My pulse hammering like a war drum, I arrived to Laurel Heights Corporate Tower for the second time forty-48 hours. This time there was no backing back off or doubt. With its legal edges crisp against my fingers, reminding me of the boundary I was about to cross, the signed contract seemed heavier than any portfolio I had ever held.
All polished efficiency, the receptionist smiled professionally to meet me. " Mr. Blackwood is here to see Miss Harper.
My heart accelerated as I stiffly pointed her to a separate elevator—private, opulent, and even more frightening. I glimpsed my image in the mirror walls as the doors slid closed. Fixed. Controlled. Furious.
The elevator doors opened straight into Noah's penthouse office, a room bursting with riches and authority. Perfect black marble flooring, understated leather furnishings, and spectacular city views extending indefinitely. It was like entering a fortification—cold, immaculate, and mercilessly exact.
Noah was already standing close to the window, the late afternoon light casting wide frame backlit effect. Turning at the sound of my slow footsteps, his keen grey eyes locked on mine.
"Miss Harper," he said casually, as if this were any regular conference. "Right on schedule."
I pushed steel into my spine by forceful swallowing. "Let's get this over with."
His lips jerked, laughter flickering just long enough to fade. He pointed towards a tall glass table with two orderly placed pens and a hefty legal folder waiting. Besides them gleamed professionalism from middle-aged lawyer Jonathan Greaves with salt-and-pepper hair.
"Mr... Greaves will take care of the paperwork, Noah said.
Jonathan gave a courteous nod. "Miss Harper, Mr. Blackwood signed and checked over the agreement previously. You ready? Then we may go on.
As Jonathan compiled the main ideas of the contract, his voice droned on:
Minimum duration: twelve months; mutual option for an extension exists. Conditions: Only for the marriage: mandatory public appearances, shared assets, and combined living quarters. Early withdrawal eliminates cash reimbursement under a termination clause.
Miss Harper, does this live up to your expectations? Jonathan inquired officially.
I nodded, but my throat tightened. Exactly.
"Excellent." He slipped the papers towards me, exactly at the signing line.
I stalled. I considered going away, ignoring the studio, forgetting the accumulating debt, forgetting him, for one vertigo second.
But reality smashed that dream right away. I needed this. Not second chances.
I took up the pen with shaking hands in boldly black ink wrote my name. Every stroke seemed like a cord holding me closer to Noah Blackwood's universe.
Jonathan gathered the records with deliberate efficiency. "Congratulations," he murmured, his voice lacking in emotion. You are officially husband and wife right now.
My stomach whirled. There had not been any vows. Not promised. Simply signatures and clear legal responsibilities.
Thank you, Mr. Greaves, Noah said fluidly. "You're thrown off."
Jonathan went without further word, leaving an empty quiet behind him.
As Noah moved across the room, I stiffened myself—too near, too strong. Stopped only inches away. His look fixed on my face, incomprehensible but evaluating.
"It's done," I murmured, my voice more under control than I felt.
Indeed, his lips slightly curled but the motion lacked warmth. Mrs. Blackwood, welcome to your new life.
The name felt like a harsh blow to the chest—foreign and cutting, as if it belonged to someone else totally.
"Let me be clear about one thing," he said, his voice becoming colder now. "This marriage functions as a commercial transaction. You will receive what we decided upon—nothing more, nothing less.
"I wasn't expecting anything more," I shouted back, sharp defying my discomfort.
He observed me silently, as if determining how much fight I still had. " Good. Keep it in mind.
He turned on his heel, headed down another corridor, before I could reply. "We have our first public showing tomorrow night. Just be ready.
The words hung like a directive, a reminder of who had authority in this configuration.
I stayed anchored to the ground as my head whirled. There was not a partnership here. I had just handed my life to a guy who followed only his own guidelines without regard for others.
Hours later, I was by myself in the cavernous penthouse, the glittering skyline of the city endlessly beyond the glass. Like its owner, the apartment was amazing yet austere.
My small suitcase lay unopened close to the bedroom door. There had been no grand tour or any kind of welcome. Simply terms and conditions.
I dropped running quivering fingers through my hair onto the edge of the immaculate white sofa. The scope of what I had done came down all at once.
Now Mrs. Blackwood, a title as empty and alien as the man himself was. Still, I experienced something almost like relief for the first time in months.
The studio was under cover. I knew my future was safe. For what expense?
Rising gently, I moved across the room to reach the large floor to-celly windows. The metropolis buzzed with life far below, oblivious to the war waging in my chest.
And there, barely visible in the glass, stood Noah Blackwood, staring at me from the shade of the nearby corridor, his face incomprehensible.
By what have I done?