Chapter 5
3388words
Manhattan's skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ethan stood before them, a document in his hand.
Marriage Contract Agreement.
Black text on white paper, with clear terms.
Sarah sat on the sofa, her expression grave.
"Are you sure?"
Ethan didn't turn around.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Ethan, this isn't like acquiring a company. This is marriage. Even a contractual marriage will have... complexities."
"I know."
Sarah stood and moved to his side.
"How many times have you met her? Three times? Four? Do you even know her?"
Ethan turned, his gaze steady.
"I know her background, her education, her social status. That's enough."
"But you don't know her as a person."
Silence.
The sunlight streamed through the window, harsh and bright. Ethan narrowed his eyes.
"Sarah, I built this company in six years—from three programmers in a garage to five thousand employees. I've never made a fatal mistake."
"This is different."
"How is it different?" He turned to face her. "This is a transaction, a fair one. Both parties know exactly what they want."
Sarah studied him for a long moment.
"All you want is social status?"
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"Then why are you lying?"
"I'm not."
"Your eyes are lying," Sarah said. "I've known you for eight years, and you would never be looking at a 'business prospect's' information at two in the morning."
Ethan froze.
"I'm doing due diligence."
"You were looking at photos from three years ago on her Instagram. You call that due diligence?"
Damn it.
He'd been caught.
Ethan turned back to the window, avoiding Sarah's knowing gaze.
"It was just..."
"Just what?"
"Just confirming," his voice dropped, "confirming if she's how I remember her."
"From the museum three months ago?"
"Yes."
Sarah sighed.
"So this isn't a cool business decision. It's you..." She paused. "You have feelings for her."
"No," Ethan said too quickly. "This is a rational choice."
"A rational choice wouldn't have you losing sleep for three nights straight."
Ethan didn't argue, because Sarah was right.
Since that night on the balcony, Annabel's voice had been looping in his mind.
The sound of her calling his name.
The way she looked wearing his jacket.
The blush that spread down her neck when she was embarrassed.
Damn it, he was going crazy.
"This is a gamble, Ethan," Sarah said. "If you just need a wife with the right background, I can give you a list of at least twenty more suitable candidates."
"I don't want anyone else."
Those four words slipped out.
Sarah smiled—the kind of smile that saw through everything.
"So, you admit it?"
Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Sarah, this discussion is over. Get all the documents ready for me. Tomorrow I'll formally submit the marriage registration application."
"What if she refuses?"
"She won't."
"You're that certain?"
Ethan turned, his gaze intensifying.
"Because I've seen the way she looks at me."
***
Metropolitan Museum of Art, three o'clock in the afternoon.
I had just finished my tour and walked wearily out of the museum entrance.
Then I saw him.
William Devonhill, leaning against a black sedan, wearing a dark gray suit, with a cold smile.
My steps faltered.
"Miss Williams, long time no see."
Not long—just three days.
Three days ago he had called, giving me forty-eight hours to consider.
Time was up.
"I need your answer," William walked toward me. "Marry me, or..."
"Or what?"
A deep voice came from behind me, carrying barely suppressed anger.
I turned around.
Ethan Pierce stood on the museum steps, his white shirt pressed against his body by the wind, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his well-defined forearms.
But what I noticed were his eyes.
Cold, dangerous—like the sky before a storm.
He stared at William, his gaze filled with naked hostility.
"Mr. Pierce," William's smile turned sinister, "what a coincidence."
"Unfortunately." Ethan descended the steps, each movement carrying a sense of intimidation.
He stood beside me—no, in front of me—half of his body shielding mine.
Then his hand landed on my waist.
Not gently, but firmly, his fingers tightening as if claiming ownership.
I could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric, burning my skin.
My breath caught.
"It was planned." His voice was low, close to my ear. "I received a message from Annabel saying someone was harassing her."
He paused, his hand tightening on my waist.
"I guessed it was you."
William's gaze swept between us, lingering on Ethan's hand.
That hand, still on my waist, his thumb caressing—slow, heavy, deliberate.
My heartbeat raced out of control.
William's expression darkened; he'd figured it out.
He realized our relationship wasn't just business.
"Harassment?" William sneered. "I am her father's creditor. I have the right to—"
"You have no right." Ethan cut him off, stepping forward.
His hand left my waist but instantly gripped my hand, our fingers intertwining.
He pulled me behind him, completely shielding me.
