Natalie's POV
Dominic doesn't sit.
He stands beside the window, silhouetted against Chicago's glowing skyline, and I hate that even in shadow he looks powerful. In control. Like he's already won.
Maybe he has.
"The terms are simple," Victoria says, opening the contract. "One year of marriage. You will live in Mr. Ashford's residence, attend public events as his wife, and maintain the appearance of a loving relationship."
"Appearance," I repeat. "So this isn't real."
"It's legally real," Dominic says without turning around. "But emotionally? No. This is business. Nothing more."
Something about the way he says it—so cold, so final—makes my chest ache.
"Why do you need a wife?" I ask. "The real reason."
"That's not your concern."
"You're asking me to marry you. I think I deserve to know why."
Dominic turns, and the look he gives me could freeze fire. "My grandfather's will requires me to be married by my thirty-second birthday to maintain controlling shares of Ashford Technologies. I have three weeks. You have three weeks before your father's company is sold. We solve each other's problems."
"Your grandfather is forcing you to marry?"
"My grandfather was a manipulative bastard who wanted to control me even from the grave." Dominic's jaw clenches. "But his will is ironclad. Marry by thirty-two, or I lose my company to the board of directors."
"So you're as trapped as I am."
His eyes flash. "I am never trapped. I'm simply... choosing the least inconvenient option."
"And I'm the least inconvenient option?" The words taste bitter.
"You're desperate. Controllable. And making a Hartley serve my purposes?" His smile is cruel. "There's a certain poetry to it."
I want to throw something at him. "You really hate my family that much?"
"Yes."
The simple honesty is worse than any insult.
"Your father's company killed Emily." Dominic's voice drops, and for just a second, I hear something raw beneath the ice. "She was nineteen. Kind. Smart. Everything good in my world. And she died because your family was too cheap to properly test their medications."
"My father almost destroyed himself with guilt—"
"Good." Dominic cuts me off. "He should have. But guilt doesn't bring her back. Nothing brings her back."
The pain in his voice is real. Buried under layers of cold fury, but real.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "For what happened to your sister. For your loss."
"I don't want your apologies." He moves to the table, looming over me. "I want your signature. That's all you're good for."
The cruelty snaps me back to anger. "Then you can go to hell."
I stand up to leave.
Victoria's voice stops me: "Your father's medical care will be discontinued in forty-eight hours without payment."
I freeze.
"The FBI will file formal charges in two weeks," she continues, reading from her notes. "The company auction is in three weeks. By the time you find another solution—if you find one—it will be too late."
"I'll figure something out."
"No, you won't." Dominic's voice is certain. "You've tried everything. Every bank. Every investor. Every friend. They all said no because I made sure they would."
The words hit me like ice water. "What?"
"Did you really think it was coincidence that every door closed in your face?" His smile is sharp. "I've spent eight years making sure the Hartley name was toxic. Every connection you had? I destroyed it. Every favor you were owed? I called it in first. You're alone because I wanted you alone."
The room spins.
He did this. Not just Gregory. Dominic orchestrated everything.
"You destroyed my entire life," I whisper.
"Yes." He doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "And now I'm offering to give you some of it back. If you give me what I need."
"You're a monster."
"We've established that." He leans down, hands on the table, bringing his face level with mine. "Now stop wasting my time. Sign the contract or don't. But make a decision."
I should walk out. Should tell him I'd rather die than help him.
But I'm not the one who would die. Dad is.
"What exactly would I have to do?" My voice sounds hollow.
Victoria takes over, her tone professional: "You'll move into Mr. Ashford's penthouse immediately after the wedding. Separate bedrooms, separate spaces. You'll attend approximately three public events per week—charity galas, business dinners, social functions. You'll smile, play the loving wife, and convince Chicago that this marriage is real."
"For how long?"
"One year from the wedding date. After that, you divorce quietly. No media circus. No tell-all interviews. You disappear from his life as completely as you entered it."
"And in exchange?"
"Your father's company is saved. All legal charges are dropped. His medical care is covered for the rest of his life. And you receive ten million dollars when the divorce is final."
Ten million dollars. Freedom. Dad's life saved.
All I have to do is sell myself to the man who hates me.
"What about..." I struggle to find the words. "What about the marriage itself?"
"Separate bedrooms," Victoria repeats. "No physical intimacy required. This is purely contractual."
"So I'm just... decoration? A prop for your business needs?"
"Exactly." Dominic straightens up. "You show up where I tell you to show up. You smile when I tell you to smile. You play your role and cash your check. Simple."
"There's nothing simple about this!"
"Then don't do it." He heads toward the door. "Walk away. Watch your father die knowing you were too proud to save him."
The words are designed to hurt. To manipulate.
And they work.
"Wait." The word comes out broken.
Dominic stops.
My hands are shaking as I look at the contract. Pages and pages of legal language that boils down to one thing: I give up my freedom for one year, and in exchange, everyone I love survives.
"I need guarantees," I hear myself say. "About my father. About the company. I need it in writing that you'll keep your promises."
"It's all in the contract," Victoria says. "Section 3, paragraphs 5 through 12. Your father's medical care, legal representation, and the company's financial restructuring. All guaranteed."
I flip to the section. The language is clear. Binding.
If I sign this, Dominic has to save my father. It's not just a promise—it's a legal obligation.
"What if you break the contract?" I ask.
"I won't." Dominic's voice is certain.
"But what if you do?"
"Then you get fifty million dollars instead of ten. Plus controlling shares of Hartley Pharmaceuticals. Plus full ownership of three properties I own in Chicago." He meets my eyes. "I don't make promises I can't keep, Miss Hartley. And I don't break contracts. Ever."
