"I need you to get something straight, Miss Winslow."
Clara clutched the strap of her tattered bag with white knuckles as she found herself in the center of the office of Dylan Monroe.
The air was frigid in the room. Glass walls. Steel shelves. She had a view of the city, which told her she wasn't a part of this.
"This is no love story."
She glanced up.
Dylan Monroe like he was never told no in his life, as he sat behind his desk. Composed. Controlled. Quietly menacing.
"I never thought it was," she said.
Good. At least her voice was steady.
He passed a document over the desk.
Marriage Contract.
Her heart was pounding against her ribs.
"You will be my wife for one year," Dylan said. "And I will handle your money troubles in the meantime."
Clara looked at the capitalized letters.
Marriage.
Not a loan.
Not help.
Marriage.
"You don't even know me," she muttered.
"I know enough," he said. "You're desperate. You're responsible. And you won't run the moment you get attached."
Her jaw clenched.
"That's a cruel assumption."
"It's an accurate one."
She hated that he was right. Clara swallowed and forced herself to read.
One-year legally binding contract marriage.
No emotional involvement.
No public embarrassment.
To immediately move to the hubby's residence.
Her fingers were only slightly shaking.
"It sounds like a job to me," she said.
"It's," Dylan said "with benefits."
Her heart hurt.
"My mother is ill," she said softly. "That's why we need to go. It's not because I want this."
Dylan remained impassive.
"I know."
That was a deeper cut than she'd expected.
"So you looked into me," she muttered.
"I don't sign contracts in the dark."
She flipped through another page.
No interviews.
No independent statements.
Make public appearances at all times when requested.
"You run everything!" Clara said.
"I guard my persona."
She laughed softly, without humor. "And what about me?"
"You will be taken care of."
"That's not a response."
Dylan straightened up, resting his elbows on the desk.
"You came to me because every other door was slammed shut in your face," he said calmly. "This door is open. Choose."
The silence lengthened.
Her own mother's ragged breathing reverberated in her memory. The hospital bills. The eviction notice tucked in her jacket pocket.
Clara glanced back at the agreement.
"What about after a year?"
"The marriage ends," Dylan said. "Cleanly."
"Now, what if I want out earlier?"
A pause.
"There's a penalty clause."
Her heart sank. "How bad?"
"Bad enough to make you certain you will never want to try."
She made her fingers into fists.
"This is just another trap, it seems to me." said the young man.
"It's a solution," he corrected. Clara stood up suddenly, making her way toward the window. The city lit up beneath her like a life she'd never been allowed to live.
She didn't belong here.
But her mother was not meant to be in pain either.
Clara turned back.
"Do we live together?"
"Yes."
Her breath caught. "Same room?"
"No," Dylan said, "Appearances only."
That was… a relief.
"Will you touch me?" she said aloud, hating herself for asking.
His gaze flickered - for the first time.
"Only if required in public."
She nodded slowly.
This was survivable.
One year.
No love.
No expectations.
She grabbed the pen.
"I want something added," she said.
Dylan raised a brow. "Go on."
"If you break this contract if you humiliate me in public then it is over immediately."
A long pause.
Then Dylan nodded. "Fair."
Her heart pounded as she signed.
Clara Winslow.
The ink dried fast.
Dylan stood. "Welcome to the agreement."
She exhaled shakily. "So that's it?"
"No," he said calmly. "That's the beginning."
She looked up. "Beginning of what?"
He stepped closer, his voice low.
"You move into my penthouse tonight."
Tonight.
Her pulse raced. "I didn't agree to that."
"You agreed to be my wife."
Clara opened her mouth to argue
and frozen as the line beneath her signature.
Small print.
Her eyes skimmed it once.
Then twice.
Her blood turned cold.
"Dylan," she whispered. "What is Clause Seventeen?"
His expression remained unchanged. "The reason you won't leave."