Chapter One: The Price of a Signature
Irene stood outside the tall glass building, holding her bag tightly. The building looked too big, too clean, too expensive. It made her feel small.
The name LUCAS HARTWELL GROUP shone at the front. It looked cold and untouchable.
She took a deep breath.
People like her did not belong in places like this.
Inside, people walked fast. Men in neat suits. Women with high heels and confident steps. Everyone looked like they knew where they were going.
Irene looked down at herself.
Her dress was simple. Clean, but old. She had worn it many times. Her shoes were flat and slightly worn. She had tied her hair back carefully, hoping she looked neat enough.
Her phone vibrated.
Mum.
Her chest tightened.
She didn’t answer. If she answered, she might cry. And if she cried, she would turn around and leave.
Please be strong, she told herself.
She walked inside.
Cold air hit her face. Everything smelled new and expensive. The floor shone so brightly she was afraid of slipping.
A lady sat at the front desk. She looked perfect. Perfect hair. Perfect makeup.
“Yes?” the lady asked.
“I have an appointment,” Irene said quietly. “With Mr. Hartwell.”
The lady looked at her closely, from head to toe, before typing on her computer.
“Name?” she asked.
“Irene Hale.”
The lady nodded after checking the screen.
“Take the elevator to the top floor,” she said.
Irene thanked her softly and walked away.
Inside the elevator, Irene’s heart beat fast. Her hands were cold. She tried to calm herself, but her thoughts were noisy.
You can still leave.
But leave and do what?. She debated mentally
The elevator stopped.
A man in a black suit was waiting. He didn’t smile.
“This way,” he said.
Irene followed him quietly no questions asked.
They stopped in front of a large office door. The man knocked once and opened it.
“You can go in,” he said.
Irene stepped inside.
The office was big and quiet. There were no family photos. No warm colors. Just clean furniture and large windows showing the city.
A man stood near the desk.
Lucas Hartwell.
He was tall. Very tall. His suit fit him perfectly. His face was serious. When his eyes met hers, she felt uncomfortable, like he could see through her.
“You’re late,” he said.
Irene’s heart jumped.
“I’m not,” she said softly. “The time was ten.”
Lucas looked at his watch. Then he looked back at her.
“Sit,” he said.
Irene sat down quickly.
Lucas sat too. He opened a file on his desk.
“You know why you’re here,” he said.
“Yes,” Irene replied.
“Good. Then let’s be quick.”
He pushed a document toward her.
Her hands shook as she picked it up.
It was a contract.
Her name was written on it. His name too.
“I won’t waste words,” Lucas said. “This is a business deal. Nothing more, Nothing less.”
Irene nodded.
“I will pay all your mother’s hospital bills,” he said. “Past and future.”
Her breath caught. Her eyes burned.
“In return,” he continued, “you will marry me.”
The words felt heavy.
Irene swallowed hard.
“I understand,” she said.
Lucas looked at her, clearly surprised.
“You don’t even ask questions?” he asked.
“I already know,” she said quietly.
Lucas leaned back in his chair.
“This marriage is not real,” he said. “You will act like my wife when needed. You will live in my house. That’s all.”
He looked straight at her.
“There will be no love.”
Her fingers tightened on the paper.
“No care. No feelings,” he added.
“I understand,” she repeated.
Lucas stared at her for a long moment.
“Why?” he asked suddenly. “Why agree so easily?”
Irene looked up at him.
“Because my mother is sick,” she said. “And I have no other choice.”
The room went quiet.
Lucas didn’t speak for a moment.
“Good,” he said at last. “People with no choice usually obey rules.”
The words hurt. But Irene didn’t show it.
He pushed a pen toward her.
“Read and sign.”
Irene looked at the paper again. Her heart felt heavy. This contract would change her life forever.
But her mother’s face came to her mind.
She picked up the pen.
Her hand shook as she signed her name.
When she finished, Lucas stood up and took the papers.
“We’ll announce the engagement soon,” he said. “My assistant will contact you.”
He turned to leave, then paused.
“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Hartwell.”
The door closed behind him.
Irene sat there alone.
Her hands rested on her lap. Her chest felt tight. She had just signed away her freedom.
This wasn’t love.
This was survival.
And she didn’t know how much it would cost her.
