The Price of a Signature
The pen felt heavier than it should.
I gripped it tightly, my knuckles whitening, but my fingers wouldn't move.
Across the polished marble table, Nathaniel Whitmore sat with an air of quiet patience, his sharp blue eyes watching me like a predator waiting for its prey to break.
There was no urgency in his posture, no insistence in his voice when he finally spoke.
"Elena." My name rolled off his tongue smoothly, effortlessly, yet it sent a chill down my spine. "The contract is exactly what we agreed upon. Two years. Separate lives. No expectations." A brief pause. "No complications."
No complications.
How ironic.
I glanced at the papers again.
The legal jargon blurred together, but I already knew what it said. This was a business transaction, nothing more.
A neat, calculated agreement that would save my father's failing jewelry company and secure Nathaniel's inheritance.
A contract marriage.
Sign it, and I would become Elena Whitmore. A wife in name, a stranger in reality.
I looked up at him, searching for something—anything—that might make this decision easier. But Nathaniel was unreadable. He always was. His face, sculpted like cold marble, betrayed nothing.
"You don't have to hesitate," he said, his voice as smooth as the whiskey sitting untouched beside him. "We both know there are no better options for you."
My stomach twisted. I hated that he was right.
I exhaled, fingers tightening around the pen. "You don't believe in love, do you?"
His lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. "No."
I swallowed. He didn't hesitate. Not even for a second.
"And you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Do you?"
I let out a quiet laugh, empty and bitter. "Does it matter?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Not to me."
Of course not.
Love had no place in a contract like this.
I pressed the pen onto paper.
One stroke. Then another.
My name took shape, written in ink that might as well have been chains locking me into this agreement.
Nathaniel leaned back slightly, watching as I set the pen down. "That's it, then." He slid the papers towards him, scanning my signature with practiced indifference. "We'll make the announcement tomorrow. The press release is already prepared."
A lump formed in my throat. He had planned everything down to the last detail. Of course he had.
I watched as he lifted the contract and slipped it into a sleek black folder. It was done.
I was married.
