Her hotel room was lit only by the blue glow of her laptop screen and a single desk lamp. The contract lay open before her—ten crisp pages, printed and annotated in red ink.
2:00 a.m.
Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but she'd read it over and over, searching for loopholes, hidden traps, any sign that Alexander was trying to betray her. She tried understanding him. As the wife of the Langford Enterprises CEO, she would inherit his enemies—people who could kill her just to hurt him. And she already had her own enemies who wanted her dead.
Her entire existence depended on that hope. She couldn't take another risk. Couldn't bear the thought of another betrayal, another scam. The memory of Evelyn's cold smile, Derek's lies, the rope around her neck—it all crashed over her in waves whenever she tried to close her eyes.
So she called the best lawyers in the country, despite the financial turmoil she was drowning in. She needed to be absolutely sure. Every clause. Every loophole. Every power he had over her. Every weapon she could use against him.
They read in silence. Flipped pages. Highlighted clauses. Whispered. Argued in low voices about subparagraphs and termination triggers.
By 5:00 p.m., the room smelled of espresso, printer ink, and quiet skepticism.
"It's… clean," the lead advocate said finally, rubbing his temples. "Suspiciously clean. No poison pills. No creeping control mechanisms. He even gave you unilateral veto on major branding decisions post-marriage. I've never seen a convertible note this generous without equity bleed."
"Unusually trusting," the senior partner corrected, voice dry. "Or unusually confident he won't need it."
Seraphina didn't respond. She stared at the clause again, her chest tight with something between hope and dread.
The $300 million was desperately needed—a lifeline when she was drowning. But deals this good never came without repercussions. There was always a catch. Always.
But that catch wasn't visible right now, and unfortunately she was sinking so quickly into this quicksand.
She dismissed the lawyers at 5:45 p.m. with instructions to prepare the final counter-proposal by noon. Then she called Aurora.
"Arrange a meeting with Alexander and my legal team. Today, 7 p.m. Langford Tower. Tell him it's urgent."
Aurora didn't ask why—strictly business, as always. "Done."
The reply from Alexander's team came within minutes: 7 p.m. Langford Tower.
When she arrived at Langford Tower that evening, he was already waiting in the same office where they had first met. The massive glass wall framed the city in deep indigo, the lights below glittering like scattered diamonds—beautiful and cold and indifferent to whether she survived this.
The table was set for five: sandwiches, salads, coffee, and a bottle of sparkling water placed deliberately in front of her seat.
Alexander stood as she entered, and her breath caught despite herself.
He wore a jet-black slim-fit suit beneath a crisp light-blue dress shirt, the collar open at the throat. No tie tonight. Polished black oxfords. A minimalist watch sat on his wrist—understated, expensive, the kind of detail that whispered power rather than shouting it.
His dark hair, usually perfectly styled, was slightly disheveled tonight, a few strands curling rebelliously over his eyebrow. That small imperfection made her catch her breath—made him look less like the pitch-perfect tycoon and more like the boy from Ravenswood. The one who'd blushed when she smiled at him.
He could outshine every model if he ever decided to step in front of a camera instead of behind a boardroom table. She'd secretly wished she could convince him to model for her men's jewelry line one day, but she knew he would never agree. He was always serious, always committed to his work with an intensity that left no room for frivolity.
He crossed to her and extended his hand. The moment his warm, calloused palm wrapped around hers, electricity shot through her skin—a jolt that traveled up her arm and settled somewhere deep in her chest. His hand was larger than hers, rougher than she'd expected for a CEO, and the contact lingered just a second longer than necessary. Long enough for her pulse to stutter.
"Seraphina," he said, voice low and steady. "You look like you didn't sleep."
Because I didn't. Because every time I close my eyes, I see Evelyn's face. I feel the rope.
"I didn't," she said, meeting his gaze and forcing herself not to look away.
He smiled—small, genuine, the kind that reminded her of the boy from boarding school who'd watched her across the dining hall with something tender in his eyes. "You're one of the few women who could look this beautiful after not sleeping."
Heat rose to Seraphina's cheeks instantly. Her pale skin flushed beet-red, the warmth spreading down her neck despite every attempt to stay professional. She might be here for business, for survival, for a contract that would save her life—but she couldn't deny the effect her once-crush still had on her. The way his compliment settled warm and dangerous in her chest. The way she wanted to believe he meant it.
Stop it, she told herself firmly. This is business. Nothing more.
A knock sounded at the door, shattering the moment. The lawyers stepped in, and reality crashed back.
The next hour was spent dissecting terms and conditions. Clauses she wanted to add or subtract. His legal team reviewed every word, every comma—and yet they accepted things far too easily. Almost unnervingly so.
When Seraphina added a strict no-cohabitation clause unless mutually agreed in writing, full and permanent asset separation, mutual right of first refusal on exit, and additional shares tied to the consequence clause, Alexander accepted without hesitation.
Why is this so easy?
Her paranoia whispered warnings, but she pushed forward anyway.
