~Tessa's POV~
The knock was too steady to be from a neighbor.
When I opened the door, it was him.
Robert Miller.
Alpha. Billionaire. Heir. Untouchable. The kind of man who didn't knock unless he already knew the answer. His black coat hung like armor, rain still clinging to the fabric. On one hand, a manila envelope. In his eyes, something colder than pity, heavier than judgment.
What was he doing here? Isn't it too early to knock at someone's door?
I opened my mouth to speak, but was immediately cut short.
"I have a proposition."
He didn't even say Hello. No easing into it. No testing the water. Just shoving me straight under.
My fingers gripped the doorframe. "What kind of proposition?"
He extended the envelope. "One that requires you to never accept defeat and reclaim what is yours. "
The words slid under my skin before I could block them. I hadn't asked for hope. I didn't trust it. But his tone, quiet, sure, made me wonder if maybe I'd run out of reasons to keep saying no to life.
I took the envelope, opened it. My eyes skimmed the first line.
"A contract marriage?" The laugh that escaped me was brittle. "Are you being serious?"
"Yes."
Before I could react, he stepped inside. No hesitation. His presence filled the room, crowding out the air.
"I need a wife, not just a wife but a strong Luna," he said. "One year. Public appearances. No scandals."
"And in return?" My arms folded tight across my chest.
"You get your revenge," he said, eyes locking on mine. "On Thomas Wade, On your twin sister. On every single person who watched you fall and pretended to feel sorry for you."
My throat ached. "And money, I assume."
"Yes." His voice didn't soften. "Enough to make sure no one dares to humiliate you again."
This seems so funny. Wasn't he aware that both of our packs were at odds.
'I, Tessa Sinclair, will never bow to anyone, especially not to my enemies.'
I rehearsed the words carefully in my head but then I found myself asking, "How much?"
He let the faintest shadow of a smile pass over his mouth. "More than you've ever been offered for your dignity."
I swallowed. "And if I say no?"
He leaned in slightly, not enough to touch me, but enough that I felt his control pressing against my skin. "Then you go back to sleeping in this cramped apartment. You keep answering pity calls from people who enjoy your downfall. And you stay exactly where they left you, on the floor."
I hated how my breath hitched. Hated that he was right.
"Put on something decent," he said, glancing once at my worn sweater. "We're going to my office."
I don't remember deciding to obey. One minute I was standing there, clutching the envelope, the next, I was buttoning up a clean blouse with hands that wouldn't stop trembling.
The black car was silently waiting downstairs. I stepped into it, although the ride was smooth, he didn't speak neither did I. His presence was enough, dense, unshakable, like the gravity in the room belonged to him.
When we stepped out of the car, the building stood before us, gigantic and expensive. His name - MILLER was cut into the stone like it had been there for centuries.
We rode the elevator together, although it was quite more like he wasn't there, but I could feel him there, measured, immovable.
His office was on the top floor. The glass walls opened to the city like a dare. The air smelled faintly of petals and something sharper, control, maybe.
He took his seat at the head of a long, black table while I sat at the opposite end.
He slid another envelope across the surface. "The terms. Read them."
I didn't touch it. "Why me?"
His gaze held mine. "Because you're already a headline."
"That's not a reason."
"It's the only one that matters. You're chaos wrapped in tragedy. The public can't look away. That makes you useful."
I flinched. "So I'm your PR stunt?"
"Anyhow you put it.".
I shook my head. "You want me to sell myself just so you can stabilize your pack and inherit whatever's at stake in your grandfather's will."
"I want you to stop bleeding in the open," he said, voice low but unyielding. "And if that benefits me, good. I don't pretend otherwise."
"And if I say no?" I asked.
His jaw tightened. "You won't."
The arrogance irritated me. "You don't know me."
"I know you'd rather set yourself on fire than let them think they won."
Silence dropped between us. My pulse was too loud in my ears.
I finally opened the file.
Duration: One year.
Stipend: Two million dollars, quarterly payments.
Conditions:
—No romantic entanglements outside the marriage.
—No physical intimacy unless mutually agreed upon.
—No press interviews without approval.
—No emotional involvement.
I frowned at the last one. "You actually wrote no emotional involvement?"
"Yes."
"And if you fall in love with me?" I teased.
His eyes didn't waver. "I won't."
The bluntness made me sit back. "You're that sure?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "I'm certain. Love is a weakness. I don't offer it and it won't be tolerated."
I almost laughed, but I heard it in "And you think that's supposed to make me trust you?"
"I'm not asking for your trust. I'm offering power. Take it, or go back to drowning."
I really hated that part of me, I leaned toward him without moving an inch.
Leaning back on his chair, he kept staring at me, like he already knew my answer. "Sign it, Tessa"
The pen was beside the file. I stared at it until it blurred in my vision. Then I signed.
Not because I trusted him.
Not because I'd stopped believing in love.
But because Robert Miller had just handed me the sharpest weapon I'd ever been offered, and I was done being the one discarded.
Leaving the office, my shoes hit against the marble floor, the sound loud as the hallway was quiet. My reflection in the glass was convincing, hair neat, lipstick intact.
But the eyes staring back?
They knew exactly what I'd just done.
And they weren't sure if I'd made the smartest decision of my life…
…or walked straight into a trap I'd never escape.