Chapter4:Into the Lion’s den
845 Words
The contract sat between them on the sleek glass table, printed on thick cream paper and bound in a leather folder.
Jasmine stared at it like it might explode.
Across from her, Marcus Thorne, flawless in a steel-gray suit and unbothered by the chaos he had just dragged her out of, watched her with the same calm intensity he wore like a second skin.
She was still trying to make sense of it all.
Less than 24 hours ago, her life had crumbled.
Now, she was sitting in the penthouse suite of Thorne tower with a cup of hand-pressed espresso and a marriage contract in front of her.
"It's good to see that you don't look so terrified."
Marcus said, his voice low and deliberate.
"I'm not terrified," Jasmine replied, then immediately realized how defensive she sounded.
"Good," he said. "Because you're not being forced into anything. This is a choice. One that benefits us both." He reminded her.
She glanced at the terms again.
MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Duration: 6 months
Terms:
Public appearances as Mr Thorne's wife.
Discretion: Loyalty. Silence about the details of his private affairs.
In return, legal protection against current allegations and full financial reinstatement.
Bonus: $5 million at the end of the contract, provided all clauses are upheld.
It was absurd. It was cold. It was everything her heart rebelled against. But it was also her only way out.
"You'll protect me?" she asked, still not touching
her pen.
Marcus leaned forward slightly. "You're already being watched. Leo, Peter, Nina, they've shifted everything to implicate you. I can bury it, but I need you close.....
"...Publicly, personally. You become untouchable if you become mine."
There was something in the way he said "mine" that made her skin prickle. Not possession.
"Why me?" she asked.
"You could hire a model. An actress. Someone who fits your world."
"I don't need an actress," he replied.
"I need someone with something to lose. And someone who won't sell me out. You're desperate. That makes you trustworthy."
She blinked at his brutal honesty.
"well," she muttered, finally picking up the pen,
"That's romantic"
Marcus smirked. "Romance isn't a part of the deal."
Jasmine inhaled, her hand trembling slightly as she signed her name.
The pen glided across the paper like it belonged there.
Jasmine Mendoza-Thorne.
Just like that, her fate was sealed.
The Thorne estate was like stepping into a movie.
Or another planet.
A driver whisked her to an estate hidden behind rows of private hedges and gates monitored by armed guards.
Inside, glass walls revealed manicured gardens and a panoramic view of the city skyline.
Everything was crisp, curated, and cold.
Jasmine stood awkwardly in the grand marble foyer, clutching the black designer bag Marcus had instructed his assistant to get for her.
"This is all yours," the assistant-Elise told her with a tight smile.
"If you need anything, I'm your point of contact. Mr Thorne has meetings until late, but he requested dinner at 8. sharp. And press photos at 9."
"Press photos?" Jasmine asked, stunned.
Elise nodded. "Welcome to the spotlight."
By 8p.m., Jasmine sat across from Marcus at a long mahogany table, pushing lobster risotto around her plate with a silver fork.
She had changed into a deep emerald gown Elise had laid out for her-tailored, high-necked, and nothing like the clothes she owned.
Marcus, as usual, looked like he belonged on the cover of Fortune.
"I assumed you had read the part about the public appearances," he said as he poured her wine.
"I got the memo." She took a sip.
It was dry and expensive.
"There is a gala this weekend. Our first outing as a married couple."
"Great. Love pretending to be madly in love with a man I barely know."
He raised a brow. "You're doing better than most real wives in this city already."
Jasmine didn't laugh. She studied him - his calm, his detachment, his control. And yet there was something beneath it.
Something he kept hidden.
After dinner, he walked her to her room- yes separate rooms.
"This is a business arrangement, Jasmine," he said at the door.
"I won't touch you unless you ask me to."
She wasn't sure if that was reassuring or ominous.
Inside the room, Jasmine stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Same face. Same eyes. But she didn't recognize the woman staring back.
She was no longer Jasmine Mendoza, the girl who built a company her parents had left her with her husband and trusted her best friend.
She was now Jasmine Mendoza Thorne.
Wife of a billionaire.
And caught in a web she still didn't fully understand.
Just before midnight, as she laid in bed, her phone buzzed.
The sound of her phone buzzing made her heart jump.
She had only ever gotten bad news from her phone buzzing.
She picked it up with trembling hands.
A single message.
From: unknown sender0556@protonmail.com
Did you think a fake marriage would save you?
He is not who you think he is.
Check the basement.
Her blood ran cold.
- Writer
