I never thought I'd be here. A typical Thursday morning, and then, in the time it takes to answer a phone call, everything changed.
I was at my desk, the office's familiar sounds-the hum, the clatter of keys-surrounding me. But something was off. I couldn't concentrate on the screen. My phone vibrated, a reminder for an interview I had planned for later.
Not that I was anticipating anything significant.
"Esther, your ten o'clock is here," Tara, my assistant, announced from the doorway, breaking my concentration.
"Thanks," I replied, barely audible, still staring at the papers strewn across my desk. The knot in my stomach was a persistent companion. My position at the marketing firm barely covered the bills, and I was struggling to keep my head above water.
But I always tried to keep my chin up, to cling to some semblance of optimism. Things had to get better, didn't they?
Then the door opened, and in strode the last person I anticipated seeing today.
Matthew King.
I was instantly immobilized. The man whose name was synonymous with cutthroat business and a frigid demeanor was now standing before me, radiating the kind of power that suggested he owned not just the building, but the entire city. He was tall, with dark hair perfectly coiffed, a suit that screamed wealth, and those eyes—those unsettling, icy eyes that seemed to strip away all pretense.
"Miss Bennett, I presume?" His voice was a low rumble, carefully modulated. Almost too carefully.
I gulped, struggling to rise. "Y-Yes, Mr. King," I managed, extending a hand that felt like it was made of ice, my clammy palm meeting his in a handshake that seemed to stretch on forever.
Matthew didn't flinch.
His handshake was strong, the kind you'd expect from someone accustomed to closing deals, but it lacked any genuine feeling. It was purely transactional.
He surveyed the office, his eyes sharp and assessing. I could practically feel him sizing up the room, the people, and me. "I hope this won't take long. My schedule is quite full," he stated, his voice clipped, bordering on impatient.
"Certainly," I replied, my pulse quickening. This wasn't a social call. I suspected he wasn't here for any reason I could fathom.
I motioned toward the vacant chair. "Please, have a seat."
He obliged, settling into the chair with a self-assuredness that spoke of a lifetime of getting his way. It set my teeth on edge.
Not the kind of discomfort that makes you squirm, but the sort that constricts your chest, as if you're a piece on a chessboard, and the game is being played without your knowledge.
"Miss Bennett," he started, his gaze pinning me in place, "I require your assistance."
I blinked, my breath hitching. This was a surprise. "Help?" I echoed, struggling to keep my voice even.
He nodded, tapping a folder on the desk. His gestures were measured, purposeful. "Indeed, a business proposal." He opened the folder, exposing papers I couldn't quite decipher from my vantage point.
I looked at him, trying to grasp the meaning behind his words. "I'm not certain I will follow... What sort of proposal?"
His lips twisted into a brief, icy smile. "A contract."
A contract? I blinked, struggling to grasp the meaning. "I'm not following."
Matthew leaned in, his hands steepled on the desk. His eyes were steady, unyielding. "I need you to marry me."
I went still, the words settling like a dense mist. "Pardon?" I managed, unsure if I'd heard him right.
"Marry me," he said again, without a hint of hesitation. "I have a business arrangement to complete, and my... family requires me to be married."
For appearances. For their peace of mind.
I was stunned, just staring at him. "But... Why are you asking me?"
"Because you're ideal," Matthew replied, his tone calm, as if he were explaining the weather. "You're not famous. No dirt on you. You're... professional."
His words cut, the assessment so clinical. He was looking at me like I was a tool.
I was at a loss. My thoughts scrambled, trying to find a way to understand, to make it all fit. "You... want to marry me... for a business arrangement?"
He acknowledged the point with a nod. "That's right. It's strictly business. No feelings involved."
Nothing personal.
The words hit me hard, a physical blow. I should have declined. I should have left that office, shut the door, and never returned. But I didn't. The words failed me, the pressure of my financial situation dragging me down, a heavy chain.
I turned my gaze away, struggling to compose myself. "And what if I say no?" I finally managed, my voice barely audible.
Matthew's face gave nothing away. "Then I'll look elsewhere. But I suspect you'll find the proposal... rather appealing."
He pushed a sheet of paper toward me. I paused, but the lure was undeniable. I took the paper, opened it, and the figures on the page made my heart race.
The offer was staggering.
A massive salary. A life of luxury. A home. A future most could only imagine.
I met his gaze, my astonishment plain. "And you expect me to simply... accept this?"
Matthew reclined, his gaze fixed on me, a cool curiosity in his eyes. "Indeed. It's a simple deal, Miss Bennett. We fulfill our needs, and you get your desires."
I felt cornered. The figures on the page swirled, a cruel taunt, presenting me with everything I'd ever wished for. All I had to do was agree.
Yet, my heart... my heart was whispering a different story.
I rose suddenly, the chair screeching as I shoved it back. "I can't."
Matthew remained still. Not a flicker of reaction.
"You will."
His tone was absolute, a certainty that made me uneasy.
I retreated from the desk, my pulse hammering. "I don't know what you think I am, but I'm not some... some contract bride!"
Matthew's gaze darkened, and he rose, his presence consuming the space. "You don't have to be," he said, his voice now a low command. "But you will marry me. It's not a choice, Esther."
I was still. My breath hitched. The power in his words was inescapable.
Then, as if the air had thickened, he said, "I'll give you time to consider it."
I nodded, a bit dazed, my thoughts a whirl. I was at a loss for words, unsure of my next move. The proposition was alluring, but every instinct screamed for me to refuse.
As I walked away, I felt his gaze, a weight on my back.
Just before I opened the door, I looked back.
"Think it over, Esther," he said, his voice low.
Your life is about to change, irrevocably.
The door clicked, sealing me in, and a sense of entrapment washed over me, a feeling I couldn't shake.
Should I agree? Or should I leave, abandoning the billionaire and his perilous offer?
Yet, as I lingered in the hallway, paralyzed, I understood I might already be ensnared.
Could I even retreat?