Arielle never imagined that one signature could erase the life she knew.
Yet as she stood outside the glass tower piercing the city skyline, her reflection staring back at her from the mirrored surface, she understood with painful clarity that this was exactly what was about to happen.
Sebastian Cross's building didn't feel like a workplace. It felt like a warning.
The Cross Corporation tower rose impossibly high, its sharp edges cutting into the sky like a declaration of power. Arielle tightened her grip on the worn leather folder pressed against her chest, the contents inside suddenly feeling heavier than paper should ever feel.
She had been summoned.
Not invited. Summoned.
Her phone vibrated again. She didn't need to check it to know who it was.
Unknown Number
You are late.
Arielle exhaled slowly. Of course I am, she muttered under her breath. Because panic doesn't move on schedule.
She stepped inside.
The lobby swallowed her whole.
Marble floors gleamed beneath towering columns. People moved with practiced efficiency, dressed in tailored suits and quiet confidence. No one rushed. No one hesitated. This was a world where control ruled everything.
And she did not belong here.
Ms. Hart?
Arielle turned to find a woman holding a tablet, her expression polite but sharp. Yes.
This way.
They moved toward the private elevators—those reserved for executives, not visitors. Arielle's heart pounded harder with every step.
As the elevator ascended, the silence pressed down on her chest.
You'll be meeting Mr. Cross directly, the assistant said. He doesn't like interruptions. Or delays.
Arielle swallowed. Neither do I.
The assistant's eyebrow lifted slightly, but she said nothing more.
The doors slid open.
And everything changed.
Sebastian Cross stood with his back to the city, hands clasped behind him, the late morning sun outlining his tall frame in sharp gold. The room was vast, minimalist, immaculate—everything in it seemed carefully chosen, deliberately controlled.
Including him.
He didn't turn when Arielle entered.
Close the door, he said.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
The assistant obeyed immediately, leaving Arielle alone in a room that suddenly felt too large, too quiet, too dangerous.
Sebastian finally turned.
Arielle had seen his face countless times—on business magazines, financial headlines, television screens—but none of that prepared her for the weight of his presence in person.
He was younger than she expected. Early thirties, perhaps. His dark eyes were sharp, observant, missing nothing. There was no warmth in his expression, no impatience either. Just focus.
Like a man accustomed to bending reality to his will.
You're not what I expected, he said flatly.
Arielle stiffened. Likewise.
That earned her a flicker of interest.
You know why you're here, he continued, gesturing toward the chair across from his desk.
She didn't sit immediately. I know you requested a meeting. That doesn't mean I know why.
Sebastian studied her for a long moment, as if deciding whether she was worth the explanation.
Finally, he reached for a thin file and slid it across the desk.
Arielle hesitated before opening it.
Inside were documents. Legal forms. Financial projections.
And her name.
Her breath caught.
What is this? she asked quietly.
A solution, Sebastian replied. To a problem you don't yet realize is about to consume your life.
Her pulse quickened. I don't appreciate threats.
Good, he said calmly. Because this isn't one. It's an opportunity.
She flipped through the pages, dread pooling in her stomach as words leapt out at her.
Public image. Marital status. Strategic partnership.
Her hands trembled.
You can't be serious.
I am always serious, Sebastian said.
Arielle looked up, eyes blazing. You're asking me to marry you.
Yes.
No, she said immediately.
Sebastian didn't react. I expected that answer.
Then why waste my time?
Because you're going to change your mind.
Her laugh was sharp. You don't know me.
I know enough, he replied. You're drowning in debt you didn't create. You're responsible for a younger sibling whose medical expenses are escalating. And you're one missed payment away from losing everything.
Her blood ran cold.
How do you know that?
I know everything I need to, Sebastian said, unfazed. And I know this proposal solves all of it.
You investigated me.
Yes.
That's illegal.
Only if discovered.
She stood abruptly. This conversation is over.
Sebastian leaned forward slightly. Sit down, Arielle.
Something in his tone—quiet, commanding—froze her in place.
You don't have to like me, he continued. You don't have to trust me. But you do have to listen.
Against her better judgment, she sat.
Sebastian rose and walked toward the window, speaking as if discussing quarterly profits instead of her life.
I need a wife, he said. Not for affection. Not for appearances alone. I need stability.
For what? Arielle demanded.
My board.
She frowned. Your… board?
They've decided my personal life is a liability, he explained. They want a family man. Someone predictable. Controlled.
Arielle scoffed. And you think marrying a stranger fixes that?
I think marrying you does.
She shook her head. You're insane.
No, he said calmly. I'm strategic.
He turned back to face her. This marriage would be contractual. Two years. Public appearances only. No emotional obligations.
And after? she asked.
After, we divorce. Quietly. You walk away financially secure. Your problems disappear.
Her chest tightened. And the cost?
Sebastian met her gaze. Your name. Your presence. Your cooperation.
Silence stretched between them.
This is coercion, she said finally.
This is reality, he replied. And reality doesn't care about fairness.
Arielle stood again, pacing the room. You're asking me to give up my freedom.
For two years, he said. In exchange for a future.
She laughed bitterly. You don't even know who I am.
I know you're stubborn, he said. I know you don't bend easily. And I know you won't let your family suffer because of pride.
That hit too close.
Her jaw clenched. You think you can buy me.
I think I can protect you.
She turned sharply. I don't need protection.
No, he said softly. You need leverage.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Arielle stared at the contract again, heart racing.
This would make me… property, she whispered.
Sebastian shook his head. It makes you untouchable.
She looked up, startled.
My enemies won't touch my wife, he continued. The media won't question you. The law won't intimidate you. You gain power by association.
And what do you gain? she asked.
Time, he said. Control. And silence.
Her breath caught. Silence?
Yes, he said evenly. No interviews. No scandals. No emotional entanglements.
She laughed hollowly. You want a ghost.
I want peace.
Arielle stared at him, realization dawning slowly.
You're afraid, she said.
Sebastian's jaw tightened.
Of losing control, she continued. Of being exposed.
He didn't deny it.
That makes two of us, she whispered.
The silence between them crackled, heavy with something neither was prepared to name.
Minutes passed.
Then an assistant burst into the room, pale and shaking.
Mr. Cross, she said urgently. The board has advanced the vote. They're forcing a decision today.
Sebastian's eyes darkened.
On what? Arielle asked.
They're preparing to remove him, the assistant said. Effective immediately. Unless—
Unless I announce my engagement, Sebastian finished.
Arielle's heart slammed against her ribs.
Sebastian turned to her slowly. The choice is yours.
She stared at the contract, then at him.
Sign, he said quietly. And everything changes.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from the hospital.
Payment overdue. Treatment paused pending confirmation.
Her hands shook violently.
This wasn't a proposal.
It was a trap.
A choice between survival and self.
She picked up the pen.
Sebastian watched her, unreadable.
Arielle hesitated, tears blurring her vision.
If I do this, she whispered, you don't own me.
Sebastian nodded once. Agreed.
She signed.
The moment the pen left the paper, the door slammed open.
A man stepped inside, eyes wide.
Mr. Cross, he said. There's a problem.
Sebastian frowned. What now?
The man swallowed. The contract… it's already been filed.
Arielle's blood turned to ice.
What do you mean? she demanded.
The man looked at her. Your signature was submitted this morning.
Sebastian's head snapped toward her.
That's impossible, he said.
Arielle stared at the document on the desk.
Her name.
Her signature.
Already there.
I never signed this, she whispered.
Sebastian's face drained of color.
Then, he said slowly, dangerously, someone wanted this marriage before we did.
And in that moment, Arielle realized she hadn't entered a contract—
She had stepped into a war.