The Contract
1150 Words
The building looked like it swallowed people whole.
Tall. Obsidian black. Glass panels that shimmered like secrets. It didn’t belong in Eden’s world. It belonged to men who didn’t blink when they signed away millions or lives—whichever came first.
Eden stood outside for five full minutes before stepping in.
She wore her cleanest pair of jeans, a plain white top under her jacket, and the last of her confidence wrapped around her like armor. Her hair was up—tight bun, no nonsense. Her lips bare. She couldn’t afford to look pretty.
She didn’t want to look impressed.
The receptionist didn’t ask who she was. Didn’t need to. One look at Eden, and the woman tapped a headset, then gave her a crisp nod.
“He’s expecting you. Top floor.”
Of course he was.
The elevator felt like rising into another tax bracket. By the time the doors slid open, Eden had rehearsed her lines a hundred times. She walked through the glass hallway like she wasn’t two seconds away from throwing up.
And then she saw him.
Cassian Wolfe.
Standing by the window, hands behind his back, suit tailored to perfection. Like a villain out of a billionaire’s fairytale.
He didn’t turn when she entered. Didn’t greet her.
“Sit.”
The word dropped like stone.
Eden raised a brow. “No good morning? No dramatic pause and ‘I didn’t think you’d come’?”
He finally turned, slow and deliberate. His gaze locked onto hers—sharp, impassive, unreadable.
“I don’t waste time with unnecessary words.”
“And yet you called me here with zero personality. Impressive.”
He didn’t rise to the bait. Of course he didn’t.
Cassian walked to the sleek table in the center of the room and gestured to a folder already waiting.
“Read. Ask your questions. Then sign.”
Eden eyed the folder like it might bite. She took the seat across from him, spine straight, chin up.
No fear.
No trembling.
She opened it.
Everything was there—written like a business acquisition. One year. Fake marriage. Full confidentiality. Zero physical contact unless agreed upon for public appearance. Weekly events. Monthly check-ins with his legal team. And most importantly:
“Clause 9A: The wife agrees to obey all public and private directives from the husband in order to maintain the illusion of a functional relationship.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You included the word obey. Are we in the 1800s or just deep in your ego?”
“It’s efficient wording,” he said, cold and unbothered. “You follow my lead. That’s the agreement.”
“And what if I decide to do the opposite?”
He looked her in the eye.
“Then the contract is void. You lose everything. And you go back to being a waitress with nothing but overdue rent and sarcasm.”
The silence after that was loud.
Eden closed the folder, resting her hands on top of it.
“Tell me why me. You could’ve picked any girl—actress, model, desperate heiress. Why me?”
Cassian leaned forward, just slightly.
“Because you don’t want me.”
That froze her.
He said it so calmly. So clinically. Like it wasn’t personal.
“You’re not interested in power. Or wealth. You don’t crave status. You’re not dumb enough to fall in love with me, and not reckless enough to ruin my name.”
He sat back.
“You’re perfect because you’ll do what you must, but never more than that.”
Eden exhaled through her nose, a bitter laugh on her lips. “That’s the coldest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. It was a fact.”
God, he really was impossible.
But also… right.
That was the part that burned the most.
Eden stared at the paper for a long moment. Her hand hovered over the pen.
“I want my own room,” she said.
“You’ll have it.”
“I want my own bank account. You deposit my payments there weekly.”
“Done.”
“No rules about what I do when I’m not with you.”
He paused. Briefly. “Don’t embarrass me. That’s the only rule.”
“Too late,” she muttered. Then, after a heartbeat, “I want a clause. If you touch me without consent, I walk. With full payment.”
His gaze sharpened.
For the first time, something flickered behind his eyes.
“I don’t want you,” he said flatly.
“You better not,” she replied, matching his tone.
Then, slowly, she signed.
Her name etched itself onto the paper like a countdown. A year. Just a year.
She slid the folder back.
Cassian took it without ceremony, skimmed the signature, then placed it into a drawer like it was nothing but another deal.
“You move in tonight,” he said. “My driver will pick you up at seven.”
She stood. “Do I get to pack my sarcasm, or should I leave it at the door?”
He didn’t look up. “It’s the only thing you own worth bringing.”
Eden smirked.
Cold. Calculating. Condescending.
He was exactly the bastard she expected.
And somehow, that made her more determined to win her own little game—whatever that would look like.
Eden’s Pov:
What kind of woman signs herself into a contract marriage with a man who looks like he’d rather stab himself than smile?
Apparently… me.
I walked out of that office with my head high and my stomach in knots. The city noise hit me like a slap—the honks, the chatter, the blur of movement—but my mind was still stuck back in that cold, glass room with the devil in Armani.
I’d signed it.
It wasn’t just ink on paper. It was a choice. A reckless, necessary leap into a life I didn’t fully understand with a man who couldn’t care less if I existed outside his list of legal obligations.
My fingers curled tighter around the contract copy.
Obey. No touching. One year.
I’d been through worse. Survived worse. But this? This wasn’t just survival. This was me walking straight into fire and daring it to burn me alive.
And still… I didn’t regret it.
Not yet.
Because for once, I wasn’t waiting on life to throw me a bone. I was grabbing the damn leash—even if it meant walking beside a wolf.
I stopped in front of a shop window and caught a glimpse of myself.
No makeup. No fake smile. Just me.
Tired eyes. Sharp tongue. Steel spine.
“Let’s play, Mr. Wolfe,” I whispered under my breath, a quiet, defiant promise to the cold bastard upstairs. “You wanted someone who wouldn’t fall for you? Congratulations. You’ve got someone who just might bite back
- Writer