"Debt issues can be resolved through legal means." His voice dropped lower, carrying a dangerous edge. "But forcing women is a crime."
"I'm not forcing her. I'm just giving her a choice."
"Marriage as a condition for debt repayment?" Ethan sneered. "That's illegal in New York State, Mr. Devonhill. I can call the police right now."
William's face changed.
"You want to protect her?"
"Yes."
"Why?" William moved closer, his gaze scanning between us. "What is your relationship with her?"
Ethan didn't answer. He just looked at me.
That look.
Was asking me.
Was waiting for me.
Was giving me a choice.
I took a deep breath, gripping my bag tightly.
"He is my fiancé."
The whole world froze.
William was stunned.
Ethan's eyes lit up—a suppressed light suddenly ignited.
"What?" William's voice rose. "This is impossible. Three days ago you still—"
"Three days ago I was still considering," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Now I've made my choice."
I turned to look at Ethan.
His gaze was bottomless—so deep I was nearly drowning.
"I accept your proposal," I said, my voice trembling but firm. "Contract marriage, one year, conditions as you stated."
Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed once.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
He stared at me for a long moment, then the corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile.
"Good."
He turned, pulled an envelope from his suit's inner pocket, and handed it to William.
"Mr. Devonhill, this is a check for 5.5 million dollars. Five million to repay the debt, five hundred thousand is interest."
William took the envelope, opened it, and saw the figure on the check.
His face turned ashen.
"You..."
"From now on, Annabel Williams' debt to you and her father is written off." Ethan's voice was cold. "My lawyer will contact you to prepare a formal debt settlement agreement."
"You think money can solve everything?" William's voice trembled with anger. "Pierce, you don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly what I'm doing."
"You've stolen what's mine."
"Annabel is not a thing." Ethan stepped forward, his gaze turning deadly. "She is a person who has the right to make her own choices, and she chose me."
William's hand clenched the check, veins bulging in his wrist.
"You'll regret this."
"Are you threatening me?" Ethan sneered. "I've been fighting in the business world for ten years. I've seen people much tougher than you."
"I've been in this circle for twenty years." William moved closer, his voice low. "You have money and skills, but you have no foundation, Pierce. You're just nouveau riche."
"But this nouveau riche just bought the woman you want."
William's face twisted.
"The game has just begun," he said, turning toward his car. "I'll let you know that in this circle, money isn't everything."
The car door slammed.
The sedan drove away.
I stood there, my legs suddenly weak.
Ethan turned to me.
"Are you okay?"
"I..." My voice trembled. "What I just said..."
"Is it true?" he asked, his eyes locked on mine. "Did you really accept?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
He took a deep breath, raised his hand as if to touch my face, but stopped midair.
"Thank you for trusting me," he said, his voice low. "I won't let you regret it."
Then his hand fell, not touching me, just clenching into a fist, then relaxing.
"Let's go," he said. "We need to talk about the details."
***
Central Park, at sunset.
We sat on a bench facing the lake.
Orange light spilled across the water's surface—beautiful, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.
"5.5 million," I said. "You just gave it to him like that."
"It was worth it."
"For what? For a contract wife?"
Ethan turned to look at me.
"So you don't have to marry that bastard."
My chest tightened.
"This is... too expensive for you."
"I just turned down a three billion dollar acquisition offer," he said, his tone perfectly calm. "In comparison, 5.5 million is nothing."
"But..."
"Annabel." He called my name, turning to face me. "Listen to me. This is a transaction, we both know that, but it's a fair transaction."
"Fair?" I laughed bitterly. "You paid 5.5 million dollars, and I just... pretend to be your wife?"
"You gave me a pass into high society."
"A bankrupt noble's surname is worth 5.5 million?"
"It is," he said, his gaze sincere. "To me, it is."
Silence.
Water birds skimmed the lake surface, leaving ripples in their wake.
"So, what are the rules?" I asked. "The details of the contract."
Ethan pulled a document from his pocket and handed it to me.
"This is the draft agreement. Take your time to read it. If there's anything you're not satisfied with, we can make changes."
I opened the document.
The first page bore the title: "Marriage Contract Agreement."
The terms were clear:
- Term: One year, starting from the date of registration
- Obligations: I need to accompany him to social events, at least four times per month
- Compensation: $50,000 monthly living allowance, residence in his apartment
- Finances: Debts cleared, my trust fund returns to me upon restoration
- Termination: Automatically terminates after one year, no additional conditions
I looked at these terms with mixed feelings.
