Chapter 4 — The Contract
"Some contracts are written in ink. Others, in heartbeats."
Recap
The night after the gala still clung to Arielle's mind—the music, the whispers, Damian's unexpected defense of her when Celine tried to humiliate her. She had promised herself never to be pulled into his orbit again. Yet when a black ValenCor car arrived with a quiet request for a "private follow-up meeting," she hadn't said no.
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Arielle
The elevator chimed at the top floor.
When the doors slid open, the world turned to glass and gold. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city's glittering skyline, rain streaking the panes in silver threads. Damian Valen stood near the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the light catching the curve of his watch.
"I thought we were meeting at headquarters," she said, stepping out carefully. Her heels echoed on the marble like an announcement she didn't mean to make.
"This is my private office," he answered evenly. "More secure. Fewer ears."
His tone was businesslike, but the flicker in his eyes wasn't.
A file lay on the table beside two crystal glasses and a chilled bottle of water. She recognized the insignia—ECLAT × Aurelia Designs—her father's legacy printed beside Damian's empire. The sight twisted something deep inside her.
"You wanted partnership," he said. "This contract makes it official. One year. Equal stake, shared control."
"And the fine print?" she asked.
"Confidentiality. Non-disclosure. Protection for both of us." A pause. "You can trust me this time."
She almost laughed. "Trust isn't a clause you can draft, Damian."
For a heartbeat, silence filled the penthouse. Then he moved closer—slow, deliberate. The air changed. Arielle could feel the pulse in her wrist where she gripped her purse too tightly.
"You still think I'm your enemy," he said quietly.
"I think you're dangerous," she replied.
He smiled, faint and unreadable. "Sometimes they're the same thing."
The rain outside deepened. She sat at the table, opening the folder. Legal language blurred together—merger rights, design royalties, liability coverage—but what she saw was a line that said one-year minimum, early withdrawal subject to personal negotiation.
Her chest tightened. Personal.
"This part," she murmured, tapping it. "You wrote it yourself."
"Yes."
"Why?"
His answer came after a breath too long. "Because I wanted a reason to see you again. Even if it's only business."
Her pen slipped slightly in her hand. For a moment she hated him for saying it so simply, for undoing the walls she had spent years building.
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Damian
He shouldn't have brought her here. Every inch of the room reminded him of restraint. He had built his empire on control—numbers, timing, precision. Yet with Arielle across the table, the very air refused to obey him.
She read each page carefully, the way she always used to—brows drawn, lips pressed together in concentration. He remembered those lips.
He forced himself to look away.
"I'm not signing a leash," she said finally.
"It's not a leash. It's protection."
"For who?"
He met her gaze. "Both of us."
The thunder outside covered the quiet hitch of her breath. When she rose to hand the papers back, her fingers brushed his. A small, involuntary touch—warm, electric. She froze. So did he.
Their eyes locked.
Too close.
Too familiar.
He almost forgot the reason for the meeting. Almost.
"Sign it, Arielle," he said, voice lower now. "Let's stop pretending we can keep our worlds separate."
Her heartbeat was audible in the hush that followed. She reached for the pen, hesitated, then signed. The scratch of ink sounded louder than the rain.
When she placed the pen down, his hand covered hers—just long enough to feel the tremor she tried to hide. No words, no promises. Only that quiet, dangerous recognition neither could deny.
She withdrew first, gathering her composure. "One year," she said. "After that, I'm free."
Damian watched her walk toward the elevator, her reflection vanishing with each step.
One year, he thought.
A year to make her remember why she once loved him.
And a year to make sure she never forgot again.
The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, leaving only the city lights and the echo of everything he couldn't say.
Xoxo Eloura 😘😍 😍