CHAPTER TWO: TERMS AND SHADOWS
1268 Words
Sleep abandoned me completely that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, the words from the contract resurfaced, sharp and unforgiving.
Binding agreement. Irrevocable terms. Kulture Smith. My mind refused to slow, cycling through
fear, anger, and disbelief in relentless waves. I stared at the ceiling long after midnight, listening
to the city breathe outside my apartment window, wondering how a single document could
unravel everything I thought I knew about my life.
By morning, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.
I moved through my routine on autopilot—showering, dressing, forcing down a few bites of toast
I couldn’t taste. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked unfamiliar. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Older
than I remembered being. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me.
On the kitchen counter, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number.
My stomach twisted.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Miss Sloan Lark,” a calm male voice said. “This is Hawsworth & Co. Law Firm. You are
scheduled to attend a meeting today at eleven a.m. regarding the agreement between your late
parents and Mr. Kulture Smith.”
Scheduled.
Not invited. Not requested.
“I wasn’t informed,” I said carefully.
“You are now,” he replied, unfazed. “Attendance is mandatory.”
The line went dead.
I stood there for a long moment, phone pressed to my ear, pulse racing. Mandatory. The word
echoed in my mind like a warning bell. Whoever Kulture Smith was, he didn’t ask for
cooperation.
He expected it.
Cassie arrived twenty minutes later, bursting into my apartment with her usual energy, oblivious
to the knot tightening in my chest. She took one look at my face and immediately dropped her
bag.
“Oh no,” she said. “You look like someone died.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “That already happened. This is worse.”
I told her everything.
The contract. The deadline. The meeting.
She listened in stunned silence, her earlier excitement from the night before replaced with
something closer to awe—and unease.
“Okay,” she said slowly, pacing my living room. “This is insane. Like, billionaire-romance-novel
insane.”
“Cassie,” I snapped, “this isn’t funny.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I’m not laughing. I just—Sloan, do you know how powerful the Smiths
are?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
She stopped pacing and looked at me seriously. “You can’t go in there looking like you’re about
to be executed.”
“I feel like I am.”
“Then we fake it,” she said firmly. “Confidence. Control. You don’t give them fear to feed on.”
An hour later, she had me standing in front of my mirror in a sleek black dress that hugged me
in ways my usual clothes never did. She fixed my hair, reapplied my makeup, and stepped back
with a satisfied nod.
“You look like you belong in their world,” she said.
I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere.
The law firm towered over the street like a monument to power—glass, steel, and intimidation.
Inside, everything gleamed. Polished floors. Minimalist art. Quiet efficiency. The receptionist
barely glanced up when I gave my name.
“They’re expecting you,” she said, already pressing a button.
The conference room doors opened smoothly.
And there he was.
Kulture Smith stood near the window, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. Even from
behind, he commanded the room. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Immaculately dressed. He turned
slowly when the call ended, his dark eyes settling on me with unsettling calm.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
Not warm. Not friendly.
Measured.
“Sloan Lark,” he said. “You’re late.”
“I was told eleven,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
“It’s eleven-oh-one,” he said smoothly. “Sit.”
The command sent a shiver through me.
I took the chair opposite him, folding my hands in my lap to hide their trembling. Two lawyers sat
to his right, their expressions unreadable.
“Let’s not waste time,” Kulture said. “You’ve read the agreement.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I want to know why my parents felt the need to sell my future.”
One of the lawyers stiffened. Kulture’s gaze sharpened, something dark flickering beneath the
surface.
“They didn’t sell it,” he said evenly. “They secured it.”
“For who?” I demanded. “Because it wasn’t for me.”
Silence stretched.
“You’re asking the wrong question,” he finally said. “The real question is whether you intend to
honor it.”
I swallowed. “Do I have a choice?”
A faint smile curved his lips.
“No.”
The word landed like a verdict.
The meeting blurred after that. Legal explanations. Consequences. Timelines. I heard just
enough to understand one brutal truth: if I didn’t comply, I would lose everything. And not just
financially. The lawyers made it clear—walking away would not be simple. The Smiths did not
appreciate broken agreements.
When it ended, Kulture stood, signaling dismissal.
The lawyers filed out, leaving us alone.
He moved closer, stopping just short of invading my space. His presence was
overwhelming—controlled power wrapped in calm confidence.
“You’re angry,” he observed.
“Wouldn’t you be?” I shot back.
“Yes,” he said. “But I’d hide it better.”
His gaze lingered on my face, intense and unreadable. “You don’t yet understand what you’ve
stepped into.”
“Then explain it to me,” I said.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “In time.”
I left the building feeling like I had been hollowed out.
I didn’t go home.
Instead, I called Nicholas.
My boyfriend. My safe place. Or so I thought.
We met at a café near my office. He looked distracted, his phone lighting up constantly on the
table between us.
I need you,” I said quietly.
He didn’t look up. “Today’s not great.”
Something inside me snapped.
“I just found out my parents arranged my marriage to a billionaire I’ve never met, and you’re
telling me today isn’t great?”
That got his attention.
He stared at me, eyes wide. “Wait—what?”
I told him everything.
He listened, nodding occasionally, but his focus drifted again and again to his phone.
“This is… a lot,” he finally said. “But maybe it’s not all bad?”
I stared at him. “You sound like Cassie.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, it’s temporary, right? Maybe you can get out of it later.”
I realized then that he wasn’t angry for me.
He was already pulling away.
That night, alone in my apartment, the loneliness hit harder than anything else had. The walls
felt closer. The silence louder. I stood by the window, staring down at the city lights, feeling like
my life was no longer my own.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Kulture.
Be ready tomorrow. You’re coming with me.
No explanation. No request.
Just expectation.
I typed back with shaking fingers.
For what?
The response came instantly.
Your new life.
I dropped the phone onto the couch, my heart pounding.
Whatever was coming next, I knew one thing for certain.
This wasn’t just about marriage.
It was about control.
And I was already losing it.
- Writer
