“Do you have any questions?” Mr Thorne asked at last.

“No,” Aria said. Her voice sounded empty, hollow.

He handed her a heavy silver pen. “Initial each page. Sign the last.”

Her fingers were clumsy as she took it. The metal was cold. She turned to the first page. A.V., she scrawled in the little box. The pen felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Page after page, initial after initial . Each scratch of the pen was another lock clicking shut.A.V., for her freedom. A.V. for her pride, A.V. for her name.

Finally, she reached the last page. The signature line stared back at her, waiting for surrender. She looked up. Damian's gaze was fixed on her, steady and intense, waiting for her final step.

She drew in a shaky breath, steadied her hand and signed.

Aria Vance.

It was done.

For a long moment, no one moved. Then, Domain reached into his desk drawer. Her out a sleek ,. Black checkbook. He wrote with swift, sure strokes, tore the check free, and slid it across the desk toward her.

It landed on top of the contract she had just signed.

Pay to the Order of : Aria Vance

The Amount of : Fifty Thousand and 00/100 Dollars

For : retainer

The hero seemed to mock her. Fifty thousand dollars. More than she had ever seen . Enough to cover tuition. Enough to pay for months of her mother’s care. A place for her future.

It was blood money.

“The first installment,” Damian said, his voice flat. “ The rest will follow once the marriage is official late this week.”

Aria couldn't touch it and she stared, numb and disgusted.

“Take it, Miss Vance,” he pressed, his tone edged with impatience. “It’s why you’re here. It 's what you agreed to.”

The push broke her hesitation. Slowly, mechanical, she reached out . The paper was stiff and foreign. She folded it once again and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, over her heart. It felt like it was burning a hole through her skin.

“We’ll be married at the city clerk’s office on Friday. My driver will pick you up from your dorm at 8 am and be ready.” He stood, already dismissing her. “That’s all.”

He bent over a file, erasing her from his world. The meeting was finished. The deal was sealed.

Aria stood on unsteady legs. She didn’t look at him again. She walked out, past the silent Elara, and into the elevator.

The descent felt longer than the ride up. When the doors opened onto the marble lobby, noise and movement struck her like a blow. People hurried past, busy with their normal, unpurchased lives.

With a check for fifty thousand dollars in her pocket and a contract binding her future, Aria stepped into the crowd. She pushed through the spinning glass doors and out into the afternoon sun.

She stood on the sidewalk, the city roaring around her, feeling utterly alone. The weight of her choice pressed on her, heavier than any backpack of books. She had sold her future to buy her mother’s.

She had signed

d her life away. And tomorrow, the real sentence will begin.