Sign It
The room had no warmth in it.
That was the first thing anyone noticed about the Ashford Industries boardroom on the fortieth floor. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Cold white light. A table long enough to seat twenty, currently holding six men in expensive suits, all of them looking at Dominic Ashford like they were waiting for him to flinch.
He never flinched.
Dominic sat at the head of the table, one hand flat on the surface, the other holding a single sheet of paper. His attorney, Marcus Webb, had slid it across to him two minutes ago. Marcus had not looked up since.
Smart man.
"Read it again," Dominic said.
Marcus cleared his throat. "The clause is clear, sir. Section fourteen, subsection three. The full transfer of Ashford Industries controlling shares is conditional upon the primary heir being legally married within thirty days of the estate's official reading."
"Thirty days."
"Yes."
"From today."
"From today."
Silence.
Dominic set the paper down. He looked at the window. The city spread out forty floors below him, small and manageable, the way he preferred everything.
"And if the condition is not met?" he said.
Marcus hesitated. That was not a good sign. Marcus never hesitated.
"Controlling interest passes to the board of directors. Jointly held. With Victor Harlow as acting chair."
Someone shifted in their seat. Dominic heard it. He did not look away from the window.
Victor Harlow.
The man who had spent twelve years trying to pull the Ashford name out from under Dominic's feet. His father's oldest enemy. A man who smiled at funerals.
His father had known this clause was here. He had put it here. And he had not said a word.
"Get out," Dominic said.
Everyone moved. Chairs scraped. Feet found the floor. The boardroom emptied in under thirty seconds.
Everyone except Marcus.
"Sir," Marcus said carefully. "We do have options. A legal challenge could--"
"How long would a challenge take?"
"Realistically? Eighteen months. Minimum."
"And in eighteen months, Harlow runs my company."
Marcus said nothing.
Dominic turned from the window. He walked to the head of the table. He picked up the paper again and read every word of it one more time.
His father had built this company from the ground up. He had handed it to Dominic at twenty-five and said: Run it like it's your blood. Because it is. And Dominic had. For seven years. Every deal, every acquisition, every piece of this empire.
And now his dead father was telling him to get married.
He set the paper down.
"There's a secondary clause," Marcus said. He laid another page on the table. "The marriage must appear authentic in every way. If the board has reason to believe the marriage is performative or arranged for the purpose of meeting the clause, the will's provisions become void."
"Appear authentic," Dominic repeated.
"Yes. In every way."
Dominic looked at Marcus for a long moment.
"Then we find someone who can make it appear that way," he said.
Marcus opened his mouth.
"Not Serena," Dominic said flatly.
Marcus closed his mouth.
"I need someone clean. No history with me. No agenda. Someone who can handle scrutiny and not fall apart." He paused. "Someone who needs something."
"Needs something," Marcus repeated slowly.
"Everyone has a price, Marcus. Find someone whose price I can afford and whose character I can trust." He straightened his jacket. "You have seventy-two hours."
"And the marriage itself?"
Dominic picked up his phone. He had three missed calls and a board meeting in forty minutes.
"That's just paperwork," he said. "I've handled worse."
He walked to the door. Stopped. Looked back at the boardroom one more time.
His father's empire. His name on every wall of this building.
He was not losing it to Victor Harlow.
He was not losing it to anyone.
"Fine," he said. To no one. To the empty room. To the forty floors of city below him and the thirty days sitting on top of him like a weight he had not asked for.
"Find me a wife."