"This looks..." I paused. "Fair."
"But?"
"But I feel like I'm selling something."
Ethan's gaze intensified.
"You're not selling anything," he said, his hand resting on the bench just centimeters from mine. "You're exchanging—your time and companionship for financial freedom and a chance to start over."
"What's the difference?"
"The difference is, exchange is equal." His finger twitched as if wanting to touch my hand, but didn't. "Annabel, if you really don't want to, it's not too late to change your mind."
I turned to look at him.
The sunset illuminated his face, highlighting his sharp features, his gaze sincere.
"Would you be angry?" I asked. "If I changed my mind."
He turned to face me, the sunset catching the light in his eyes.
"No," he said. "I would be disappointed, but not angry."
"Disappointed?"
"Because..." he paused, his hand on the bench, fingertips just a centimeter from mine. "Because I thought we could help each other."
Help each other.
Those words again.
But his eyes weren't saying "help."
"Ethan," I called his name.
He turned toward me, facing me, the distance between us suddenly very small.
I could clearly see the golden flecks in his eyes.
"If..." my voice was very quiet. "If during this year, we..."
I couldn't continue.
"What if we...?" he asked, his voice low, his body leaning slightly toward me.
"What if we develop... real feelings for each other?"
The air between us froze.
He stared at me. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
His gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips, lingering there.
My breathing hitched.
"Then we'll face it," he said, his voice hoarse. "But for now..."
His hand lifted, as if to touch my face.
I held my breath.
But his hand stopped midair, clenched into a fist, then relaxed.
"For now, we'll abide by the contract," he said, stepping back, creating distance.
He stood, took a deep breath, as if controlling himself.
Then extended his hand.
"Shall we sign, Miss Williams?"
I looked at his hand—long, strong, palm facing upward.
His fingers trembled slightly.
He was nervous too.
This was a choice.
A choice that would change my life.
I took a deep breath and placed my hand in his palm.
"We shall sign, Mr. Pierce."
His hand gripped mine—warm, strong, unwilling to let go.
Our hands remained clasped, neither of us letting go first.
"Well then, please take care of me for the next year," he said, his thumb caressing the back of my hand once, just once.
My face burned.
"Please take care of me too."
The sunset sank below the horizon, the sky painted in purples and pinks.
A new beginning.
But I didn't know where this beginning would take us.
***
At the same time, in the penthouse suite of the Plaza Hotel.
William Devonhill stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, the 5.5 million dollar check in his hand.
He stared at the numbers on the check, his expression grim.
Then he tore it to pieces.
The fragments floated down like snowflakes.
His assistant stood behind him, expression shocked.
"Sir, that was—"
"I don't need his money," William's voice was cold. "What I want has never been money."
He turned, walked to the desk, and picked up the phone.
"Connect me to the Senator's office."
The call connected.
"It's me, William Devonhill," he said, his voice perfectly calm. "I need a favor regarding the government contract review for HUNT TECHNOLOGIES."
Whatever was said on the other end of the phone made William smile.
A cold, calculating smile.
"Yes, that's Ethan Pierce's company. I heard they've been bidding on the Department of Defense's cloud computing project recently?"
A pause.
"Very good. Thank you for your help then, Senator. Remember, we're old friends."
He hung up and turned to look at the Manhattan skyline outside the window.
"Pierce," he said in a low voice. "You think money can buy everything?"
"I'll let you know that in this circle, real power isn't money."
"It's foundation."
"It's connections."
"It's... rules."
He picked up his glass, swirling it gently, the whiskey rippling inside.
"The game has just begun."
He drank the liquor, his gaze fixed on the distance.
There, HUNT TECHNOLOGIES headquarters glowed in the night.
Soon.
Soon those lights would go out.
He would make sure of that.
***
In Central Park, on a bench.
Ethan and I had already stood, preparing to leave.
"I'll take you home," he said.
"No need, I can—"
"Annabel." He interrupted me, his gaze serious. "From now on, your safety is my responsibility."
"Is this also part of the contract?"
"No," he said. "This is my personal insistence."
I looked at him, my heart beginning to race.
Damn it, why did my heart lose control every time I looked at him?
"Alright," I said.
We walked side by side toward the parking lot. The night breeze was chilly.
I couldn't help but wrap my arms around myself.
"Cold?"
Ethan's voice came from right beside me.
"A little."