"There's another thing," she said calmly, folding her hands on the table to hide their trembling.
Alexander had been leaning back in his chair, relaxed, one arm resting along the armrest. At her words, his posture shifted—not abruptly, but unmistakably. The lazy confidence tightened into focus.
"No sedation, no drugs, no medical intervention of any kind without my explicit, informed consent." Her voice was steady, but her heart hammered against her ribs. "Not for stress. Not for sleep. Not for protection. Ever."
The memory of being drugged in that basement, of waking up bound to a chair with Evelyn's cold smile the first thing she saw—it clawed at her throat. She swallowed it down.
One of the lawyers shifted uncomfortably.
Alexander's fingers stilled against the leather armrest. The faint rhythm they'd been tapping—barely noticeable before—stopped completely. His jaw tightened just a fraction, the muscle flexing once as he processed the line she had drawn. His storm-blue eyes darkened with something that looked almost like... curiosity.
"Of course," he answered without missing a beat, his voice gentler than before.
But she wasn't done. No, she was desperate enough to step into this mess. But she would only step into it if the mess was to her liking.
"No surveillance without disclosure. No recording me, tracking me, or monitoring my private spaces or communications without my knowledge and written approval." Her voice gained strength with each word. "Security is not an excuse for control."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Alexander leaned forward slowly, forearms resting on his knees now, closing the distance without standing. His gaze sharpened, the lazy confidence draining away completely, replaced by something colder and more focused. Dangerous.
The air around him felt heavier, charged, like a storm pulling itself together before it broke. For a moment, she saw the ruthless CEO who'd built an empire from nothing. The man who made competitors disappear quietly. The man whose enemies feared him more than they hated him.
A shiver ran down her spine—part fear, part something she didn't want to name.
Silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive.
"And finally," she said, lifting her gaze to meet his directly, refusing to flinch even though every instinct screamed at her to back down, "no deception. No withholding material information that affects my safety, autonomy, or reputation. If you know something that puts me at risk, I am informed immediately. No 'for my own good' omissions."
For a long moment, Alexander didn't blink. His eyes darkened further, pupils contracting slightly as if the world had narrowed to only the woman across from him. One thumb dragged slowly along the edge of the table—an unconscious, grounding motion—before his hand curled into a loose fist. The tension in his shoulders was visible now, coiled and controlled.
She'd challenged him. Directly. Demanded transparency from a man who'd built his power on secrets and strategy.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might refuse. Might stand up and walk away and leave her drowning in the quicksand with no lifeline at all.
Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
"Agreed."
The single word felt like a vow.
The lawyers began gathering their notes, the scratch of pens and shuffle of papers filling the silence, ready to draft the final agreement.
"Wait," Seraphina said. "There's one more thing."
Alexander's attention snapped back to her, sharp and immediate, like a predator's focus zeroing in on movement.
Her heart hammered so hard she was sure he could hear it.
"No cheating. No other women. No affairs." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, matter-of-fact despite the vulnerability of asking for this. "If this is a marriage for two years, I will be the only woman in your life. No matter what."
This time, his reaction was unmistakable.
Alexander straightened fully, spine aligning with deliberate precision. His head tilted—not in disbelief, not in offense, but in appraisal. Like he was seeing her clearly for the first time. The corner of his mouth lifted slowly, not into a smile but into something sharper, more intent, more interested—as if she were a rare weapon and he was deciding how best to wield it.
The room held its breath.
"I accept."
The words were simple. Two syllables that should have meant nothing more than contractual agreement. But the way his gaze lingered on her afterward—steady, unflinching, almost proprietary—sent a quiet warning through Seraphina's spine. Heat and danger mixed together until she couldn't separate them.
The agreement had not unsettled him. It had interested him.
And that terrified her more than any of the control clauses ever could.
When everything was done, they signed. Precise signatures on every page, the scratch of pen on paper feeling far too permanent, far too real.
When it was all over, Seraphina expected to feel worried that she had done something wrong. Expected the familiar spiral of second-guessing and paranoia.
Instead, all she felt was light—as if a massive weight had lifted from her chest, as if she could finally breathe again despite the exhaustion from days without sleep. As if everything would be all right now.
The feeling was so foreign she almost didn't recognize it.
Hope. Dangerous, treacherous hope.
The lawyers gathered their things and left, leaving the two of them alone in the vast office with the city glittering below and the space between them suddenly feeling much smaller.
Alexander leaned back in his chair, the tension finally draining from his shoulders. "Funds will be wired within the hour. Strategic partnership announcement between Hale Lumina and Langford Enterprises goes live tomorrow morning. The boycott dies tonight."
Seraphina nodded once, her throat tight. She glanced at the time—9:00 p.m. The exhaustion settled into her bones like lead, pulling her down, but she couldn't quite make herself leave yet.
He stood, offering his hand. She took it—warm, steady, grounding—and rose. They stood there for a moment, hands still clasped, neither quite willing to let go first.
"Now tell me," he said, voice low and intimate in the quiet office, "what would you like for dinner?"