Chapter 4 Choices and Doubts

Sharon's POV

Staring at the contract Donald placed on my little coffee table, I sat on my shabby couch. My chest felt constricted, and my mind was whirling. Was this something I was thinking about?

A fake Marriage? To my boss?

The advantages were obvious. Many of my issues would be resolved just with the money. I could locate a nicer place to live, pay off my debt, and at last have some security in my life. But at what price?

As I ran my fingers through my hair, I whispered to myself, "You'd be selling your soul."

I kept thinking about what Donald had said last night. It is advantageous to both parties. I'd receive well, let's just say it would address some of my problems-and you'd gain financial security.

He had such a determined, passionate expression in his eyes. He wasn't doing this for friendship or romance. To him, it was all business.

However, for me? It was more than simply business. My life was like this.

With a sigh, I took the contract and turned the pages. The conditions were straightforward: total discretion, no genuine emotional involvement, and one year of marriage. On paper, it seemed so straightforward, but my stomach churned with uncertainty.

Was Donald Grant someone I could truly trust?

I was still debating my choice when I got to the office the following morning. Every step felt more difficult than the last because of the tension that hung over me like a thick blanket.

As I exited the elevator, I heard a smooth voice say, "Good morning, Sharon."

When I looked up, I saw Donald's cousin Vincent Grant idly leaning against the wall. His smile was disarming but had a hint of something I couldn't quite place, and he was immaculately dressed.

"Good morning," I said warily.

"A busy day is in store. As I made my way to my desk, he questioned, settling into a step next to me.

"Always," I said, trying to grin politely.

With a playful yet inquisitive tone, Vincent remarked, "I hear you've been spending a lot of time with Donald."

I looked at him to see what he was up to. "He's, my boss. Spending time with him kind of comes with the job."

Vincent chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Be careful, Sharon. Donald has a way of pulling people into his world and leaving them worse off than when they started."

I scowled. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Just some friendly advice," he continued, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Don't let him manipulate you. You're smarter than that."

I was more uneasy than ever when Vincent stood up and walked away before I could reply.

Was this a ruse to have me turn against Donald, or was he attempting to warn me?

"My office, Sharon. Right now.

Donald's voice was crisp and forceful, piercing through the bustle of the office. My heart sprang into my throat as I grabbed my notes and raced to his door.

He was sitting behind his enormous desk inside, his face inscrutable. I gripped the notebook like a lifeline as he motioned for me to sit.

He leaned back in his chair and remarked, "You've had time to think." "What have you decided?"

I took a deep breath. "I still don't know. I need more time, and this is a big step.

Donald's eyes grew a little narrower. "There is no more time for you. I must have a response by tomorrow.

"What's the rush? I tried to remain composed, but my voice was shaking as I asked.

He stood, moving to the window. "Because certain things are in motion, and I need this resolved before they become a problem."

Despite his scientific, icy tone, there was a tinge of urgency, perhaps even desperation, underneath it.

"What occurs if I decline? I asked, hardly raising my voice above a whisper.

Donald turned to look directly at me. "You will miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I also don't give second chances, Sharon.

His words pressed down on me like a weight in the air.

He went on, his voice somewhat softer, "I need you to understand something." "It's not only about me. This is about us. If you agree, you'll be part of something bigger than yourself. But if you can't handle it..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear.

"Take the night to think it over," he said, his tone firm again. "But by this time tomorrow, I want your answer."

I spent the rest of the day in a fog, Donald's ultimatum running in my thoughts. I felt like a tautly strung spring, about to break, by the time I arrived home.

The contract lay on my coffee table, teasing me with its simplicity. Sign it, and my life would alter forever. Refuse, and I'd be back at square one, scrambling to make ends meet.

I grabbed it up, my hands shaking. The terms were explicit. No love, no emotions a business relationship.

It's not real, I told myself. It's only a part to play.

However, it seemed genuine. Too authentic.

As the clock approached midnight, I decided what to do. I inhaled deeply, reached for a pen, and wrote my name at the bottom of the page.

I had an odd mixture of comfort and horror as soon as the ink dried.

I had decided.

The weight of my choice weighed heavily on my chest as I gazed at my signature on the contract. When my phone buzzed on the coffee table, the ink was just beginning to dry. After hesitating, I took it up.

Donald's message.

"Please meet me in my office promptly at 8 a.m. Bring the contract."

My stomach turned over. Now it was genuine. There was no going back.

With thoughts rushing through my head, I leaned against the couch and put the contract back on the table. What had I just done? Would I be able to survive in Donald's chaotic environment without going insane?

A tiny voice murmured from somewhere deep inside: You've just opened a can of worms.