The conviction in his voice is absolute.
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't. I'm the man who destroyed your family." His smile is sharp. "But I'm also the only man in Chicago with the resources and connections to save your father. So trust isn't the question. Desperation is."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
"I need time to think—"
"No." Dominic pulls out his phone, checks the time. "You have five minutes to decide. After that, I walk out that door and this offer disappears forever."
"That's not fair!"
"I told you. Life isn't fair." He pockets his phone. "Five minutes, Miss Hartley. Choose."
My mind is racing. This is insane. Marrying a man who hates me. Living in his house. Pretending to love him in public while he treats me like a business transaction in private.
But Dad's face flashes in my mind. The machines. The doctors. Weeks, maybe less.
"I have conditions," I say.
Dominic's eyebrow rises. "You're in no position to negotiate."
"Then you're in no position to get married." I force steel into my voice. "You said you need this marriage. Well, I need things too."
A long silence.
Then Dominic's lips curve into something that might be respect. "Name your conditions."
"You stop actively destroying what's left of my father's business interests. No more sabotage. No more interference."
"Done. They're worthless anyway."
The casual cruelty makes me want to scream. But I continue: "I want to visit my father whenever I want. No restrictions."
"Agreed. But you'll have a security detail."
"Security? Why would I—"
"Because you'll be my wife. That makes you a target." His expression darkens. "I have enemies, Miss Hartley. They'll try to use you against me. You don't go anywhere without protection."
A chill runs down my spine. "What kind of enemies?"
"The kind that would hurt you to hurt me." He says it like it's obvious. "You'll have bodyguards. Learn to live with it."
The reality of what I'm agreeing to starts sinking in.
"Any other conditions?" Dominic asks.
"I want my own money. An allowance or whatever you call it. I won't be completely dependent on you."
"You'll have access to a joint account with fifty thousand a month. Use it however you want."
Fifty thousand a month. More money than I've seen in years.
"And one more thing," I say quietly. "No one can know this marriage is fake. Not my father. Not anyone. If people find out, if the press discovers it's just business, my father's reputation gets destroyed all over again."
Dominic studies me. "Agreed. As far as the world knows, we're desperately in love. A whirlwind romance. Chicago's power couple."
The idea of pretending to love this man makes my stomach turn.
But I've run out of options.
"The pen, please," I say to Victoria.
She slides it across the table.
I pick it up. My hand is shaking so badly I almost drop it.
This is it. The moment that changes everything.
I think about Dad. About the beeping machines. About the company he built from nothing. About everything I'm about to trade for his life.
And I press pen to paper.
My signature forms slowly. Each letter feels like a piece of my soul being sold.
When I finish, Victoria witnesses it with clinical efficiency.
It's done.
I just agreed to marry Dominic Ashford.
The silence in the room is deafening.
Then Dominic speaks, his voice cold and satisfied: "Welcome to your cage, Mrs. Ashford."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Mrs. Ashford.
I just sold myself to my enemy.
"The wedding will be in three days," Victoria says, closing the contract. "City Hall. Private ceremony. Just witnesses."
"Three days?" My voice cracks.
"Mr. Ashford's birthday is in three weeks. We need the marriage legally filed before then." Victoria stands. "You'll receive instructions tomorrow about where to meet for the ceremony."
Dominic is already heading for the door.
"Wait," I call after him. "That's it? We just... I sign a contract and you leave?"
He pauses, looking back at me with those cold eyes. "What else did you expect? A romantic dinner? Getting-to-know-you questions?" His laugh is harsh. "This is business, Miss Hartley. We're not friends. We're not lovers. We're business partners in a year-long transaction. I suggest you remember that."
Then he's gone.
I'm alone with Victoria, who's packing up the contracts like we just closed a real estate deal instead of selling my freedom.
"Is he always like that?" I ask.
"Like what?"
"Cold. Cruel. Heartless."
Victoria pauses, and for just a second, something that might be sympathy crosses her face. "Mr. Ashford lost the only person he ever loved eight years ago. He hasn't been the same since."
"That doesn't excuse—"
"I'm not excusing anything. I'm explaining." She closes her briefcase. "You asked if he's always like this. The answer is yes. He's exactly this cold to everyone. You're not special in his cruelty, Miss Hartley. That's just who he is now."
She heads for the door, then pauses.
"One piece of advice? Don't try to change him. Don't try to make him care. Do your job, collect your money, and leave when the year is over. Women who try to reach Dominic Ashford's heart end up destroyed."
"I don't want his heart," I say.
"Good. Because he doesn't have one to give."
She leaves.
I'm alone in the massive suite, staring at the Chicago skyline and trying to process what I just did.
I sold myself for ten million dollars and my father's life.
I'm going to marry a man who hates me.
I'm going to spend a year pretending to love someone who sees me as nothing more than a convenient solution to his problems.
My phone buzzes.
A text from an unknown number: Tomorrow, 9 AM, meet at Saks Fifth Avenue. You need a wardrobe appropriate for Mrs. Ashford. Don't be late. - Victoria
Another text immediately after: And Miss Hartley? Congratulations on your engagement. I hope you survive it.
The words make my blood run cold.
Survive it?
What kind of marriage requires survival?
I look down at my hands—still shaking, still holding the pen I used to sign away my freedom.
In three days, I'm going to marry Dominic Ashford.
The man who destroyed my family.
The man who hates me more than anyone in the world.
The man who just became my only hope.
God help me.
I have no idea what I've just agreed to.
But I'm about to find out.