Chapter 2 Signed in Silence.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor dimmed for a moment, their lightless gleam illuminating Isla as she sat swaddled in a plastic chair, the envelope clutched like a blade between her fingers. The hospital's background hum-the constant beep of the monitors, the muted murmur of the nurses, the distant code call-was background noise for the hurricane storming within her.

Inside the room beside her, her father was out cold. Tubes inserted into his arms, machinery controlled every breath he made, and a pale blue sheet covered a frame that once stood firm and tall. Isla held the envelope against her chest, hoping the pressure would somehow push logic into her fractured head.

She had read the contract four times. Every stipulation seared itself into her mind like acid.

Two years.

No annulment.

Must attend functions as Alexander's wife.

No romantic entanglement with others.

The financial reward was enormous-well more than enough to cover her father's increasing expenses and take care of him for the long haul. But the cost wasn't just about business. It was about personal. It was a sale of herself. Of her dignity. Her freedom. Her name.

Walls began to close in. She got up, suddenly needing air.

She pushed open the stairwell door and climbed two flights before she realized she was crying. Her body shook as muffled sobs ripped through her chest. She sat down on the step, forehead against her knees, trying to gather up the shards of her composure.

Her phone buzzed on her thigh. Nina.

She hesitated, then answered on a raw, "Hey.".

"Isla?" Nina's voice cracked with concern. "What's going on? You sound like you're suffocating."

Isla didn't reply immediately. Her breath came in short, and that was enough.

"What happened?" Nina asked again. "Is it your dad?"

"No," Isla whispered. "Yes. It's... it's all of it."

Nina didn't fill the silence. She waited for Isla to draw in a second before she asked softly, "Speak to me.".

Isla struggled to breathe. "I lost a job. The Administrative Assistant one. And I got fired from the restaurant some time ago. Dad is unstable. The hospital is pressuring me for an answer. I don't have enough. I'll never have enough."

A pause. Then, gradually: "What are you going to do?"

Isla pulled the envelope out of her wallet. The edges were already worn, like her. "Alexander Milton offered me money. To treat my dad. In exchange for... a marriage contract."

The line was quiet.

Then, Nina: "What the devil are you saying?"

"I'd be his wife. Two years. No annulment." Her voice cracked. "He's offering full coverage of the hospital expenses, a private suite for my dad, and financial security. All legal. It's... it's in writing."

"You're not doing this," Nina snapped. "You don't have to prostitute your life to some heartless bastard-especially him."

"It's not like that," Isla said, though even she didn't believe her words.

"It's like that. Isla, this man hates you. Your dad's past is what's driving him to stalk you like a vulture. This is revenge in silk."

Isla didn't argue. She couldn't.

"But he's all that's helping," she whispered.

The silence that followed.

Then Nina whispered, "Come home. We'll figure this out."

"I can't. There isn't any time." She paused. "I just... I needed someone to know. That I tried."

Nina's voice was trembling. "I'm not sending you into this man's life and disappearing. You call me the moment he lays hands on you, you hear me?"

"I hear you."

They let the phone fall.

Later that evening, Isla was sitting with the hospital's financial administrator. The woman was compassionate, but firm. "We can only keep you insured until Friday. After that... without payment, we can't offer ongoing treatment. I'm so sorry."

Isla nodded, blinking fast. "Thank you."

She returned to her father's bedside.

He looked so small now.

"Daddy," she whispered, taking his hand. "I'm going to fix this. I'll do whatever it takes."

Her thumb brushed over his skin. For a moment, she imagined his eyes opening. Telling her not to do it. That she was worth more than this bargain. But the machines were the only voices in the room.

The next morning, Isla stood outside Milton Tower, the contract in her hand.

She hadn't slept. Her hands trembled as she walked into the marbled entrance hall, a jarring contrast to her second-hand jacket and scuffed boots.

The receptionist blinked. "Name?"

"Isla Grant. I have an appointment with Mr. Milton."

"Of course." The receptionist's eyes flicked to the security monitor before pressing a button. "He's expecting you."

Of course he was.

A silent elevator ride later, she was ushered into Alexander Milton's office. It was glass and steel, perched high over the skyline like a throne over the world. Behind a monolithic desk, dark suit perfect, unreadable face.

"Miss Grant," he said smoothly. "I didn't expect you to come back."

"I didn't expect to either," she said, leaving the contract hanging between them.

His gray eyes flashed across her face. "And?"

"I'm here to sign," she affirmed, her voice firm amidst her racing heart. "But I have conditions."

That pleased him. "Do you?"

"I desire my father in a private hospital suite with twenty-four-hour care. No news media allowed anywhere near him. And I desire assurance-in writing-that this contract keeps him safe no matter what transpires between us."

Alexander relaxed back. "Very well. I'll have my lawyers insert the conditions. Anything else?"

"Yes. Don't pretend this is love. Don't insult me with lies."

His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

She opened the pen that came with the envelope. It was heavier than expected. Custom-made, gold-trimmed, engraved with initials: H.M.

His mother's initials.

Her hand paused.

Then she signed.

It felt like signing away her identity.

Alexander picked up the pen and signed beneath hers. "Congratulations," he said, standing. "I'll have the paperwork filed by this evening."

She turned away, throat constricted.

"Isla," he said, and she braced herself.

He circled the desk, standing two feet from her. He watched her deftly for a moment, something almost tender in his eyes-before it was extinguished again.

"I'll have someone pick you up tomorrow to bring you in for your fitting. You'll need a dress."

Her stomach dropped. "Fitting?"

"Our wedding," he said, voice cold over ice. "It's this Saturday."

The word slapped her.

Wedding.

As if this were occurring. As if she were a bride, not a negotiable.

"Don't be late," Alexander tossed back as he pulled out his chair.

Isla said nothing.

She stepped into the elevator, wheezing for air, breast burning.

She had signed a contract.

Now, she had four days. to be somebody else's wife.