Chapter 2 The Contract

Isabella stared at the words like they were written in fire.

Marriage Agreement – Confidential.

The man holding the document was dressed in a charcoal gray suit, thick glasses above his nose. His face was unreadable, professional to the bone.

"I'm sorry," Isabella said slowly. "What is this?"

The lawyer pushed his glasses up and offered a tight lipped smile. "Mr. Mateo instructed me to present this to you. He'll explain the details himself, but the contract outlines a legal marriage between you and him for a period of one year."

Her jaw dropped.

"You're kidding."

"I assure you, Miss Francisco, I don't joke about legal matters."

The elevator sounds aloud. Benjamin Mateo stepped out, his tall frame commanding instant attention. He walked toward them with deliberate, confident and spirit.

"I see she hasn't signed it yet," he said dryly.

Isabella shot to her feet. "You want me to marry you?! I thought this was a secretarial job, not a proposal!"

He steps a bit inches away, his gray eyes piercing hers. "It is a job. One that requires sacrifices. This is just... a unique extension of your role."

"This is insane."

"Listen carefully," he said, voice low but firm. "I need a wife for business purposes. A temporary arrangement. No strings, no romance, no expectations. You get paid. You stay in my penthouse. You do what I ask. And in one year, you leave with enough money to start over, anywhere you want."

"Why me?" she snapped. "You could hire a model or a socialite to pretend play your wife."

"Because you're ordinary," he said coldly. "Believable. No paparazzi interest. No drama. Just a girl desperate enough to consider it."

His words were a slap in the face, but they weren't wrong. Her bank account had less than two hundred dollars. Her apartment had ancient makeups. Her landlord was threatening trouble.

Still. Marriage?

"Think about it," he added. "You either sign this contract and have financial freedom for life... or walk out that door and start job hunting again. Your choice."

She folds her palms in a confusing manner. "This is manipulative."

"This is business."

The lawyer slid the contract closer.

"You have twenty-four hours," Benjamin said. "After that, the offer vanishes."

He turned and walked away.

_______

That night, Isabella sat on her lumpy mattress, contract in hand, staring at it under dim lighting. Every page was typed in lawyer speak, but the main points were crystal clear:

One year marriage.

No physical intimacy unless mutually agreed.

Public appearances as husband and wife.

Monthly payment of $50,000.

One million dollar bonus upon completion.

One. Million. Dollars.

Her fingers trembled. Her mom's medical bills could be paid off. Her student loans cleared. She could start her own business. Leave this life behind. Take care of her grand parents who took after her parents in her life.

But was it worth it? Giving herself to a man who saw her as a business transaction?

She barely slept. Her dreams were tangled with inked contracts, cold gray eyes, and lips whispering "You're mine now."

______

The next morning, Isabella returned to the office with dark circles under her eyes and a heart pounding like war drums.

Benjamin was already at his desk, reading something on his tablet. He looked up as she entered.

"Well?"

She dropped the signed contract on his desk. "I want the million upfront."

His lips twitched slightly either amusement or approval. "You'll get half now. Half when the year ends. Fair?"

She nodded stiffly.

He stood and reached into his drawer, pulling out a black velvet box. Inside lay a diamond ring that sparkled like a star caught in a cage.

"Put it on," he said.

She slipped the ring on her finger, her breath catching.

"You belong to me now, Isabella Francisco," he said softly.

A something ran down her spine, she couldn't explain.

______

By noon, HR had updated her name to Isabella Mateo in the system. A stylist and tailor arrived to "play their roles". Her inbox was flooded with appointment requests from PR and legal teams.

It was happening. Too fast. Too real.

And by evening, she was stepping into a private black SUV that took her away from her tiny, broken apartment to The Mateo Penthouse a twenty seventh floor palace overlooking Miami Beach.

The moment she walked in, she was hit by opulence: marble floors, crystal, glass walls that showcased the sunset kissing the sea.

Benjamin poured two glasses of champagne.

"To the contract," he said.

She hits glasses with him, swallowing a sip that burned like fire.

"You'll sleep in the guest room," he said, gesturing down the hallway. "Don't try sneaking into mine. I don't mix business with pleasure."

"Don't flatter yourself," she muttered.

He smiles darkly. "Oh, you're going to be fun."

She stormed down the hallway, hating how his voice got under her skin.

______

Later that night, Isabella stood on the penthouse balcony, watching the waves crash below. The ring on her finger glittered.

This wasn't love.

This wasn't even lust.

It was power. Money. Control.

And she had willingly stepped into the lion's den.

But she wasn't going to let Benjamin Mateo control her completely. She had plans of her own. One year or not, she'd find a way to turn the tables.

She turned to go back inside when she saw him standing there, shirt unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in hand, eyes locked on her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Her lips parted to answer

But then he walked up to her, leaned down, and whispered in her ear:

"Tomorrow, we announce our marriage to the board. So tonight... we'll practice pretending to be in love."