Terms Of Us

Chapter 5

Isabella's POV

There was something deeply offensive about waking up to a life you hadn't agreed to live.

I discovered this at seven fifteen on a Thursday morning, standing in front of my bedroom mirror while my phone displayed three missed calls from my mother and an email from my father's legal adviser.

The subject line read:

PRELIMINARY MARITAL AGREEMENT — BLACKWOOD/VANCE.

I stared at it.

Then I laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Sometimes, laughter was simply the last dignified thing a woman could do before losing her mind.

My father had apparently decided that my marriage deserved a paperwork trail before I had even agreed to it.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and opened the email.

Attached was a revised copy of the agreement Damian and I had discussed the previous evening. My conditions had been included, although the legal language made everything sound considerably less human.

I scrolled through the document until I reached the final page.

There was a section titled Public Conduct and Representation.

I frowned.

Apparently, we were expected to attend certain social functions, maintain a respectable public image and refrain from making statements that could damage the reputation of either family.

I read it twice.

Then I closed the laptop.

I wasn't even married yet, and already somebody had written instructions on how I was supposed to behave.

"You're getting married."

Charlotte's voice came through my phone with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a national holiday.

I pressed the phone between my ear and shoulder while searching through my wardrobe.

"Good morning to you too."

"Isabella, don't good-morning me. You're getting married to Damian Blackwood."

"Allegedly."

"There's no allegedly about the document your father sent me."

I stopped moving.

"Wait. What?"

A pause.

Then Charlotte sighed.

"Your father forwarded the preliminary agreement to his legal team. Apparently, someone thought I should review it."

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

My best friend was a lawyer. My father was a retired political heavyweight. Damian was a billionaire.

Between the three of them, I was beginning to suspect that my opinion was the least important legal document in the room.

"Charlotte, please tell me you haven't read it."

"I have."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a lawyer, Isabella. Reading documents is literally how I earn money."

I dropped onto the edge of my bed.

"And?"

"And I have questions."

"Such as?"

"Are you sure you're comfortable marrying a man who looks like he could fire someone with a single eyebrow movement?"

I laughed despite myself.

"That's your legal concern?"

"No. My legal concern is that you're about to enter a marriage with a man whose company could probably purchase the building we're sitting in."

"His company cannot purchase your apartment."

"Give him five minutes."

I shook my head.

Charlotte's humour had always been her way of making difficult things feel survivable.

But when her voice softened, I knew she was about to say something serious.

"Isabella, are you doing this because you want to save your company, or because you're afraid of losing it?"

I looked towards the window.

The city was waking up beneath the morning sunlight.

"I don't know."

It was the truth.

And I hated how much it frightened me.

By eleven, I was at Vance International Group.

My office was exactly as I'd left it: architectural models arranged across the shelves, development plans spread over my desk and the familiar scent of coffee lingering in the air.

It was my world.

The one I had built with sleepless nights, difficult decisions and sacrifices nobody had ever bothered to count.

I ran my fingers over the miniature model of Aurelia Heights.

The development had been my biggest project yet.

A luxury residential and commercial complex designed to transform an overlooked part of the city into something extraordinary.

I had imagined the opening ceremony.

The press.

The investors.

The moment I would stand before everyone and know that I had done it.

Now the project was in danger, and the man who could save it wanted to marry me.

My assistant knocked.

"Miss Vance?"

"Come in."

She entered with a tablet.

"Mr Sterling is here."

I looked up.

"Alexander Sterling?"

"Yes. He says it's regarding Blackwood Global."

My fingers stilled.

"Send him in."

A moment later, Alexander walked into my office.

He was tall, neatly dressed and carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to being taken seriously.

"Miss Vance."

"Mr Sterling."

He offered a polite smile.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

"That depends on what you're here to say."

His smile widened slightly.

"I see Damian wasn't exaggerating."

I gestured towards the chair opposite my desk.

"Please sit."

He did.

"I'm here on behalf of Blackwood Global. Damian asked me to discuss the proposed investment structure for Aurelia Heights."

I leaned back.

"Does Damian usually send other people to discuss his marriage proposals?"

Alexander laughed.

"Only when he's trying to pretend the marriage proposal is entirely about business."

I stared at him.

He seemed perfectly comfortable with my silence.

Interesting.

"Let me be clear, Mr Sterling. I haven't agreed to anything."

"I know."

"And I won't appreciate being treated as though the decision has already been made."

His expression became serious.

"Understood. I'm here to discuss your company, not your personal life."

For the next forty minutes, we discussed the investment proposal.

Alexander was intelligent, thorough and surprisingly respectful. He understood the project, recognised its potential and didn't once suggest that Blackwood Global should take control of my company.

When he finally stood to leave, he paused beside my desk.

"Can I offer you some advice?"

"That depends."

"Don't mistake Damian's silence for indifference. He's not particularly good at explaining himself."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Not necessarily."

He smiled.

"Have a good day, Miss Vance."

And then he was gone.

I stared at the closed door for several seconds.

Damian Blackwood was becoming a surprisingly frequent subject in my life.

And I wasn't sure I liked it.

My phone rang at six thirty.

His name appeared on the screen.

Damian Blackwood.

I considered ignoring it.

Then I answered.

"Yes?"

"Good evening to you too, Isabella."

"What do you want, Damian?"

"Alexander tells me you've had a productive meeting."

"He was professional."

"That's a compliment?"

"Don't get excited. It's not one you should expect often."

I heard a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.

"I've reviewed the revised agreement."

"And?"

"Your conditions are acceptable."

I sat down on the sofa.

"All of them?"

"All of them."

I hadn't expected that.

"You're agreeing rather easily."

"Would you prefer an argument?"

"With you? I imagine that would be inevitable."

There was a pause.

Then his voice changed slightly.

"Isabella, the board is expecting an announcement soon. Our families have already begun asking questions."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Of course they have."

"We need to decide whether we're proceeding."

I looked around my apartment.

At the photographs on the shelves. The books I'd collected over the years. The little things that belonged entirely to me.

A marriage would change all of that.

Even if it was only for two years.

"Damian?"

"Yes?"

"If I agree to this, I want you to understand something."

"I'm listening."

"I won't become a decoration in your life. I won't smile when I'm unhappy just to make your family comfortable. And I won't pretend to be someone I'm not."

His response came without hesitation.

"I wouldn't want you to."

For some reason, that answer unsettled me more than an argument would have.

I swallowed.

"Then perhaps we should arrange another meeting."

"To sign the agreement?"

"To discuss the final details."

"Tomorrow?"

I glanced at the clock.

"Tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Isabella."

"Goodnight."

The call ended.

I placed my phone on the table.

For a long moment, I remained still.

Then another notification appeared.

An email.

This time, it wasn't from my father's legal adviser.

It was from an unknown sender.

The subject line was brief.

A WORD OF CAUTION.

I opened it.

There was only one sentence.

You should find out why Damian Blackwood really wants to marry you before you sign anything.

I read it once.

Then again.

My stomach tightened.

Below the message was a photograph.

Damian stood beside an unfamiliar woman outside what appeared to be a hotel. His hand rested lightly against her back, and she was looking at him with an expression that suggested they knew each other rather well.

The photograph was dated three years ago.

I stared at it.

I didn't know who the woman was.

I didn't know what their relationship had been.

But suddenly, the marriage agreement on my laptop seemed considerably less straightforward.

And for the first time since Damian Blackwood had proposed to me, I wondered whether I was the only one entering this arrangement with secrets.

Perhaps the contract wasn't the most dangerous thing between us after all.