My Rival is My CEO

Chapter 16: Clause 13

*CHAPTER 16: CLAUSE 13*

*ELENA'S POV*

Baby crib catalog.

I was lying in red silk that was basically see-through, hand on Damian Knight's bare chest because his black silk shirt had only three buttons and they were all undone, pillow wall collapsed on the floor, and now there was a baby crib catalog outside our door.

"Clause 13?" I whispered. "There is no Clause 13. We only read up to 12.2."

Damian sat up fast, black silk pants, chest exposed. He grabbeld the white duvet to cover me — not him, me — which was... distracting.

"Stay here," he said, voice rough. "I'll get it."

He walked to the front door barefoot, silk pants low on his hips, back muscles moving. I tried not to look. I failed.

The elevator dinged. Doors opened.

It wasn't housekeeping. It wasn't Zara.

It was Sophia.

Sophia Laurent. Damian's ex. The girl he brought to the gala to make me jealous. Blonde, perfect, in a white coat with a small overnight bag.

"Elena," she said, seeing me over Damian's shoulder, in his bed, in red silk. Her smile cracked for half a second, then fixed itself. "Oh. I see I'm early."

Early for what?

*DAMIAN'S POV*

Sophia wasn't supposed to be here. I told my father to cancel her.

"Why are you here?" I asked, blocking the doorway so she couldn't see Elena in red silk clearly. Too late. She already saw.

"Charles invited me," Sophia said, holding up her phone. Text from my father: _Penthouse, bring bag. Elena needs to learn how real wives act._

Real wives. My father was now importing my ex-girlfriend to teach my fake wife how to be a real wife.

"Sophia, you need to leave," I said, low.

"But I brought the crib catalog your father asked for," she said, sweet, stepping past me before I could stop her. "Clause 13, right? He said you'd want to see it."

Elena stood up from the bed. Fast. Pulled the duvet around herself like a cape. Red silk underneath, hair messy, lips still swollen from the kiss.

"Sophia," Elena said, savage voice returning, "What Clause 13?"

Sophia put her overnight bag down in our living room. Overnight bag. In our one-bedroom penthouse with one bed.

"Oh, you didn't read it?" Sophia said, innocent. "Charles said Clause 13 is the heir clause. If you two don't have a baby within a year of marriage, Evans Global gets Knight Corp automatically. No merger. Just... takes it."

Silence.

One year. Baby. Automatic.

Elena looked at me. White.

"That's not real," I said to Sophia. "My father can't put a baby clause -"

"He can," Sophia interrupted, pulling out a paper from her coat. Same cream paper as before. "Because Elena signed 'I agree to all future amendments' at 16. So he amended. Clause 13 — Heir Must Be Produced Within 12 Months To Secure Merger Permanently."

She slid it across the kitchen island. Same island where Elena's father gave her Clause 12.1.

Elena picked it up. Read it. Hands shaking under duvet-cape.

"One year," she whispered. "One year to have a baby? With you? Fake marriage, now fake baby?"

Sophia sat on our couch — our one couch — like she owned it. "Charles said I could stay tonight to... help you understand wife duties. Since you two clearly don't know how to share a bed. Pillow wall? Really?"

She had seen the pillow on the floor.

Elena's face went from white to red. Not embarrassed red. Angry red. The Crestwood finals red. The boardroom red. The _you don't get to talk about my bed_ red.

She dropped the duvet. Stood there in full red silk cami and shorts, no cape, no shield, barefoot, and walked straight up to Sophia.

"Thank you for the delivery," Elena said, voice ice, sweet, savage. "You can leave now. The real wife doesn't need lessons from the ex who got brought to a gala as a prop."

Sophia stood up, offended. "I -"

"Out," I said, finally, loud. I opened the front door, held it. "Sophia, out. Now."

Sophia grabbed her overnight bag, glared at Elena's red silk, and walked out. Elevator doors closed on her white coat.

We were alone again. But now there was a crib catalog on our kitchen island, next to the crumpled Clause 12.1 and 12.2 papers, and a paper that said we had 12 months to have a baby.

Elena looked at the catalog. Looked at the bed. Looked at me in black silk pants, three buttons undone, chest still bare.

"Damian," she said, quiet, all savage gone, just scared, "We have to share a bed tonight for a photographer in the morning. We have to kiss for WSJ. And now in one year we have to... have a baby? Or we lose everything?"

I walked to her. Didn't ask this time. Just put the duvet back around her shoulders because she was shivering in red silk.

"Clause 13 isn't legal," I said, but my voice wasn't sure. "My father can't force -"

"He can," she whispered, leaning her forehead against my chest, because she was tired and we had been fighting all day. "Because I signed at 16. I signed everything away at 16."

We stood there. One bed behind us, crib catalog in front of us, photographer coming soon to take a picture of us waking up together.

And then my phone buzzed. Her phone buzzed.

Group text from Charles & Robert, at same time:

*CHARLES & ROBERT:* _Saw Sophia left. Good. Now Clause 13 — practical exam starts tonight. Photographer moved to early morning for baby-making lighting. Be convincing. — C&R_

Moved earlier.

Elena looked up at me, forehead still on my chest, red silk, duvet cape, and whispered:

"Damian, what do we do now?"