CHAPTER 2
1143 Words
Nina Carter had never been one to hesitate.
Hesitation was for people who had the luxury of choice.
But as she stood outside the towering steel-and-glass building, gripping the strap of her handbag a little too tightly, she felt something dangerously close to it.
She exhaled slowly, watching the crisp Manhattan night swirl in the reflection of the lobby doors. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. More like the ghost of something she refused to name.
It’s just a business deal. A transaction. Nothing more.
Still, as she stepped inside, past the polished floors and the quiet hum of wealth, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into something she wouldn’t be able to control.
She was led to an elevator and stopped in front of it. Nina pulled out her phone, the cool glass pressing against her palm. She tapped the screen, half-expecting a message—something, anything.
There were no new notifications or missed calls, so she pressed a button on the elevator and got in.
The private elevator ride was smooth, silent. Too fast and too slow at the same time.When the doors slid open, revealing a sprawling penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the entire Manhattan skyline, she exhaled sharply.
And there he was.
Ethan Sinclair.
Dark hair, neatly styled but with just enough disarray to suggest he ran a hand through it more often than he should. Sharp jawline, clean-shaven. A mouth that looked like it rarely curved into a real smile. He stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the lights of the city casting long shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He didn’t turn right away, but she felt the shift in the air as he registered her presence.
But it was his eyes that unsettled her the most.
A piercing blue, impossibly cold. Not the kind of cold that came from arrogance or cruelty—she’d seen that before. No, Ethan’s coldness was something else. Calculated. A man who never gave more than necessary, who measured everything before deciding whether it was worth his time.
And when he finally did look at her, it wasn’t with curiosity or interest. Just a quiet, assessing gaze—cool, detached.
Like he was measuring her against something in his head.
Like he had already decided she wouldn’t meet the standard.
Nina lifted her chin.
She wasn’t here to impress him.
She stepped inside, the soft click of her heels the only sound in the vast, modern penthouse. Everything about this place—about him—spoke of precision. The sleek furniture, the expensive but impersonal decor, the way his shirt cuffs were rolled up exactly the same on each forearm.
He liked control. That much was obvious.
Too bad for him—so did she.
Ethan’s voice cut through the silence
.
“You’re late.”
She let out a breathy laugh, more amused than anything. Seriously?
Shrugging off her coat, she tossed it over the back of a chair and met his gaze. “And you’re rude. Guess we’re even.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she crossed her arms. “So, let’s get this over with.”
Ethan arched a brow. “Impatient?”
“Practical.”
His lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
He gestured to the couch. “Sit.”
She didn’t. Not right away. Instead, she studied him—really studied him.
Up close, he was all sharp edges and careful restraint, but there was something else too. Something behind the carefully controlled exterior.
Tension, maybe. Or boredom.
Or something darker.
She sank onto the couch, crossing one leg over the other, matching his composed energy.
“I assume you’ve read the contract.”
“Multiple times.”
“And?”
She leaned forward, fingers lacing together. “Let’s be clear about one thing. I am not some desperate socialite looking to marry rich. I have my own ambitions, and I refuse to be treated like some accessory on your arm.”
Ethan studied her for a bit, then tilted his head slightly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Something in his tone made her pause. There was no humor in it. No warmth.
She was used to men like Ethan—powerful, untouchable, always in control. But most of them at least pretended to play the game.
Ethan Sinclair didn’t bother.
She couldn’t decide if that made him honest or just dangerous, but she wasn’t done here.
Not yet.
She crossed her legs, tilting her head. “Tell me, Mr. Sinclair, do you make a habit of arranging marriages with strangers, or is this a special occasion?”
His expression didn’t change. “I don’t have time for relationships. This is a practical solution.”
“And what do you expect from your… wife?” The word felt strange on her tongue.
“Public appearances. Stability. No scandals.” His gaze darkened. “And complete discretion.”
Nina scoffed. “You act like I’m about to run to the press and expose you.”
“I don’t trust easily.”
Neither did she. Silence stretched between them.
Her eyes scanned Ethan possibly hoping to know what went on in his mind.
“I have conditions,” Nina said hesitatingly.
One dark brow arched. “Such as?”
She leaned forward. “I won’t be paraded around like some trophy wife. I’ll attend the events necessary, but I won’t pretend to be something I’m not.”
“Fair.”
“And I want my art studio separate from all these. I don’t want people assuming I’m some billionaire’s pet project.”
“Done.”
She studied him. “And one more thing.”
His jaw tightened. “What?”
“No intimacy,” she said, holding his gaze. “This is strictly a business arrangement.”
Something flashed in his eyes—something dark, unreadable—but he simply nodded. “I have no interest in complicating things,” he said coolly.
This seemed too easy, but Nina did not let that affect her decision. She needed this deal and right now, the tables looked more in her favor than it ever did.
“Alright. I will be your wife for a year, Ethan,” Nina said.
Ethan extended his hand. A final formality.
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then she slid her palm against his. His grip was steady, firm—like a man who had never doubted anything in his life.
And just like that, it was done.
“Get your things, we’re leaving,” Ethan said as he grabbed his car keys from the bar stand and headed towards the elevator door.
“To where?” Nina asked, confused.
“We'll be attending an event later tonight, so you need to be ready.”
- Writer
