Chapter 4: The Contractual Morning
612 Words
The headline on the Post was three inches tall: THE MERGER OF THE CENTURY: THORNE AND STERLING UNITE.
Clara sat at her vanity, staring at the photo. Elias was looking down at her, his expression unreadable, while she beamed at the camera, looking every bit the blushing bride-to-be. She looked like a liar.
The ring on her finger felt like a lead weight. She had spent the night staring at it, wondering how her life had narrowed down to a single transaction.
A knock at her bedroom door startled her. It was Sarah, holding a stack of legal documents and a bouquet of black roses so large it nearly obscured her.
These just arrived, Sarah said, looking terrified. And Mr. Thorne’s driver is downstairs. He says you have twenty minutes to pack a bag for the 'press tour' at the Thorne offices.
Clara took the roses. There was a card tucked into the dark petals. Black for the mourning of your single life, gold for the future I’m buying you. -E.
He’s efficient, I’ll give him that, Clara muttered.
She packed a bag with mechanical precision. Sharp suits, silk blouses, and the few pieces of jewelry that hadn't been pawned yet. She walked downstairs, kissed her father’s cheek, he was still in a daze and stepped into the waiting black SUV.
The Thorne Building was a monolith of steel and glass in Hudson Yards. It made the Sterling Building look like a relic of a bygone era. As Clara walked through the lobby, every head turned. The whispers were no longer about bankruptcy; they were about her.
She was whisked to the penthouse floor, where Elias’s office occupied the entire level. It was a cold space, decorated in shades of grey and slate, with no personal photos or mementos. It was the office of a man who didn't want to be known.
Elias was behind his desk, three phones ringing simultaneously. He ignored them all when she walked in.
Sit, he said, gesturing to a sleek leather chair. My lawyers have finalized the cohabitation agreement. You’ll be moving into my apartment tonight.
Tonight? Clara bristled. We agreed to a year, Elias, not a prison sentence starting this afternoon.
The paparazzi are camped outside your father’s house, Clara. If you stay there, they’ll see you crying into your gin and realize this is a sham. If you’re with me, they see a couple who can't stand to be apart. He pushed a document across the desk. Sign the last page. My CFO has already wired the first fifty million to your father’s holding company. The Sterling Group is officially solvent again.
Clara picked up the pen. It was a heavy, gold fountain pen. She felt the weight of the fifty million dollars in her hand. It felt like the price of her soul.
She signed her name. Clara Sterling. Soon to be Clara Thorne.
Good, Elias said, taking the paper back. He stood up and walked around the desk. He didn't stop until he was standing directly over her. Now, there’s the matter of the Architect.
Clara frowned. The who?
Elias’s expression darkened, a flicker of something that looked almost like fear crossing his face before being vanished by his usual mask. Nothing for you to worry about. Just a silent partner who has a vested interest in our success. We’re having dinner with him tonight. Be charming. Be convincing. Be mine.
Clara stood up, meeting his gaze. I’ll be your partner, Elias. I’ll be your fiancé. But I will never be yours.
Elias leaned in, his voice a low vibration. We’ll see about that, Clara. A year is a very long time.
- Writer
