Bound by hate, undone by him

Chapter 6 The private contract

Monday came faster than Celeste would have liked.

The Uber dropped her in front of GTech's headquarters at exactly nine forty-five, fifteen minutes early, though she'd meant to be right on time. She'd left home early out of nerves rather than punctuality, and now she stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring up at the building's mirrored glass towering over the street, her reflection distorted and small against all that height.

You can do this, she told herself. It's just a contract. It's not a wedding. Not yet, anyway.

The lobby alone was enough to remind her exactly what kind of world she was marrying into, all marble floors and soaring ceilings, employees moving through the space with the brisk, self-important energy of people who worked somewhere that mattered. She gave her name at the front desk and was quickly escorted to the executive floor by a poised young woman who introduced herself as Collins, Mr. Gray's secretary.

Collins led her down a long hallway lined with glass-walled offices, and Celeste became aware, almost immediately, of the eyes following her. Conversations dipped low as she passed, heads turning just enough to track her without being obvious about it.

"This is my first time seeing her," one voice murmured from behind a cubicle, pitched just loud enough for Celeste to catch. "Is that Mr. Gray's woman?"

Celeste kept her expression perfectly neutral, though she felt her cheeks warm slightly at the phrase. Mr. Gray's woman. As though she were a company acquisition rather than a person, something recently added to his portfolio worth gossiping about over morning coffee.

Collins stopped in front of a large frosted-glass door at the end of the hallway. "Mr. Gray's office," she said, gesturing for Celeste to go ahead, before retreating back down the hall with the quiet efficiency of someone who had learned exactly when not to linger.

Celeste knocked once.

"Come in."

She hadn't even fully stepped through the doorway before his cologne reached her again, that same warm, expensive scent from Thursday night, and she had to bite back the small, betraying sound that nearly escaped her.

God, she thought. Not this again.

Lucien sat behind a massive desk near the far wall, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline behind him like he'd arranged the whole view specifically to be photographed for a business magazine. He didn't stand when she entered, only glanced up from whatever he'd been reading, his gaze sweeping over her once, quick and assessing.

"You're early," he said.

"I guess so."

He set down his pen and looked at her properly then, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that felt almost invasive, like he was reading something written directly onto the back of her skull. It was, without question, the longest anyone had ever looked at her without saying a word, and Celeste found herself the one to break eye contact first, glancing instead at the folder sitting squarely in the center of his desk.

"Here's the contract," he said, sliding it toward her as she took the seat across from him. "Check it and tell me if there's anything you'd like to add or remove."

She opened the folder and scanned the pages, her eyes moving quickly over the clean, clinical legal language. The terms were straightforward, almost insultingly simple for something that was about to reshape her entire life.

They would maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage in public. Affectionate, convincing, whatever was required to keep up appearances in front of family, press, and business associates. In private, they owed each other nothing beyond basic civility. No third party would be informed of the contract's real terms, not his father, not her grandfather, not anyone. After one year, a clean, quiet divorce. No feelings involved on either side, and no expectation that any would develop.

It was, on paper, exactly what she'd asked for. Simple. Transactional. Survivable.

"I'd like to add something," she said, looking up from the page.

His eyebrow rose slightly, the closest thing to genuine interest she'd seen cross his face since she'd walked in. "Go on."

"Boundaries." She met his gaze steadily, refusing to let the intensity of it rattle her twice in one meeting. "We're going to be living in the same house for a year, pretending to be married in public. I think it's reasonable that we agree not to overstep or cross each other's personal boundaries. Whatever those turn out to be."

Something flickered behind his eyes, quick enough that she almost missed it. Approval, maybe, though it was gone before she could be certain.

"That's reasonable," he said, reaching for the pen again and making a small notation in the margin. "Consider it added."

"Thank you."

"Anything else?"

She looked back down at the pages, though her mind had already gone quiet, the terms settling into place with an odd sense of finality. This was really happening. In a matter of weeks, she would be married to this man, sharing a home, a name, a life that existed almost entirely for public consumption while remaining hollow underneath.

"No," she said finally. "I think that covers it."

"Good." He pulled the folder back toward himself, flipping to the final page and sliding it toward her along with the pen. "Then we have a deal."

Celeste looked at the signature line for a long moment, the weight of it settling somewhere deep in her chest. She thought of her grandfather, tears in his eyes just days ago, telling her she'd saved the company. She thought of the eight million dollars that would disappear with a single stroke of her pen, of the year that was about to begin whether she felt ready for it or not.

She signed.

Lucien watched her do it, something unreadable in his expression, before signing beneath her own name with the same detached efficiency he brought to everything else. He closed the folder and set it aside, the matter apparently concluded as far as he was concerned.

"The wedding will be in three weeks," he said, already reaching for another folder on his desk, his attention shifting back to business with startling speed. "My assistant will send you the details. Wear whatever you'd like. I genuinely don't care."

"How romantic," Celeste muttered before she could stop herself.

To her surprise, something that might have almost been a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared. "I told you Thursday. I don't do romance."

"Right." She stood, smoothing her skirt, suddenly eager to be back outside the glass walls of his office, away from his cologne and his unreadable eyes and whatever strange, unwelcome flutter kept happening in her chest every time he looked at her too long. "Well. I suppose I'll see you at the altar, then."

"I suppose you will."

She left his office without another word, walking past the same curious eyes and lowered voices that had tracked her on the way in, though this time she held her chin a little higher.

Whatever this marriage turned out to be, she thought,it would be difficult to maintain