He stopped walking, turned to look at me, his eyes dark pools in the night.
"Come here."
"What?"
He didn't answer, just reached out his hand.
I hesitated for a second, then placed my hand in his.
His hand was warm, gripping mine tightly, then pulling me closer.
Very close.
Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"This will be a bit warmer," he said, his voice very low.
And so we walked side by side, hand in hand, through the night.
In the moonlight, his profile was all sharp angles, his expression calm, but his jaw was tense.
His thumb gently stroked the back of my hand, once, and then again.
My pulse quickened.
"Ethan," I called to him.
"Hmm?" He turned his head. Our faces were very close—close enough for me to see the moonlight reflected in his eyes.
"Do you really not regret it?" I asked. "5.5 million, a contractual marriage, William's threats... all of this. Aren't you afraid?"
He stopped walking, turned around, and faced me.
We were still holding hands. He didn't let go.
"I am afraid."
I was stunned.
"You're afraid?"
"I'm afraid of messing this up," his other hand rose, fingertips lightly brushing my cheek, sweeping away hair tousled by the wind. "I'm afraid of hurting you. I'm afraid..."
His hand rested on the side of my face, his palm pressed against my cheek.
Warm, strong.
"Afraid of what?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
He stared at me, his gaze intensifying, so deep I felt myself drowning.
His thumb gently caressed my cheek—slow, heavy, tender.
"I'm afraid after a year..." he paused, his voice hoarse. "I won't want to let go."
My heart stopped beating.
His hand remained on my face, its heat burning my skin.
"Ethan..."
"I'm sorry." He suddenly dropped his hand and stepped back. "I shouldn't have—"
"No." I grabbed his hand, not letting him pull away. "Finish what you were saying."
He looked at our clasped hands, his Adam's apple bobbing once.
"Annabel, this is just a contract," he said, but his voice trembled. "It ends in a year. I shouldn't—"
"Shouldn't what?" I stepped forward, closing the distance. "Shouldn't have feelings for me?"
He froze.
The air between us solidified.
"I..." His eyes were frantic—the first time I'd seen him lose control. "This wasn't part of the plan."
"What wasn't part of the plan?"
He stared at me for what felt like an eternity.
"You," he said, his voice low, carrying a certain desperation. "You weren't in the plan, Annabel. Three months ago, listening to you talk about Caravaggio in the museum, I knew I was done for."
My breath caught.
"You..."
"But I told myself it was just admiration, just a business decision," he continued, as if a floodgate had opened. "Until that night on the balcony—you wearing my jacket, calling my name—and I knew, damn it, I was lying to myself."
My eyes began to burn with unshed tears.
"So this isn't a contract?"
"It is a contract," he said, stepping back, creating distance, regaining that businesslike coolness. "This has to be a contract, Annabel, because you deserve better. Not a nouveau riche. Not a transaction."
"But what if you're what I want?"
The words burst from me.
He froze, his eyes widening.
"You... you don't know what you're saying."
"I understand perfectly," I said, my heart pounding like thunder. "Ethan, I'm afraid too. I'm afraid this is just a transaction. I'm afraid that after a year you'll really let go. I'm afraid..."
My voice caught.
"I'm afraid I've already started to anticipate things that haven't happened yet."
Silence.
Just the night breeze and the sound of our breathing.
Then he stepped forward. One step. Two steps.
And pulled me into his arms.
Forcefully, as if wanting to embed me into his body.
"Damn it," he whispered in my ear, his voice rough. "We're doomed."
"Yes," I said, burying my face in his chest. "We're doomed."
His hands held me—one on my back, the other gripping the nape of my neck.
Possessively. Protectively.
We embraced like this in the empty parking lot under the moonlight.
For a very, very long time.
Until he let go, stepped back, his eyes regaining their calm.
"But we still need to honor our contract," he said. "Annabel, I'm serious. One year. If by then you still..."
He didn't finish.
"Still what?"
"You still want me," he said, his eyes locked onto mine. "Then we won't let go."
My tears fell.
His hand rose, his thumb wiping away my tears.
"Don't cry," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's go. I'll take you home."
Our relationship.
From tonight on, it was no longer just a transaction.
It was two people trying hard to restrain themselves.
It was two people afraid of getting hurt.
It was two people who agreed to talk again after a year.
One year.
If by then we still wanted each other.
Then we wouldn't let go.
This was a promise.
And also a test.
- Chapter 5 End -
