Ivy laid on her narrow bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of her apartment as the hours crawled past. The thought of sleeping scared her, as every time she closed her eyes, the contract kept haunting her —the bold letters, the clauses, the ink…that had sealed her fate for three years. The image was vivid.
Married. The word felt extremely foreign… a word she will soon familiarize herself with.
A title that felt like it belonged to someone else's life. Someone stronger. Someone desperate enough to agree without hesitation.
….
Her phone lay on the nightstand beside her, silent now, but the echo of Adrian Blackwood's voice still lingered in her head…
Calm. Detached. Final.
"This marriage will never involve love."
She rolled onto her side, pressing her palm against her chest as if she could still feel her racing heart. She told herself it didn't matter.
Love hadn't been part of the deal anyway. She had known that fact the moment her uncle slid the contract across the table guiltless.
Still, something about hearing it from him—so coldly, so firm— added more weight…on her, he made it clear her feelings and thoughts were invalid.
….
By the time dawn broke, Ivy was already dressed in the outfit she felt was appropriate for the ceremony.
She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of her simple blouse. Her reflection looked the same as always—quiet eyes, composed expression—but she felt like she was watching a someone else... Someone standing on the edge of a life she hadn't chosen, a life chosen by others.
A knock sounded at her door precisely at eight.
Ivy froze. Without a doubt she knew who were at the door.
Another knock followed, firmer this time.
She took a steadying breath and opened the door.
Two men stood outside. Both were dressed in dark suits, their posture rigid, expressions professional and unreadable. One of them inclined his head slightly.
"Ms. Grant," he said. "We're here to escort you."
Not knowing what to say or how to react, she nodded once and stepped aside to lock her door. As she followed them down the narrow staircase, she noticed how little they spoke, how their attention never wavered even once. It was as though she had already become something fragile. Or valuable.
The car waiting outside was sleek and black, its windows tinted. Ivy hesitated for only a moment before climbing in.
The city blurred past as they drove. Familiar streets faded into unfamiliar ones, until even the air seemed different—quieter, cleaner, detached from the life she had known.
When the car finally stopped, Ivy looked up and felt her breath catch by the site before her.
The estate loomed before her, all steel gates and manicured hedges, the building beyond massive and imposing like its owners.
It didn't look like a home. It looked like a fortress. Meant to trap her.
One of the men opened her door. "This way, ma'am."
Ma'am? These kind of words still felt unfamiliar to her, being call with respect… Felt new, something she might never get used to.
She quietly followed him through the gates, her footsteps echoing on the stone path. The front doors opened before she could knock, revealing a spacious interior bathed in soft light.
And there he was.
Adrian Blackwood stood near the staircase, one hand resting casually in his pocket. He looked exactly like the photographs—tall, sharply dressed, his features composed to the point of severity.
His gaze lifted to her, dark and assessing.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he nodded once. "Ms. Grant."
The formality stung more than she expected.
"Mr. Blackwood," Ivy replied, her voice steady despite the tension coiling inside her.
"You're punctual," he said. It sounded like an observation, not a compliment.
"So were you," she replied.
Something flickered in his eyes—brief, unreadable—before he gestured toward the sitting area. "We should talk."
They sat across from each other, the distance between them deliberate. A coffee table separated them, empty except for a slim folder Ivy recognized immediately.
Adrian folded his hands. "I won't waste your time."
"I'd appreciate that," Ivy said.
"This arrangement," he continued, "is not something either of us would have chosen under different circumstances. I'm aware of that."
She waited.
"The terms of the contract will be followed strictly," he said. "There will be no public affection, no interference in my professional life, and no expectations beyond what is legally required."
"And my life?" Ivy asked quietly. "Does that…" she swallowed, trying to hold in the emotions spiraling inside her. Does that matter at all?" she finished.
His jaw tightened almost unnoticed."You'll have complete financial security. Privacy. Protection."
"That wasn't my question."
Silence stretched between them.
"You'll be free to pursue your interests," Adrian said at last. "Within reason."
Within reason.
Ivy leaned back slightly. "So I'm free…as long as it doesn't inconvenience you." her soft soft, like she was talking to herself rather than him.
He met her gaze evenly. "That's one way to phrase it."
She let out a slow breath. "You're honest. Maybe—too honest even."
"It's efficient."
A scoff appeared on her pretty face.
"And what about living arrangements?" Ivy asked. "Because the contract mentions—"
"Separate quarters," Adrian said. "The west wing is yours. My schedule is demanding. We'll interact as necessary."
Necessary…
Ivy nodded. "Good. I didn't sign up to pretend."
"Neither did I."
Another pause.
"Why me?" she asked suddenly. "I know what the contract says, but I want to hear it from you."
His expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened slightly. "Because you fit the requirements. And because you wouldn't complicate things."
The words struck deep in her soul. Ivy exhales softly to steady her emotions.
"I'm not as manageable as you think," Ivy said softly.
His lips curved faintly "We'll see."
A house staff member appeared discreetly, informing Adrian that everything was ready. He stood, smoothing his suit jacket.
"The ceremony will be brief," he said. "No press. No guests beyond what's required."
Ivy rose as well. "It's not like I have anyone... I'm fine with that."
They moved through the estate in silence, walking side by side without touching. Ivy was acutely aware of the space between them—carefully measured, deliberately maintained.
The courthouse was quiet.
The vows were spoken with lifeless precision. Signatures exchanged. Names bound.
When it was done, Ivy felt… nothing.
No relief. No panic. Just a hollow feeling of emptiness.
"Congratulations," the official said with a polite smile.
Ivy couldn't bring herself to smile at the official. Adrian nodded once.
Ivy didn't trust herself to speak, in fear of breaking now in tears.
Back in the car, she stared out the window as the city passed by once more, wondering when it had all slipped so far beyond her control.
At the estate, Adrian paused near the staircase. "You'll find everything you need in your wing. If you have questions, speak to the staff."
"And you?" Ivy asked.
"I'll be busy."
Of course you will, she thought.
As she turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"Ivy."
She faced him without answering.
"This arrangement doesn't have to be hostile," he said. "As long as we respect the boundaries."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Respect goes both ways."
She walked away before he could respond.
Later that evening, Ivy stood in her new bedroom, surrounded by luxury that felt undeserved. The bed was massive, the windows overlooking the estate grounds.
She set her bag down slowly.
This was her life now.
Somewhere down the hall, a door closed quietly.
Unseen, unheard, Adrian Blackwood stood in his study, staring at the marriage certificate in his hand.
He told himself this was just another contract.
But as he folded the paper away, an unfamiliar unease settled in his chest.
Because for the first time, control didn't feel absolute.
And neither of them yet realized how deeply this marriage would unravel everything they thought they knew.