The rain poured like it had something to prove that night.
Elle stood under her black umbrella, her heels splashing through shallow puddles as she crossed the marble driveway that led up to the glass tower of St. Clair Enterprises. Even the building looked cold—steel, silver, and impossibly tall—like its owner.
Her fingers tightened around the folder in her hand. Inside it was a contract. Her name on one page. His on the other.
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself. "You can do this," she whispered, though the words came out shakier than she wanted.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and her reflection stared back at her—wet hair clinging to her neck, mascara faintly smudged beneath tired eyes. She looked like a woman who had nothing left to lose. And maybe that was true.
When the elevator stopped on the top floor, she hesitated. The entire level was silent, save for the soft hum of lights and the faint rhythm of rain against the tall windows.
Then she saw him.
Adrian St. Clair sat behind a wide glass desk, suit perfectly tailored, eyes as sharp and cold as the city skyline behind him. His presence filled the room in a way that made her pulse quicken—though not from attraction. It was something heavier, something she couldn't name.
"You're late," he said simply, his voice deep and unreadable.
"Traffic," she replied, setting the folder down in front of him. "You asked me to bring the papers."
He didn't respond. He only looked at her—the kind of look that made her want to fidget, but she refused to. Instead, she met his gaze head-on.
"So," she said after a moment, her voice steadier now. "Do you still want to go through with it?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair, his expression impossible to read. "I don't back out of contracts, Miss—"
"Elle," she interrupted softly. "Just Elle."
His eyes flickered, a subtle reaction, gone almost instantly. "Fine. Elle."
He opened the folder and scanned the pages. She tried to read him, but his face was an impenetrable mask. He could have been reading a grocery list for all the emotion he showed.
Finally, he closed the file. "You understand the terms," he said. It wasn't a question.
"One year," she said, nodding. "A legal marriage in name only. No romantic involvement, no expectations." Her throat tightened slightly. "And a generous compensation at the end."
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable. "You make it sound so… transactional."
"Isn't it?" she said quietly.
Something in his eyes softened for just a second—then it was gone. He reached for his pen, signing his name with clean, confident strokes.
When he handed the pen to her, their fingers brushed. The touch was brief, accidental, but it sent a sharp awareness through her veins. She pretended not to notice.
She signed. Just like that, it was done.
A contract marriage. Her life changed with four strokes of ink.
Adrian stood, his height towering over her. "My assistant will make the necessary arrangements. You'll move into the St. Clair residence tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" she repeated, startled. "That soon?"
"I don't like delays," he said simply. "And I don't tolerate them."
Of course he didn't.
She bit back a retort. "Fine. Tomorrow."
He watched her as she gathered her things, eyes following her every movement. "You don't seem nervous," he said, almost as if testing her.
Elle gave a faint smile. "I've already lost everything that mattered, Mr. St. Clair. What's left to be nervous about?"
His gaze lingered on her one last time before he turned away. "We'll see about that."
She didn't know why those words unsettled her—but as she stepped back into the elevator, she realized her hands were trembling.
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the city lights shimmered like they were laughing at her. A contract marriage. To Adrian St. Clair—the man everyone whispered about. The cold billionaire who never smiled, never trusted, and never fell in love.
Elle pressed her palm against the cool glass of the lobby door and whispered to herself, "One year. Just one year."
But as the elevator doors closed behind Adrian, even he couldn't shake the strange feeling that this—whatever it was—wasn't going to be just another contract.