I Chose The Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 04: Terms and Conditions

If I wanted this marriage to remain purely transactional, I needed it in black and white.

I spent the next three days working closely with a trusted corporate lawyer I hired independently. I didn't use the Zhao family's legal team, nor did I tap into the private account Xian had set up for me. I paid for it using my own savings—the money I had earned through years of teaching overseas.

Once the document was finalized, I didn't just barge into Xian’s office or ambush him at dinner. I followed his rules. I formally requested an appointment through his private secretary, Secretary Chen.

Two days later, Secretary Chen confirmed the slot: Friday, 2:00 PM. Blackwood Residence Study.

By 1:45 PM, I was sitting in the quiet lounge outside his study, clutching a sleek black leather folder. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. Two o'clock came and went.

I didn't fidget or complain. I knew how Xian operated. Time was his most valuable asset, and if he kept me waiting, it was either a test or a sheer reality of running an empire.

At precisely 2:18 PM, the heavy double doors of the foyer opened. Xian walked in, adjusting the cufflinks of his dark navy suit. Secretary Chen trailed a step behind him, rapidly rattling off quarterly reports in quiet Mandarin.

Xian stopped when his eyes caught mine. He dismissed Secretary Chen with a short nod, and his secretary bowed before exiting down the hallway, leaving us alone in the quiet corridor.

"You're punctual," Xian said, his voice deep and smooth as he walked past me into the study. "Come in."

I followed him inside, shutting the heavy wooden doors behind us. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer blinds, casting long, geometric shadows across the room.

Xian walked behind his massive desk, but instead of sitting, he leaned against the dark edge, unbuttoning his suit jacket. His dark eyes locked onto the black folder in my hands.

"Secretary Chen told me you requested a formal meeting," he said, folding his arms. "You have twenty minutes before my next conference call, Althea. What is this about?"

Without wasting a single second, I stepped forward and placed the leather folder squarely on his desk.

"Our marriage," I said clearly. "I had my lawyer draft an official agreement regarding our arrangement. Since we didn't have time to discuss the fine print on the night we signed the legal registry, I think it's best we establish clear boundaries now."

Xian looked down at the folder, then slowly opened it. His long fingers turned the pages with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the clauses at a terrifying speed.

"Summarize it for me," he commanded softly, not taking his eyes off the paper.

"It's straightforward," I replied, standing my ground. "First, strict non-interference. Neither of us will meddle in the other's personal or professional affairs. Second, reputation management—we both agree to maintain the public image of a united couple so we don't damage the Zhao Group's standing or my integrity. And third..."

I paused, meeting his gaze as he finally looked up from the pages.

"Third, a termination clause. Exactly twelve months from the date of our marriage, this contract along with all mutual benefits will expire, and we will file for an uncontested divorce. Clean, quiet, and permanent."

The study went completely still.

Xian’s expression didn't change, but the air in the room grew noticeably colder. He slowly closed the leather folder, resting his hand on top of it. For a long moment, he just stared at me, his dark eyes unreadable, like a deep ocean hiding a storm underneath.

"A twelve-month countdown," Xian murmured, testing the words. "You really have every detail planned out, don't you?"

"It protects both of us," I said calmly. "You get your father off your back, I get the safety of your name to build my career, and after a year, we both get our freedom back without any legal tangles."

Xian pushed himself off the desk and walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the manicured estate. He stayed silent for so long that I wondered if he was going to reject it entirely.

The truth was, the idea of a fixed end date felt strangely uncomfortable to him—not that he would ever let me see that. To Xian, losing control over a situation was acceptable only if he dictated the terms.

He turned back around, resting one hand in his trouser pocket.

"I will agree to your contract, Althea," he said, his tone voice completely even. "On one condition."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "What condition?"

"Addenda," Xian said, walking back toward the desk. He picked up a sleek fountain pen, unscrewing the cap with a sharp click. "If we are setting rules, then we set them to my satisfaction as well."

He pulled the contract toward him, flipped to the final page, and began writing in elegant, sharp script directly above the signature line.

"First," Xian said as he wrote, "during these twelve months, you will reside exclusively at Blackwood Residence. No moving into private apartments, no staying in hotels when work gets demanding. You live under my roof."

"Why?" I asked. "If we're keeping separate lives—"

"Because my family watches every move this house makes," Xian interrupted, not looking up from his writing. "If the media or my brothers catch wind that my wife is living elsewhere, the rumors will destroy the very protection you're asking for. You want my name? You stay where my name has authority."

I swallowed, swallowing my protest. It was logical. "Fine. What else?"

"Second," he continued, his pen scratching smoothly against the paper. "All public appearances—galas, family dinners, charity events—are non-negotiable. When I require your presence beside me, you show up. You play the part of my wife without hesitation."

"Agreed," I said. "I promised reputation management."

Xian stopped writing. He set the pen down, leaning both hands on the desk as he looked up at me. His gaze was intense, dark, and possessive in a way that made my pulse stumble.

"And third," he added softly, his voice dropping an octave, "if anyone from my family, the media, or the business world attempts to threaten, humiliate, or cross you... you do not handle it alone. You inform me immediately. You do not play the martyr."

I blinked, caught off guard by the last condition. "Xian, I told you before, I can handle myself—"

"That is non-negotiable, Althea," he cut in smoothly, his voice leaving no room for debate. "You wear my ring. An insult to you is an insult to my standing. I do not tolerate anyone damaging my assets—or my wife."

He slid the contract across the dark wood toward me, alongside the open fountain pen.

"Sign it," he said softly. "And you have your deal."

I looked down at the document. His sharp, decisive handwriting sat right above the blank line reserved for his signature. His added conditions were strict, but they didn't break my ultimate goal: freedom in twelve months.

I picked up the pen, signed my name in clear, fluid cursive right next to his, and capped the pen.

"Done," I said, lifting my chin.

Xian looked at my signature for a brief second before closing the folder with a quiet thud.

"Secretary Chen," Xian called out smoothly.

The heavy study door opened instantly, and his secretary stepped in, holding a tablet. "Yes, Young Master?"

"File this in my private safe," Xian instructed, handing him the folder. "And clear my schedule for tonight."

I frowned, looking at him in surprise. "Clear your schedule? I thought you had a conference call."

"I rescheduled it," Xian said, walking around the desk toward the door. He paused right beside me, his tall frame looming over mine, bringing with him that faint, intoxicating scent of cedar and rain. "Since we have officially drawn our boundaries, we should celebrate our business agreement."

"Celebrate?" I repeated, skeptical. "How?"

"A quiet dinner. Just the two of us," Xian said, his dark eyes fixing on mine with a quiet intensity that sent a sudden, unexplainable warmth blooming in my chest. "Unless my new business partner is afraid to sit across from me without a contract between us?"

I met his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight flutter in my chest. "I'm not afraid of you, Xian."

A rare, faint trace of a smile touched the corner of his lips—so subtle I almost missed it.

"Good," he murmured, stepping past me into the hallway. "7:00 PM in the dining hall. Don't be late, Althea."

I stood alone in the quiet study, watching his tall figure walk down the corridor. I touched the edge of the desk where the contract had just been, reminding myself of the date we had written on the paper.

Three hundred and sixty-five days.

It was just a business deal. We had rules now. Boundaries. An expiration date. Everything was strictly under control.

So why did the air in the room still feel so dangerously charged?