If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be signing a marriage contract worth fifty million dollars, I would've laughed.
I wasn't the kind of girl people married for power. I wasn't the girl people noticed at all.
But Frey noticed me, not because he cared but because he needed me.
And the moment he laid out the offer in cold, perfect words, I realised just how small I was in the kind of world he lived in.
I remembered sitting across from him in that quiet restaurant, not one we could ever afford, the kind with waiters who spoke softly and menus without prices. It wasn't a date. It didn't even feel like a conversation.
It felt like a pitch.
"Five years," he said, his voice as smooth as the glass of scotch in his hand. "No children. No romantic expectations. A clean, mutually beneficial arrangement."
I had blinked at him. "You're serious?"
He nodded once.
I'd known Frey was rich. That much was obvious the second he stepped back into my life. But I hadn't known he was this cold. This… controlling. I kept waiting for him to laugh, to say he was kidding. He never did.
Instead, he slid a small envelope across the table, the same colour as bone, sealed with his father's crest.
"You can look over the details at home. Take your time. Talk to your parents."
Talk to my parents. Right.
That night, the Rhodes house felt smaller than usual. We'd long since sold anything we could to stay afloat, the spare car, the backyard tools, even Dad's signed posters from his racing days. The kitchen light buzzed faintly as I opened the envelope and read the contract under the yellowed glow.
Twenty pages of clauses, restrictions, and promises.
All for the price of pretending.
"Absolutely not," my mother snapped the moment I explained it.
She didn't even wait for me to finish. "You are not selling yourself to that boy. To that family"
"Vanessa, please…" my father said quietly, slouched in his wheelchair. His voice was so thin these days.
"Don't 'please' me," she hissed. "You know who that man is. You know."
Dad was silent.
I did know. I just didn't know why it mattered so much.
My mother got up, pacing the kitchen with her arms crossed. "I don't trust him. Or his father. Especially his father."
"Vanessa." My father's voice grew sharper now, strained. "We don't have the luxury of morals. This is the only way to save the company. To save us."
That was when I realised he had already made peace with it.
And in that moment, so did I.
Because if saving the people I loved meant losing myself… I'd still do it.
Two days later, I was standing in front of the Johnson estate, a sprawling mansion of white stone and silence, tucked behind black iron gates and trimmed hedges.
It looked more like a courthouse than a home.
Frey's driver led me through glass doors and marble floors, past portraits of ancestors who had probably bought towns for fun. Everything inside the house whispered: Power. Clean. Unreachable.
Frey waited at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in another painfully perfect suit. He looked at me like I was already part of the furniture.
"My father's waiting in the study," he said.
No smile. No welcome. Just an instruction.
I followed.
The hallway was long and lined with memories I didn't belong in. At the end of it, behind a pair of dark wooden doors, sat Tyler Johnson.
Even seated, he filled the room with his presence.
His eyes, grey, sharp, alive with scrutiny, scanned me the way a father sizes up the woman who might carry his legacy forward. Not just a partner for Frey, but a symbol. A promise.
"So you're the girl Frey's been hiding," he said, voice like dry gravel.
I managed a small, polite smile. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Johnson."
His gaze narrowed, studying my face like he was trying to read a hidden agenda in my eyes.
"You seem… grounded. Not one of those empty-headed heiresses he used to chase around. I take it you're not in it for the money?"
My pulse skipped.
I swallowed. "No, sir. I'm… here because I care about Frey, and given our childhood."
The lie sat heavy on my tongue.
I could feel Frey standing stiff beside me, arms folded, expression unreadable. He didn't reach for my hand. He didn't even look at me. But I knew he was listening.
"Good," Tyler muttered. "He needs someone who can keep him in line, not another party doll with pretty shoes. I want to believe you'll make a man out of him."
I said nothing. Because I didn't trust my voice.
Tyler sat back and exhaled slowly. "Marriage is a responsibility. Discipline. It's the first sign of leadership. Frey never understood that. But maybe… with you, he will."
I lifted my chin slightly, my smile soft but steady. "I'll do my best, sir."
He studied me for a moment longer, then let out a low grunt that might have been a chuckle, or the closest thing to one he was capable of.
"I like you," he said finally. "There's something real in your eyes. Don't lose that. Especially in this family."
The words surprised me, not just because they were kind, but because they felt… sincere. Brief, but genuine.
"Welcome to the family, Catherine."
That was it.
Simple. Not warm, but not cold either. Somewhere in the middle, like a door cracked open just enough to let me through.
As we stepped out into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind us, I exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.
Frey walked beside me in silence, the marble floors reflecting the soft click of our shoes. At the end of the corridor, just before we turned into the main gallery, he spoke.
"Not bad," he said.
I glanced at him. "That's your version of a compliment?"
"It is when it comes to my father."
I let out a small breath, almost a laugh. "I didn't realise I was auditioning for the role of his ideal daughter-in-law."
Frey gave a dry smirk. "Trust me, you passed."
There was a pause, and for a brief moment, it felt like the weight of what we were doing settled in the space between us.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
"Don't thank me yet," he replied, voice low. "We're only just getting started."