CHAPTER 4
795 Words
“What?” I scoffed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is this some kind of twisted joke that turns you on?”
Luther’s expression shifted instantly — the warmth in his eyes evaporated, replaced by something colder, sharper. The kind of authority that doesn’t need to be raised to be terrifying.
“Do I, Luther Ford Jr., look like a joke to you?”
The way he said his name — slow, deliberate — sent a chill down my spine. His voice carried that kind of absolute confidence money breeds.
My throat went dry. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” His tone was calm, measured. “I don’t waste time with jokes, Miss Sachs.”
I wanted to laugh, to call his bluff, but something in his eyes warned me not to.
There was no arrogance there — only intent.
“And what exactly do you gain by getting married to me?” I asked, crossing my arms even as my palms began to sweat.
He tilted his head slightly, lips curling. “You’re asking the wrong question, Miss Sachs. The question should be what do you gain from getting married to me?”
“What the hell does that mean?”, I ask in anger.
“It means I know you walked out of an apartment on Wilmer Street three weeks ago,” he said quietly, each word landing like a blow. “I know you left behind a man who didn’t deserve you and a so-called friend who never was. I know you’ve been drowning in debt and sleeping four hours a night trying to outrun the noise of what they did to you.”
My breath caught. “You’ve had me followed all this while?”
“No,” he said simply. “I paid attention.”
It felt like the room was closing in around me. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I couldn’t look away. There was no pity in his voice, no mock sympathy — just fact. Cold and precise.
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because people like you don’t stay broken for long,” he said. “You adapt. You survive. That kind of stubborness is useful to me.”
“Useful?” I spat the word out like poison. “You mean convenient.”
He gave a small, knowing smile. “Call it what you like. The truth is, I need a wife — and you need a lifeline.”
My pulse jumped. “A lifeline?”
He stepped closer. “You’re barely keeping your head above water, Juliana. The loan collectors, the rent, the noise in your own mind — all of it is dragging you under. You’re looking for an exit. I’m offering you one.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I wasn’t that desperate. But the truth pressed hard against my chest. He wasn’t wrong.
“Again, what’s in it for you?” I asked finally.
“Control,” he said simply. “I can only inherit thirty-five percent of my father’s company once I’m married. It’s business, nothing more. You get security. I get leverage.”
“So, I’m just a pawn in your game of inheritance?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You get to choose whether being a pawn feels worse than being broke, alone, and invisible.”
I froze. His words hit too close — the part of me that still hurt from Michael’s betrayal, from standing outside that apartment and realizing I had nothing left, not even dignity.
He must’ve seen something in my eyes, because his tone softened. “I’ll pay off your debts. Every cent. You’ll have a home, a salary, your freedom — within reason. All I need from you is time.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
I stared down at my hands, nails digging into my palms. The logical part of me screamed to walk away — to run before I got trapped in someone else’s story again.
But the tired part of me — the one that had been fighting to stay afloat — was tempted.
Three years.
Freedom.
Silence from the debt collectors.
A clean slate.
It was pathetic, but for the first time in weeks, something that almost felt like relief flickered in my chest.
I took a shaky breath. “Fine. I’ll sign the contract.”
Luther’s lips curved — not quite a smile, not quite victory. “Good girl,” he murmured. Then he turned, walked toward the window, and looked out at the skyline like the matter was settled.
But for me, nothing felt settled.
Because the moment I said yes, I knew I’d just traded one cage for another.
- Writer
