Lucas Harrington did not doubt outcomes.
He engineered them.
Still, as the elevator descended from Elara Hayes's apartment, he found his jaw tightening—not from uncertainty, but from irritation.
She had not begged.
She had not thanked him.
And worse—she had not looked relieved.
Most people did.
By the time he stepped into the underground parking garage, his phone was already vibrating.
"Sir," his assistant said the moment he answered, voice tight, "the board has moved the emergency meeting forward. They've leaked rumors to the press."
Lucas slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. "What kind of rumors?"
"Instability. Questionable leadership. Personal—"
"I know what they're doing," he cut in. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
He ended the call without waiting for a response.
The city lights streaked past as he drove, his mind already several steps ahead. The board would push. The media would speculate. Investors would waver.
And without a wife, Lucas Harrington would be painted as volatile. Untethered.
Replaceable.
He hated that narrative.
Elara didn't sleep.
She sat at the small table until dawn, contract spread before her like a sentence awaiting execution.
She read every clause.
Every loophole.
Every elegant trap disguised as generosity.
Two years of her life, exchanged for security she had never known. A man who spoke of marriage the way others spoke of acquisitions.
Lucas Harrington hadn't stumbled into her life.
He had selected her.
That knowledge unsettled her more than the money ever could.
At 6:14 a.m., her phone buzzed.
Landlord: Morning. I need an answer today.
Her chest tightened.
She stood and paced the apartment—counting cracks in the walls, listening to the neighbors above her prepare for lives that moved forward while hers hovered on the edge of collapse.
By 8:00 a.m., she knew the truth.
There was no miracle coming.
At 8:17 a.m., another message arrived.
Unknown Number: The car will arrive at ten.
No greeting.
No question.
Just an assumption.
Elara stared at the screen, anger sparking beneath the fear.
She typed back.
Elara: I haven't agreed.
The reply came instantly.
Lucas: You haven't refused.
Her fingers trembled.
---
The Harrington Group boardroom was silent when Lucas entered.
Too quiet.
Seven men and one woman sat around the polished table, each wearing carefully neutral expressions. Screens glowed behind them—stock projections, headlines, numbers designed to intimidate.
Lucas took his seat at the head without invitation.
"Let's dispense with the performance," he said coolly. "You've called this meeting because you believe I'm vulnerable."
A few glances exchanged.
One of the older board members leaned forward. "We believe the company is vulnerable."
"Because I'm unmarried?" Lucas asked.
"Because you're unpredictable," another replied. "Investors prefer stability."
Lucas smiled faintly. "You've confused predictability with obedience."
The woman cleared her throat. "There are rumors circulating. About your personal life."
"Then you should have verified them before calling this meeting," Lucas said. "Because by this evening, those rumors will be irrelevant."
Silence.
"Care to explain?" someone asked.
Lucas leaned back. "I'm getting married."
The reaction was immediate—surprise poorly masked, calculations already spinning.
"To whom?" the woman asked sharply.
Lucas met her gaze. "That information will be public soon enough."
He stood.
"This meeting is over," he said. "If any of you attempt another leak, I'll make sure your severance packages become public knowledge."
As he turned to leave, one of them spoke.
"You're making a mistake."
Lucas paused.
"No," he said quietly. "I'm correcting one."
---
At exactly 10:00 a.m., a black car pulled up outside Elara's apartment building.
She stood at the window, heart pounding, watching the driver step out and glance at his watch.
This was it.
She grabbed her coat and the folder, her movements stiff, mechanical.
When she stepped outside, the driver opened the door without speaking.
Inside, the car smelled like leather and quiet authority.
She hadn't even buckled her seatbelt when Lucas spoke.
"You're late."
She turned sharply. "I didn't say I was coming."
"And yet," he replied, eyes forward, "here you are."
The car pulled into traffic.
Elara crossed her arms. "Where are we going?"
"My lawyer's office," Lucas said. "You'll sign the contract."
"And if I don't?"
He finally looked at her then—really looked.
"You will," he said calmly. "Because you don't strike me as someone who waits for life to collapse before acting."
Her jaw tightened. "You planned this."
"Yes."
"You assumed I'd agree."
"I calculated the odds."
"And if you're wrong?"
Lucas leaned back slightly, his presence pressing into her space.
"Then I'll lose time," he said. "And you'll lose everything."
The words landed between them like a blade.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
At the office, everything moved quickly—documents prepared, coffee untouched, eyes flicking curiously toward her as if she were already labeled Mrs. Harrington.
The lawyer explained terms she already knew.
Elara barely listened.
Her attention was fixed on Lucas—on how relaxed he appeared, how certain. As if her decision had been made the moment he first noticed her behind that bar.
The pen was placed in front of her.
"This is your last chance to walk away," the lawyer said gently.
Elara's fingers hovered over the paper.
She thought of the eviction notice.
Of sending money home.
Of the way Lucas had looked at her—not with desire, but with ownership.
Slowly, she picked up the pen.
Lucas watched without blinking.
When she finished signing, she slid the contract across the table.
"It's done," she said quietly.
Lucas took the document, scanned it once, then closed the folder.
"Yes," he agreed. "It is."
He stood.
"My wife," he added smoothly, extending his hand.
The word sent a shiver down her spine.
She hesitated—just for a second—before placing her hand in his.
His grip was firm. Certain.
Possessive.
As they walked out together, Elara realized something with sudden clarity.
She hadn't just agreed to a marriage.
She had stepped into Lucas Harrington's world.
And he did not let go of what was his.