Chapter Two
1411 Words
Emma gripped the cold leather folder in her hands, her eyes scanning the cruel black letters typed onto the contract. Each line was another chain. Another shackle.
Her vision blurred for a moment — not from the lack of sleep or the headache pounding behind her temples — but from the sheer weight of what was happening.
A marriage. To a stranger. Not just any stranger. Alexander Knight. The most arrogant, cold, emotionally unavailable billionaire on this side of the country.
The room was suffocating. Every square inch screamed wealth — from the marble floors to the gold-accented chandelier that dangled above, sparkling like it was mocking her.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to lift her gaze towards him. He sat casually on the velvet sofa, legs crossed, his arms stretched lazily over the backrest like this was just another Tuesday. His silver wristwatch glinted under the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, perfectly matching the cold gleam in his icy blue eyes.
“Why me?” The question slipped from her lips, uninvited.
Alexander’s brows lifted slightly, as if mildly entertained. “You were there.”
“That’s not an answer,” she snapped, slamming the folder shut, hands trembling.
A dark chuckle escaped him. “Isn’t it?”
His lawyer — or whatever the stiff, grey-haired man in the suit was — remained perfectly silent, expression blank, like this was standard procedure.
Emma stood abruptly, the silk sheets pooling at her feet. She realized too late that she was still wearing only his oversized shirt, her bare legs fully exposed. Heat flared in her cheeks, but she refused to let that stop her. She yanked the shirt lower, gripping it with one hand as if that alone could preserve her dignity.
“I’m not signing anything,” she stated, her voice firmer than she thought possible. “This is... this is insane.”
Alexander didn’t even blink. “Are you sure?” His tone was dangerously calm, almost bored. He stood, walking toward the minibar again, pouring himself another glass of water.
“Because,” he continued, “if you walk out that door, right now, I won’t stop you. But the debt collectors? They will. Your landlord? He’s already filed for eviction. And your brother’s treatment...” He turned, casually sipping his water as if discussing the weather. “Well, you know how expensive hospitals can be.”
Her throat tightened. “You... you’re bluffing.”
Alexander set his glass down. “Am I?”
His lawyer cleared his throat. “Mr. Knight instructed us to conduct a full background check. Your financial situation is... unfortunate.”
Emma’s legs almost buckled. Her hand reached for the edge of the marble table for support.
“Is that what this is? "Blackmail?” Her voice trembled, but there was a sharpness beneath it — anger, humiliation, panic.
“Call it what you want,” Alexander said smoothly. “I call it... business.”
Her nails dug into her palm. “This isn’t business. This is ruining someone’s life.”
“For both of us, believe me,” he replied, without missing a beat. “Do you think I wanted this? My father was a cruel man with a sense of humor. His will was his final joke.”
His gaze hardened, his jaw clenching briefly. “I don’t do marriage." I don’t do attachments. But the old man decided to tie my hands from the grave. One year married, or lose the company I built with my own hands.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Emma’s heart raced as her brain fought to keep up. Everything about this screamed Run. Every instinct told her to bolt, to get as far away from this penthouse, this man, and this nightmare as possible.
And yet...
Her brother’s face flashed in her mind. His tired smile from that hospital bed. The doctor’s warnings — “If we don’t start the new treatment soon...”
Her vision blurred again.
She couldn’t afford rent. Couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Her life was falling apart.
“Why me?” she whispered again, softer this time. “Out of all the women in the world... Why me?”
Alexander studied her, his lips pressing into a line. For a moment, just a moment, something flickered in his eyes — regret? Annoyance? Pain? She couldn’t tell.
“Because,” he finally said, his voice low but firm, “you’re not from my world. "You don’t want anything from me. "You’re not a gold digger, a socialite, or someone looking for a come-up.”
He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. “And because you’re disposable.”
Her breath hitched.
His words punched harder than anything.
“I don’t need a real wife. "I don’t want one. "I just need someone... temporary.” His gaze never wavered. “Someone who understands this is a transaction. Nothing more.”
A hollow, bitter laugh bubbled out of her chest. “Right. A stand-in wife. An accessory for your inheritance.”
“Exactly.” His agreement came far too easily.
Her fists clenched. “And when is the year up?”
“We walk away. Clean. I'll give you what’s promised. You give me... compliance.”
Emma’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, the bitter taste of helplessness rising like bile in her throat.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
And yet... the alternative was worse.
Alexander must have seen the shift in her expression, because he pulled a pen from his pocket and extended it toward her like it was a dagger. “The sooner we start, the sooner it ends.”
Emma stared at the pen. Her hands shook. Her fingers felt numb.
This wasn’t a choice. Not really.
It was survival.
Her heart thudded painfully as she reached out, fingers curling around the pen.
But before the tip touched paper, she hesitated, looking up at him — really looking.
“Tell me one thing,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “Do you feel anything at all? Is there even... a shred of humanity in you?”
His jaw tensed. For a moment, his eyes darkened, storm clouds brewing behind them.
“No,” he said coldly. “And if you’re smart... you won’t, either.”
Her fingers gripped the pen tighter. Her signature scrawled shakily across the line.
It was done.
A contract. A marriage. A prison.
“Good girl,” Alexander murmured, his tone devoid of warmth. “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Knight.”
***
Two hours later, Emma stood inside a private boutique that probably cost more than her entire life.
“I feel like I’m suffocating,” she muttered as a tailor wrapped a measuring tape around her waist.
Alexander sat nearby, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone, looking utterly uninterested in the process.
“This is standard,” the tailor smiled politely. “As Mr. Knight’s wife, your wardrobe needs to reflect the image.”
Emma stiffened. “The image of what?”
The tailor blinked innocently. “The image of Mrs. Knight. Sophisticated. Elegant. Powerful.”
A hollow laugh almost escaped her lips.
Powerful? She felt anything but.
Her gaze shifted toward Alexander. He hadn’t looked at her once since they arrived. Not once.
Good. The less she saw of him, the easier this would be.
Right?
Right...
Then why did her stomach twist every time her eyes accidentally found him?
***
By the time they returned to his penthouse, Emma was drowning in shopping bags — expensive shoes, tailored dresses, jewelry she had no desire for.
She dropped them by the door, exhausted, physically and emotionally.
Alexander loosened his tie as he stepped inside, walking past her like she was furniture. “Your room’s down the hall. Third door on the right. My room’s the master. Left wing. Don’t get them confused.”
She crossed her arms. “Don’t worry. Sleeping near you sounds like my worst nightmare.”
His lips curved slightly, almost... amused. “You’re learning.”
Emma glared at him. “This is just temporary. One year. Nothing more.”
He turned, his gaze meeting hers — sharp, unreadable. “Good. Remember that.”
But as she dragged herself down the hallway, pushing open the door to her new bedroom, one overwhelming thought hit her like a freight train.
One year is a very, very long time.
- Writer
