The Billionaire's Greatest Regret

"Miss Hart." I spun around. The man in the black suit stood by my apartment door like he had always been there. His hands clasped and his expression was blank, the kind of blank that was trained, not natural. "Mr. Winston is waiting." I stared at him. "How did you get in here?" "The car is downstairs." He stepped aside and gestured toward the open door. "He doesn't like to wait." "I don't care what he…" I stopped, looked at the door and back at the man. "What does Ian want?" "The car is downstairs, Miss Hart." I almost laughed but held it midway. My jaw tightened in irritation. I grabbed my coat, shoved my arms through the sleeves, and walked out because standing there demanding answers from someone paid not to give them was pointless. The elevator ride down was silent, the man stayed two steps behind me the entire time. I watched the floor numbers drop and kept my breathing even and didn't let myself think about what was waiting at the other end of this car ride, because the moment I started thinking about it my hands would start shaking and I refused to show up to Ian Winston's house with shaking hands. The car outside was black, long and the kind that didn't make stops. I got in and we proceeded with the ride. Every light in Winston Mansion was on. I saw it before the car even stopped, every window burning, the whole building lit up and wide awake like it had been waiting for me specifically. The gates swung open as we pulled up, smooth and automatic. I stepped out without waiting for anyone. I knew this house, knew the way the entrance smelled faintly of cedar and something floral I could never name, knew the exact sound my heels made on this specific marble, sharper here near the entrance, duller further down the corridor where the stone changed. I had spent years learning this place and that was the thing about knowing somewhere too well. It didn't feel like familiarity anymore, it felt like evidence. The maids near the door stepped back when they saw me, they neither greeted nor made eye contact, just that careful stillness of people who had already formed an opinion and were being polite enough not to say it out loud. I walked past them without slowing down through the entrance, down the corridor, past the framed portraits I had stopped looking at years ago. Find out what he wants and leave, that was my plan but I guess he had other plans too. I pushed open the living room door and Ian was standing with his back towards me, one hand pressed flat against the window, the other in his pocket. He was on a sharp black suit that screamed luxury at first sight, no tie. The city lights outside spread behind him like something staged. "Ian." He didn't turn. "You sent someone to my apartment." I let the door fall shut behind her. "At midnight, no call, no explanation, just a man in my doorway telling me a car is waiting." He said nothing "Ian." "Close the door." I already had. "It's closed. Talk to me." He turned around and my next words dissolved somewhere between my brain and my mouth because his face….. I knew Ian's face. I knew the version he wore in public, smooth and unreachable, I knew the version he used in meetings that made grown men choose their words carefully, I had seen every configuration of the mask but this was something else. His jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle working beneath his skin, his eyes were fixed on me with the kind of focus that didn't come from anger, it came from somewhere deeper than anger. Something that had been sitting with him a long time and at this point I felt my stomach drop. "Sit down," he instructed. "I'm fine standing." He looked at me for a moment then walked to the table without another word, picked up a folder, and held it out toward me. I didn't move. "What is that?" "Take it." "Ian….." "Isabella." He uttered just my name, quiet and absolute. I crossed the room and took it from his hand, opened it and the first line hit me like a bullet piercing through my chest. Marriage Contract. My eyes moved through the first paragraph then stopped. Moved back to the top and read it again. "What is this?" My voice came out wrong, too small, too careful. "You can read." "Don't…." I looked up at him sharply. "Don't do that. Answer me." Ian said nothing. "A marriage contract." I set it on the table because my grip on it was becoming something I couldn't control. "With my name. Ian, why is there a marriage contract with my name on it?" The silence stretched for about five seconds long. "You're serious." I searched his face for something, maybe a c***k, a flinch, anything. "You actually…." I shook my head. "No. No, whatever this is, I'm not…" "You don't have a choice." Just four words, only four words strong enough to notify that there's no room for arguments. My mouth closed and the room felt different suddenly, it felt smaller. Ian was less than three feet from me and I hadn't noticed him move but he was closer now and his eyes hadn't left my face once and the expression on his face was so composed it was frightening not because there was nothing there but because there was too much there, all of it pressed down flat. "Everyone has a choice," I said. "Not this time." He reached past me, turned to the last page of the contract, and set a pen down on top of it. "Not you." I looked at the pen and swallowed real hard then I looked back at him. "Why." It wasn't a question anymore, it was a demand. "Give me one reason, one real reason why you think you can drag me here and put this in front of me like…" "Sign it." "Ian….." "Sign it, Isabella." "Why?" He held my gaze and for one single second, one….something moved behind his eyes, pain revenge, anger, I couldn't quite name it then it was gone, sealed back under that terrible composure, and his voice when he spoke was quieter than everything that came before it. "Sign it or I will take apart every single thing you've built in the last three years." The words settled over the room and at this point I stood completely still. My fingers found the edge of the table for support because my composure was falling apart faster than I imagined, it found something real to hold onto while the ground rearranged itself beneath me. I looked at him, my gaze unshaky this time, I looked at the hard line of his mouth, at those eyes that used to carry something I once mistook for permanent. "You'd do that," I said softly but it wasn't a question. Ian didn't blink. "Sign it." My hand moved to the pen then it stopped. "And if I sign this….." my voice was barely above a whisper now. "What exactly are you getting, Ian? What does this give you?" He looked at me for a long moment. "Sign it and find out.”