CHAPTER 5
953 Words
JULIANA
It had been two weeks since I signed the contract to marry Luther Ford. Two quiet, surreal weeks where life seemed to move forward but make no sense at all.
The morning after I’d signed, his assistant had sent an email with onboarding documents, a company laptop, and a note from HR saying I’d been placed in the Ford Group’s Communications Department — “per executive directive.”
So, I started work.
Every weekday, I rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor of the Ford Group Tower, clocked in, and sat at my assigned desk. My colleagues treated me like any other new hire. They were polite, mildly curious, and unaware that the CEO had practically bought my future. I buried myself in press releases, event briefs, and digital reports, pretending this was all normal.
Luther never came by the department. Not once.
It was as though the man who had looked me in the eye and said marry me had vanished from the face of the earth.
Still, his shadow loomed everywhere — in the way people spoke about him, in the framed magazine covers on the walls, in the corporate whisper that said Luther Ford Jr. was brilliant, ruthless, and unapproachable.
I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself I was fine. But deep down, I was waiting — waiting for him to call, to explain, to make me understand what kind of mess I had agreed to be part of.
Then, on a sunny Friday afternoon, just as I was shutting down my computer, a knock echoed against my apartment door. An apartment the "Ford Corporation" had gotten for me.
When I opened it, Luther was standing there.
“Uh… hi,” I said, stepping aside awkwardly.
He didn’t bother returning the greeting. “Dress up. We’re meeting my family tonight.”
My brain stumbled. “Wait—what?”
“The chauffeur is downstairs. Don’t keep me waiting.” He held out a long, slim box. “Here’s your dress.”
“Couldn’t this come with at least a hello?” I muttered, but he’d already turned toward the hallway.
Inside the box was a black, floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline and a subtle shimmer under the light. It was the kind of dress you wore when you wanted to belong somewhere you knew you didn’t.
Thirty minutes later, I was ready. The mirror reflected someone who could’ve passed for belonging in Luther Ford’s world — composed, elegant, untouchable.
When I walked downstairs, he was waiting by the door, scrolling through his phone. His eyes flicked up, scanning me head to toe.
“Not bad,” he murmured.
I bit back the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He said nothing — just nodded for me to follow.
Outside, a line of sleek black cars glinted under the late sun. I stopped short.
“Are all these yours?”
Luther’s lips curved faintly. “I told you, I’m your savior. And saviors aren’t poor.”
Damn his proud ass.
The ride to the Ford mansion was quiet and thick with unspoken tension. Every time our arms brushed, my body tensed — not from fear, but from some sort of disorienting electricity that came with his presence.
By the time we arrived, the sky was the color of dusk and money.
Damn! The mansion was impossible — a sprawl of glass and manicured perfection, guarded by iron gates and silent staff who moved like ghosts.
“Rule number one,” Luther said as we stepped out. “Let me do the talking.”
“Yes, savior,” I muttered.
He actually laughed. Interesting.
Inside, the house was all clean lines and art worth more than my entire existence. Everything smelled faintly of cedar and quiet power.
“Don’t stare,” he whispered, leaning close. “You’ll give yourself away.”
Before I could retort, a man’s voice echoed from the staircase.
“Luther.”
The man who appeared could only be his father — older, refined, with the same piercing green eyes and a presence that commanded attention.
“Good evening, Dad,” Luther said evenly.
“You’re early,” Mr. Ford said, eyes narrowing. “And who’s this?”
“This is Juliana,” Luther replied without hesitation. “My fiancée.”
I tried to smile, but Mr. Ford’s expression barely flickered.
“Fiancée?” he repeated. “And what about Natasha?”
I blinked. Who?
Luther’s jaw tightened. “That’s over.”
“Over?” his father scoffed. “You haven’t called off the engagement yet.”
Before Luther could answer, another voice broke through the tension — casual, familiar, and so painfully arrogant that it made my stomach twist.
“Dad, Mom, I’m home!”
The man stepping through the archway had the same confident smirk, the same careless swagger I’d once thought was charming.
I froze.
“Michael?”
He stopped mid-step. His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. “Jules?”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Mr. Ford’s gaze bounced between us. “You two know each other?”
Michael swallowed hard. “She’s… she’s my ex-girlfriend.”
My throat closed.
Luther’s arm slid around my waist, possessive and deliberate. His voice was calm — too calm.
“Correction,” he said softly. “She’s my fiancée now.”
And that was when it hit me.
This wasn’t just some marriage of convenience.
I wasn’t just some girl plucked from despair.
I was leverage.
Some pawn in a war between two brothers. Whatever the hell the war was.
And Luther Ford, my so-called savior, had known exactly what he was doing all along.
- Writer
