1: The Marriage Contract
The pen trembled in Amelia Hart’s hand as her eyes skimmed the thick stack of papers before her. Every page carried the weight of her future, binding her to the one man she had sworn never to face again.
Alexander Stone.
Her father’s lawyers sat across from her, their expressions unreadable as they watched her hesitate. To them, this was business—a transaction to save the sinking Hart family. To Amelia, it was a noose tightening around her neck.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she whispered.
Her father’s weary gaze met hers. His illness had aged him beyond his years, and guilt shadowed his features. “Amelia, if you don’t sign this contract… we lose everything. The house, the company, our name. I—” He coughed, clutching his chest.
Amelia’s throat tightened. For years, she had carried the burden of her family’s crumbling fortune. Now, the final thread of hope was tied to Alexander, the cold tycoon who had watched her downfall with those merciless steel-gray eyes.
The double doors opened. A chilling draft swept through the room as Alexander himself walked in. Tall, commanding, dressed in an immaculate black suit, he looked every bit the ruthless billionaire the world feared.
“Amelia.” His voice was low, smooth, but devoid of warmth. “Are you ready to sign?”
Her fingers clenched the pen tighter. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Watching me crawl into your world?”
One corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile, but something sharper, crueler. “I don’t deal in enjoyment, Miss Hart. I deal in results. This marriage gives me what I want… and it gives you what you need. Nothing more.”
Heat flared in Amelia’s chest. “And what exactly do you want, Alexander? A puppet bride? Someone to parade in front of your shareholders?”
He leaned closer, his presence suffocating, his cologne intoxicatingly sharp. “I want control. Stability. The perfect image of a loyal wife at my side. You will play the role, Amelia, and in return, your family will breathe again.”
Her heart hammered. She wanted to scream, to throw the contract in his face. But then she glanced at her father, frail and broken, and knew she couldn’t.
With trembling fingers, Amelia scrawled her name across the line. The ink bled into the paper, sealing her fate.
Alexander took the document, his gaze never leaving her. For the briefest second, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“Good girl,” he said softly, slipping the contract into his briefcase. “You’re mine now.”
The words struck like chains around her wrists. Amelia lifted her chin, swallowing the lump in her throat. If this is the game you want to play, Alexander Stone, she thought bitterly, then I’ll play. But I won’t let you break me.
Outside, the church bells tolled, echoing like a cruel reminder. By the end of the day, Amelia Hart would no longer exist. She would be Mrs. Alexander Stone—the bride bound to the cold tycoon.
