Chapter 6

Johnny Coleman walked into the mansion exactly twenty minutes later, his tailored suit completely dry despite the storm outside. He carried a sleek black leather briefcase.

Johnny's eyes flicked to Amira, still standing in the center of the room in her wet clothes. A micro-expression of surprise crossed his face, but his professional mask slammed back into place instantly.

Buxton turned his wheelchair toward the hallway. "Bring the contingency Prenup A to the study," he ordered.

Amira followed them into the massive study. The dark mahogany furniture and floor-to-ceiling antique bookshelves pressed down on her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Johnny opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of crisp white documents. He placed them precisely in front of the leather guest chair at the mahogany desk.

Buxton sat behind the desk, his hands steepled under his chin. "Read it."

Amira took a shaky breath. She opened the folder, the smell of fresh ink hitting her nose. Her eyes scanned the dense legal jargon.

The terms were brutal and clear. Party A (Buxton) pays all tuition and five thousand dollars a month in living expenses to Party B (Amira).

In return, Party B must reside in the estate, act as a loving wife in public, and cannot initiate divorce before the two-year term expires.

Her eyes snagged on a specific clause. If Party B breaches this contract, Party B must relinquish all rights to future severance and repay the full amount of tuition and expenses provided, with interest compounded daily at the highest legal rate. Furthermore, Party A reserves the right to inform NYU of the fraudulent nature of her financial acquisition.

Amira sucked in a sharp breath. Her stomach dropped.

She looked up at Buxton, hoping to find a sliver of negotiation in his eyes. He sat there like a statue carved from ice. Unmovable.

Johnny stepped forward and handed her a heavy Montblanc fountain pen. The silver nib gleamed under the desk lamp.

Amira took the pen. Her fingers were trembling from the cold and the adrenaline.

Agnes's face. Angelo's voice. The threat of losing NYU. The memories pushed her over the edge.

She clamped her jaw shut, flipped to the signature page, and quickly signed her name: Amira Johns.

The scratching of the nib against the paper sounded like a death knell to her old life.

Buxton watched her sign. A dark, possessive satisfaction flared deep in his eyes, gone before anyone could catch it.

He took the document, swiftly signed his own name with his left hand, and pushed it back to Johnny.

Johnny neatly separated the copies. He handed one folder to Amira. "Here is your copy, Mrs. Shaw."

The title hit Amira's chest like a physical shock. Her heart skipped a beat. It didn't feel real.

Buxton cut through her daze. "You move into the master suite tomorrow. Separate rooms, but the same wing."

Amira nodded numbly. Then a sudden realization hit her. "I need to go back to Queens. I need my passport and my enrollment documents."

Buxton frowned. His fingers tapped against the desk. He hated variables. But he gave a curt nod.

"Johnny will have a driver take you," Buxton said.

"No," Amira said quickly. "I'll take the train. If my mother sees a luxury car, she'll never let me leave. I just want to slip in and out."

Buxton stared at her stubborn face. "Fine. You have until eight o'clock tomorrow night to be back here with your belongings."

Amira clutched the heavy folder to her chest like a shield and walked out of the study.

Johnny watched her disappear down the hall. He leaned down slightly. "Sir, are you sure about marrying the housekeeper?"

Buxton spun the Montblanc pen on the desk. His eyes remained fixed on the empty doorway. "She's cleaner than any socialite in this city."

Amira walked out of the estate into the freezing pre-dawn wind. She had just sold her freedom, but for the first time in her life, she felt like she was the one holding the leash.