Chapter 5 5

Chapter Five; The Contract

The next morning felt unreal, like the kind of morning that comes after a dream you can't shake off. The gala had ended hours ago, but my head was still spinning from the lights, the whispers, and mostly, from him.

Ethan Hank.

His name was everywhere now. Every headline, every conversation. People called him the cold genius, the man who built an empire from scratch, who didn't smile, didn't bend, didn't fall. And maybe that's what made him so captivating, he looked like someone who'd already burned down once and learned how to live in the ashes.

I knew that feeling.

Lila called early. "You made the front page again."

"Of course I did," I said, half-asleep, voice dry. "What did I do this time? Breathe wrong?"

She laughed. "Relax. It's good press. You were seen talking to Ethan Hank last night."

I sat up fast. "Talking? I didn't even say a word to him."

"Doesn't matter. The camera caught you two in one frame. That's all they need."

I sighed and rubbed my face.

"So what now?"

"Well," she said, her tone shifting, "he called."

I froze. "He what?"

"Ethan Hank. His assistant reached out. Said Mr. Hank wants to meet you today."

I stared at the phone like it had just insulted me. "For what?"

"They didn't say. But if I were you, I'd go. This could be big, Yvonne."

By noon, I was standing outside his office, a skyscraper that touched the clouds, glass walls gleaming under the sun. The kind of building that didn't just scream power it hummed it quietly, confidently.

The receptionist guided me through, her smile polite, and rehearsed. The elevator ride up felt endless. I checked my reflection once, twice. Every inch of me was perfectly put together, but inside, I was trembling.

When the doors opened, I saw him, standing by the window, back turned, hands in his pockets. The skyline stretched behind him like something he owned.

"Miss Wells,"

he said without turning. His voice was calm. Deep. Controlled.

"Mr. Hank," I replied, trying to sound steady.

He turned then, and for a second, the air in the room shifted. He was different up close, sharper, quieter. His eyes didn't just look at you; they looked through you.

"Have a seat," he said.

I sat, clutching my purse a little too tightly.

He studied me for a moment. Not rudely. Just... observantly. Like he was assessing damage.

"I saw the headlines," he began. "Tough month."

"That's one way to put it," I said dryly.

He almost smiled almost.

"You don't seem like someone who gives up easily."

"I don't," I said, meeting his gaze. "But even the strongest people fall when the world decides they should."

He nodded slightly, like he understood more than he was willing to say.

"People love stories. The rise, the fall, the scandal. They don't care what's real."

"Yeah," I whispered, "they never do."

Silence lingered for a few seconds, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then he said,

"I think we can help each other."

I frowned.

"Help each other how?"

He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine.

"You need your reputation back. I need... noise. Publicity. Someone who looks good beside me. Someone who doesn't ask questions."

I blinked.

"You mean...?"

He nodded.

"A contract. You pretend to be my girlfriend for six months. Appearances, events, interviews. In exchange, your name gets cleared. I'll make sure of it."

I laughed softly, more from disbelief than humor.

"You're serious."

"I don't say things I don't mean."

I leaned back, studying him. He wasn't flirting. There was nothing romantic in his tone. It was business. Calculated. Like he was proposing a merger, not a relationship.

"Why me?"

I asked.

He shrugged.

"You're already in the spotlight. You understand the game. And you've got something I respect the ability to stand tall while everyone tries to tear you down."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. It sounded almost like a compliment, but there was steel under his words.

"You think people will believe it?" I asked finally.

"They'll believe what we show them," he said simply. "You'll get your career back. I'll get the distraction I need."

I stared at him. Everything about this was crazy. Cold. Manipulative. But it was also... tempting.

Because deep down, I was tired of being pitied. Tired of being scandalous. If I had to play a role to get my life back, maybe it was worth it.

Still, I had to ask, "And what do I owe you after six months?"

His eyes flickered slightly just enough to make my chest tighten.

"Nothing I'd take without your consent," he said. Then after a beat, "When the contract ends, you walk away. Clean."

There was something in the way he said it like he'd had to walk away once too, and it hadn't been clean.

He pushed a file across the table. "You can read it. Think about it. I don't rush decisions."

I opened the folder. My name was already typed on the first page

. "You had this ready?"

"I'm always ready," he said simply.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside.

I looked at him again, really looked this time. He was composed, untouchable, but there was something behind his eyes, a quiet anger, maybe. Or pain. The kind that doesn't fade, only hardens.

I thought of the headlines, the betrayal, the silence from people who once called me their own. And then I thought of this man, who'd been torn apart too, in his own way.

Maybe broken people recognize each other faster than others do.

I closed the file. "I'll do it," I said.

He nodded once, no surprise in his expression, just quiet approval.

"Good. My assistant will contact you tomorrow with details."

I stood, smoothing my dress, trying to keep my breathing steady.

"You're not going to ask me why I said yes?"

He looked up at me.

"I already know."

I hesitated.

"And why did you ask me?"

His lips curved, not quite a smile, but close.

"Because you remind me that pain can still look beautiful."

For a second, I couldn't speak.

Then I turned toward the door.

"Guess we'll see how well this works, Mr. Hank."

As I walked out, my heart was pounding, not from excitement, but from something heavier. Something uncertain.

Because this wasn't just a deal. It was a doorway.

And I had no idea what I was walking into.