The Collins Estate was not a home. It was a statement. Tall iron gates led to a long driveway. At the end stood a huge house of glass and pale stone. It looked like a giant, beautiful block of ice. No lights shone warmly from the windows. There was no sound.
Ariyah's old red Mustang felt too loud as she pulled up. She turned off the engine. The silence that followed was heavy. She took a deep breath. Her clothes were her armor today: a bright pink jacket that fit her curves perfectly, and black pants. She looked professional, but she also looked like herself . She was not coming here as a beggar. She was coming as an equal.
A serious woman in a suit opened the huge front door. "Miss Jones. Mr. Collins is in his office. This way."
Inside, the house was even more stunning and even colder. The ceilings were very high. The floors were dark, shiny stone. There was almost no furniture. No photos. No color. It felt like a museum no one visited.
The office had one whole wall made of glass, looking out over a dark, still pool. In the middle of the room was a big metal desk. On it was a tablet computer and a pen. And behind the desk, he waited.
Wayne Collins.
He was bigger than she remembered. Taller, with wider shoulders. His suit was dark gray and looked very expensive. His hair was dark and neat. His face was all sharp angles. And his eyes… they were a pale, cool blue. They moved over her slowly, carefully. He was not looking at a person. He was checking an item he was about to buy.
"Ariyah," he said. His voice was deep and quiet. It filled the empty room. He did not offer to shake her hand. "Sit."
She sat, crossing her legs. She would not let him see she was nervous. "Wayne," she said back, her voice just as flat.
"You know why you are here," he began, picking up the tablet. "Your grandfather's will has two rules. One, we must marry in ninety days. Two, we must start a family. Children are required to secure both legacies."
Hearing him say it out loud made her stomach twist. Children . A family . With this cold, quiet man. The secret crush she'd carried for two years felt silly now. This was not a dream. This was a business deal with a future written in it.
"I have had a contract written," he said, swiping the screen. "It is very long. It protects my money. It protects your inheritance from your uncles… but only if you follow the rules."
He pushed the tablet toward her. She saw page after page of small, dense text.
"The rules are simple," he went on, his eyes locking onto hers. "You finish law school. You move in here after the wedding. Until then, you live your life. But you are seen with me. We go to events. We look like a couple who chose this. In public, you are calm. You are graceful. The party girl is gone. The future mother is here."
Anger, hot and sharp, burned in her chest. "So I have to change who I am? For your image?"
Something flashed in his eyes. A quick, dark spark. "You refine it. For our future. My name gives you safety. Your youth and… vitality give my name a future. It is a fair trade."
Vitality . He meant her body. Her ability to have his children. She felt like a prized animal.
She leaned forward, putting her hands on his cold desk. "And what do you give? Besides a last name and a house?"
His jaw tightened. Just a little. "I give you protection. Your uncles cannot touch you once you are my wife. I give you a life of no worry about money. And I give our future children the Collins name and empire. It is a good deal for you."
"A good deal?" she whispered. "You get a wife, a business merger, and children all at once. What do I get? A cage."
"It is not a cage," he said, his voice dropping lower. "It is the safest place you could be."
"Says the man who built the bars," she shot back.
For a second, he said nothing. He just looked at her. Really looked. Like he was seeing the fire in her, and it interested him. "The will says we must have children, Ariyah. I did not write that rule. But I will use it. I am a businessman. This is the deal on the table. Take it, or your uncles will pick your bones clean."
He was right. That was the worst part. He was using the rule to get what he wanted, but he wasn't the one who made the trap. Her grandfather had done that.
"And the… how?" she asked, her face getting hot. "The children part. Is that in the contract too?"
His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up. "It says we agree to have children. The rest is private. Between us."
"Between a husband and wife who are strangers," she said.
"We will not be strangers forever," he said quietly. He stood up. He was so tall. He walked around the desk and leaned against it, close to her. She could smell his soap, something clean and sharp. "Sign the paper, Ariyah. Finish school. Marry me. Give us both what we need."
"What you need," she corrected, standing up to face him. She had to look up, but she didn't back down. "You need an heir. You need the Jones company. You need a wife to make it all look nice."
"I need you ," he said, the words coming out rough, almost angry.
The air left her lungs. He didn't say it like a sweet nothing. He said it like a fact. A hard, painful fact.
She searched his cold blue eyes. For a second, she thought she saw something else. Something raw and hungry, buried deep. Then it was gone, hidden behind the ice.
She turned and picked up the heavy pen. She found the line on the tablet. Her hand was steady. She signed her name. Ariyah Jones.
"Fine," she said, putting the pen down. "I'll see you at the altar."
She walked to the door.
"Ariyah." His voice stopped her. "Until the wedding… you are free. Be young. Be loud. It will be the last time."
She didn't answer. She walked out, her heels clicking on the stone. She got in her car, started the engine, and drove away fast. She didn't look back at the cold, glass house.
Inside, Wayne watched her red taillights disappear. He let out a long breath. He walked back to his desk and opened the bottom drawer.
He took out a single photo. Ariyah, laughing at a party two years ago. He touched the glass over her smiling face.
Then he looked at the cold, perfect handcuffs lying next to the photo. A secret desire for control, for trust, for something real.
He had her signature. He had the deal. In ninety days, she would be his wife. The mother of his children.
He had gotten what he wanted by using the rules of the will. He was a ruthless businessman. But as he looked at her picture, a deep ache settled in his chest. He had won the deal.
Now he had to win the woman. And he had no idea how.