Chapter 2 The contract

Chapter Two

The contract lay between them on the glass coffee table,Allison's fingers hovered above it, her pulse quickening with every word she had read-twice.

Three years. That was the length of the arrangement.

Three years of marriage in name, public appearances, and absolute discretion.

And one heir. That clause stood out like a beacon, bold and unapologetic.

Kyle sat across from her, calm and composed in his designer suit, every inch the image of controlled power. His gaze met hers-steady, unreadable.

"You still have time to change your mind," he said, voice smooth but devoid of emotion.

Allison shook her head slowly. "No. I said yes, and I meant it."

He gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible. "Then let's be clear. We present as a united couple in public. In private, we stay out of each other's way-unless we're working on... fulfilling the heir clause."

Allison flinched at the those word but held her ground. "And after the three years?"

"We part ways. You walk away with full financial independence, and no strings attached. Our child, if born, will be raised with every advantage. And your role-as agreed-will be honored."

Silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of what they were setting into motion.

Finally, Allison reached for the pen. "Then let's get it over with."

As ink met paper, the first line of her new life was drawn-not in romance or idealism, but in steel-edged pragmatism.

And so began the marriage built not on love, but on legacy.

The ink had barely dried when Kyle stood and walked toward the bar in the corner of his penthouse living room.

"Whiskey?" he offered, already pouring himself a glass.

"No, thank you," Allison said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt. She remained seated, her gaze tracing the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city looked different from this height-colder, somehow. More distant.

He returned, glass in hand, but didn't sit. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the table, watching her in silence.

"You don't have to pretend with me," she said after a moment. "I know this isn't exactly your dream scenario either."

Kyle's lips twitched-an almost-smile, gone before it fully formed. "You're right. I had other plans. But this... works."

"For your family's legacy," she said.

He nodded once. "And for your future."

That was true, though it didn't make her feel any less like a pawn on a marble board.

"Do you always talk like that?" she asked, surprising herself with the question. "Like every sentence is a contract clause."

He blinked. Then, slowly, he set the glass down and looked at her-not through her, not past her, but at her.

"I haven't had the luxury of being casual with anyone in years," he said, voice lower now. "Not since my name started meaning more than I did."

The words hung in the air, more revealing than she expected. More honest than he probably intended.

Allison's brows drew together. "So... what do you want out of this, Kyle? Really?"

His jaw tensed. He looked away, then back. "Something solid. Predictable. Safe."

Allison studied him. For a second, the billionaire mask slipped-just enough to show a flicker of weariness beneath the surface. And maybe... loneliness.

"Then let's at least be honest with each other," she said softly. "Even if the rest is pretend."

Kyle didn't answer right away. But this time, the nod he gave her felt like the beginning of something real.

The quiet between them stretched, more comfortable now than before. Allison stood, smoothing her hands over her jeans, feeling suddenly out of place in the sleek, sterile elegance of Kyle's penthouse.

She was about to excuse herself when he spoke again.

"There's something else," Kyle said, picking up his glass once more but not drinking from it. "My parents want to meet you."

Allison turned slowly. "Already?"

"They're hosting a private dinner tomorrow night. Just the four of us. My mother insisted."

The way he said insisted made it clear this wasn't optional.

"And you want me to... play the part?"

"I want you to be exactly what they expect," he said, meeting her eyes again. "Charming. Composed. Devoted."

Allison crossed her arms. "I don't do 'obedient trophy wife' very well."

"I don't need obedient," he replied. "I need convincing."

She arched a brow. "So, you want a performance."

He hesitated. "I want to get through it with minimal damage."

Allison exhaled through her nose, then gave a small nod. "Fine. What should I wear to impress the queen and king of Manhattan society?"

He glanced at his watch, then toward the hallway. "There's a room at the end of the hall. Closet's already stocked. My assistant had your sizes."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Seriously?"

"It's part of the arrangement."

Of course it was. Everything was.

She gave him a once-over, amused despite herself. "You really don't do halfway, do you?"

"I don't have the luxury of halfway."

For a beat, they simply stood there, two people drawn into a contract neither fully understood.

"All right," Allison said at last. "Let's go meet the in-laws."

The room at the end of the hall was more like a boutique than a bedroom. Cream walls, velvet drapes, and a walk-in closet that made Allison stop short in the doorway.

Racks of designer gowns lined the space-Chanel, Dior, Valentino-flanked by shelves of pristine heels, handbags, and jewelry under soft, flattering lights. A full-length mirror stood in the center, framed in gold.

This wasn't fashion. It was armor.

Allison stepped inside slowly, running her fingers across the fabric of a midnight-blue gown. It was delicate and powerful all at once-just like the life she'd stepped into.

A small card sat atop a marble vanity. Her name was written in elegant script. Inside, a single line in Kyle's handwriting:

"This one would make the right impression."

