Chapter 2: The First Night's Terms
The Immediate Aftermath
Aria's breath caught in her throat, the air thick with Elias Thorne's command. Take your skirt off.
The office was silent again, save for the wild thumping of her own heart. He hadn't touched the zipper of her skirt, yet his words felt like a physical violation, peeling back her professional façade to expose her desperate vulnerability.
"Sir, I… I don't understand," Aria stammered, clutching her clipboard like a shield. "You said this was a contract marriage for business. Not..."
His gaze, dark and unyielding, pinned her down. "Did I stutter, Aria? I said control. And my control begins now. You need to stop thinking like the intern who steals reports and start thinking like the woman who carries the Thorne name."
He reached out, his long fingers hooking into the waistband of her professional pencil skirt. The sudden, intimate touch sent a searing shock through her system. He didn't pull, but the pressure was firm, demanding obedience.
"We are going home. My home. And you are not dragging the dust of this office into my private space," he explained, his voice low and dangerous, yet completely steady. "Take. It. Off. Or I will do it for you, right here, and then you'll see exactly what 'control' looks like."
A tremor ran through Aria. She understood. This was not about modesty or lust; it was about establishing the terrifying, absolute power dynamic that would rule the next six months. She was chattel, and he was the owner.
With shaking hands, Aria reached behind her and slowly, agonizingly, unzipped the skirt. It slid down her hips, pooling around her ankles.
She stood before him in her crisp white blouse and a modest, black slip.
Elias's eyes swept over her body, not with appreciation, but with cold, calculating possession. "Better," he approved, his voice like sandpaper. "Now move."
The Terms of Surrender
He led her through a hidden door to a private elevator that whisked them up to the penthouse residence. The apartment was colossal—cold marble, chrome, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering chaos of the city.
He walked past the sprawling living area and tossed a sleek, black tablet onto a glass table.
"Read it. Sign it. The $5 million is contingent upon complete, absolute adherence," Elias commanded, walking over to pour himself a scotch.
Aria picked up the tablet. It was the marriage contract.
She scrolled through the pages, her eyes widening with every clause:
Clause 3: Public Display: The parties shall maintain the appearance of a loving and deeply intimate relationship in all public settings. Hand-holding, kissing, and displays of affection are mandatory.
Clause 5: Residency: The Second Party (Aria) shall reside exclusively in the First Party's (Elias's) primary residence for the entire duration of the contract.
Clause 7: Privacy: The Second Party shall relinquish all personal privacy. The First Party shall have unrestricted access to the Second Party's communications and movements to protect the integrity of the arrangement.
Clause 10: Conjugal Duties: This clause made her jaw drop. It was a dense paragraph vaguely worded about "satisfying all emotional and marital obligations," but the clear implication was that this marriage was far from platonic.
Aria looked up, her face pale. "Clause ten... Conjugal duties? You said it wasn't about sex! This contract implies I must..."
Elias took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "I said the first night was about control, not sex. Don't confuse the two, Aria. This marriage is about appearances. A publicly devoted husband and wife share a bed, they express passion, and they certainly don't sleep in separate rooms. My control ensures the performance is flawless."
He slammed his glass down, the sound echoing sharply. "The contract is clear: You perform the role of my devoted wife. That role includes being intimate with your husband."
The Bed of Authority
Aria knew she was trapped. The life of her sister depended on her compliance. She pressed the 'I Agree' button on the tablet, the electronic signature cementing her fate.
"Good girl," Elias said, his voice laced with triumph. "Now, follow me."
He led her to the master bedroom. It was a study in masculine dominance—dark wood, charcoal bedding, and minimalist art.
Elias turned to face her, his massive frame blocking the only way out. He slowly began to unbutton his shirt, revealing chiseled muscle and taut skin.
"Your first duty as Mrs. Thorne begins," he stated, his voice dropping to a seductive rasp. "You will sleep here, beside me. We will ensure the staff understands the depth of our passion."
He walked toward the bed, stripping off his shirt completely. He was breathtaking, terrifyingly perfect.
He paused and looked back at her. "Change out of that blouse, Aria. It reminds me too much of the pitiful intern. I prefer my wife to be comfortable... and perhaps, less covered."
Aria swallowed hard, her mind screaming No while her body responded to the raw, undeniable heat radiating off him. He was ordering her to be vulnerable, stripping away the last vestiges of her professional armor.
She reached for the buttons of her blouse, her hands shaking so badly she could barely manipulate the fabric.
As her blouse fell open, revealing the swell of her chest above the slip, Elias's gaze darkened. He took a single, slow step toward her.
Aria froze, knowing she had triggered something primal in the dominant billionaire. His hand shot out, not to her clothes, but to her waist, gripping her tightly and pulling her flush against his bare, hard chest.
"You smell like panic," he growled, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below her ear. "But that's fine. Panic excites me. Now, let me remind you who you belong to."
What happens next in the Thorne's master bedroom? Will he break Clause 10 on the first night?