She turned to find the suggested dress-an off-shoulder ivory silk number that shimmered faintly under the lights. Not too flashy, but unmistakably expensive. Understated power.

She stared at it for a moment, then sighed. "Guess we're really doing this."

In the attached bathroom, she showered in silence, letting the hot water strip away the last pieces of her old life. When she stepped out, the mirror fogged and the room smelled like eucalyptus and wealth.

Dressed, she studied her reflection. The woman in the mirror was polished. Elegant. Almost unfamiliar.

But her eyes-those were still hers. Steady. Sharp.

When she stepped into the hallway, Kyle was waiting. He looked up from his phone-and paused.

For a second, something flickered in his expression. A pause in the usual cool detachment. Then it was gone.

"You look..." He cleared his throat. "You'll do perfectly."

Allison gave a wry smile. "High praise from the man who picked the dress."

He extended his arm. "Ready to meet the people who made me this way?"

She hesitated, then slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Lead the way, Mr. Wilson."

And together, they stepped into the elevator-toward the penthouse above, toward judgment, performance, and the family legacy that had demanded a marriage built not on love, but strategy.

The elevator opened with a soft chime, revealing the upper-level penthouse-an even more opulent version of Kyle's space below. The walls were wrapped in warm ivory tones, adorned with modern art and tall windows that framed the city like a living painting. Every surface gleamed, every corner whispered wealth.

A butler greeted them with a silent nod and ushered them toward a grand dining room where soft piano music played in the background.

Kyle's mother was already seated, perfectly poised in a high-backed chair, a glass of white wine in hand. She wore a pearl-colored sheath dress, her silver-blond hair swept into an immaculate chignon. Her expression was calm, cool-and calculating.

"Kyle," she said, rising to kiss his cheek. Then her eyes turned to Allison, sharp as glass behind her smile. "And this must be the Allison."

Allison stepped forward, offering her hand. "Mrs. Wilson, it's a pleasure."

"Vivian," she corrected, taking Allison's hand for the briefest moment. "Let's dispense with formalities. We are family now, after all."

A man entered next-taller than Kyle, broader in the shoulders, with a commanding presence that filled the room. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back, and his suit looked as if it cost more than Allison's entire wardrobe.

"Father," Kyle said coolly.

"Son," the man replied with a nod. Then, turning to Allison: "James Wilson. Welcome to the family, Miss... or rather, Mrs. Wilson."

Allison smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Wilson."

They all took their seats around the elongated glass table. Servants moved silently, pouring wine, delivering plated appetizers with artistic precision.

"So," Vivian said, dabbing her mouth with a linen napkin. "You've agreed to the arrangement. That shows... loyalty."

"It shows clarity," James said. "She knows what this family needs."

Allison glanced at Kyle, but he remained expressionless.

"I understand the expectations," she said, meeting James's eyes evenly. "I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't think I could uphold them."

Vivian arched a finely groomed brow. "Including the heir?"

The question landed like a dropped crystal-sharp and too loud in the silence that followed.

Allison didn't flinch. "Yes. Including the heir."

James gave a small approving nod, as if she'd passed a test she didn't know she was taking. "Then we're in agreement."

Dinner continued, full of veiled questions, thinly veiled judgments, and the unshakable feeling that she was being measured against a scale she hadn't chosen.

But by the time dessert arrived-a delicate mille-feuille topped with gold leaf-Vivian finally leaned back and said, "Well, she certainly handles pressure better than I expected."

Kyle looked at Allison then, his expression unreadable-but there was something in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.

As the meal ended, Vivian rose and pressed a kiss to Allison's cheek. Cold, light, like a stamp of approval.

James simply said, "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Wilson."

And just like that, their act ended. But the game had only begun.....

The elevator ride down was silent at first, the weight of the evening lingering in the space between them.

Kyle finally spoke. "They liked you."

Allison let out a breath. "They tolerated me."

"In this family, that's the same thing."

She glanced at him, catching the slight tension in his jaw. "They expect perfection. You've lived with that your whole life, haven't you?"

Kyle's lips thinned into a dry smile. "Longer than that."

She leaned back against the mirrored wall. "You said you wanted something solid, predictable. But this? This feels more like walking a tightrope over fire."

He didn't deny it. "Then we don't fall."

Allison nodded slowly. "Fine. Let's give them a show they'll never forget."

Kyle turned to her, one brow raised. "You're not afraid?"

"Oh, I'm terrified," she said with a smirk. "But I look damn good doing it."

He huffed a laugh, short and surprised. Then, for just a moment, the mask slipped again.

When the elevator doors opened, flashbulbs greeted them-paparazzi already stationed outside the private building, tipped off by someone no doubt eager to stir headlines.

Kyle glanced at her. "Ready?"

Allison slipped her hand into his, lifting her chin. "Let's go public, husband."

Together, they stepped out into the chaos of cameras and speculation-two strangers in the spotlight, united by paper and secrets, walking straight into the fire with eyes wide open......