BENEATH THE CONTRACT BRIDE

Emma Clarke pulled her fraying beige coat tightly round herself as she stood in the shadow of the approaching CrossTech Tower. The biting wintry gust gnawed at her cheeks, making them flushed pink. Her fingers, clutching a folder filled with rejections and incomplete story ideas, trembled at the cold and something more-the quiet desperation she would refuse to recognize.

At twenty-eight, Emma had fitted herself into a different mold. She had pictured herself basking in glossy bylines appearing in weighty magazines, but today she couldn't boast of that- running finish, writing fluff for an online tabloid while carrying most of her family's pressing financial burden.

Her father's voice rang in her ear from the night before. "Don't worry about us, sweetheart. You have done enough already."

But she hadn't done enough. Her father's medical bills spiraled out of hand; there were overdue tuition fees for her younger sister Sophia; and their family home was just a missed payment from foreclosure. Yet Emma fought with all her might, even though it felt like the battle was Lost on all fronts.

She adjusted her glasses and took in a deep breath. Staring up at the glass-and-steel goliath before her, cross-tech tower stood like a fortress, its glowing façade shimmering under the midday sun. Adrian Cross-the man at the very top of that empire was as untouchable as the tower itself.

Yet today, she had a meeting with him.

Inside the reception, it was signified by opulence. The marble floors shone, and great walls of glass overlooked a brilliant vista of the city's skyline. Emma felt slightly out of place in her scuffed boots and coat from the thrift store, but she straightened her back and walked confidently forward.

Emma stood before a statuesque receptionist with smooth blonde hair and an icy attitude, who looked at Emma and said nothing for judging Emma's condition. Then, after a brief phone call, she said, "Mr. Cross will see you now."

The elder woman's heart thudded when she followed the lady down a corridor and reached an elevator, which took her to the top floor. When the doors opened, she took a step into Adrian Cross's office-a sprawling space that was equal parts intimidating and impressive.

The man himself stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted against the cityscape. Adrian Cross was entirely the enigma she had imagined: tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and his angular features could have been carved from stone. But it was his eyes that caught her off guard-piercing gray, sharp and calculating, as if he could see straight through her.

He turned, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Ms. Clarke," he said, his voice smooth and measured, with a faint undertone of amusement. "You're punctual. I appreciate that."

Emma had to will herself to cross the remaining distance to the desk, almost feeling as though her knees would buckle beneath her at that moment. "Mr. Cross," she managed, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

Adrian gestured to a chair across from his sleek glass desk. "Please, sit." She obeyed, clutching her folder like a lifeline. He lowered himself into the chair opposite her, his movements controlled and deliberate. They sat in silence for a moment, feeling the tension stretch taut between them.

"You probably wondered why I called you here," advanced Adrian at last leaning back in his chair. His tone sounded very casual but his eyes contradicted it by being anything but casual.

Emma swallowed once before saying, "Well, yes, I was surprised. We don't run in the same circles, so to speak."

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile which never reached his eyes. "No, we don't. But I've read your work, Ms. Clarke. You have a talent for getting to the heart of a story. And while your current position is... let's say, less than ideal, I believe you're capable of much more."

She blinked, startled. The idea that someone like Adrian Cross had read her articles let alone found value in them was almost absurd. "Thanks for the compliment, but I don't think you brought me here just to flatter me."

"Perceptive," he nodded. "I have a proposition for you."

Emma's brow furrowed. "What kind of proposition?"

Adrian folded his hands on the desk, his expression unreadable. "I need a wife."

Those words hung in the air, ridiculous and impossible. Emma stared at him in disbelief. "I'm sorry...what?''

A wife," he repeated as though they were talking about the weather. "A one-year temporary, purely contractual arrangement, after which I'll pay you sufficiently to wipe your family's debts clean and more."

Emma felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"I assure you, I'm quite serious." Adrian's gaze never wavered. "I have my reasons, none of which concern you. What you need to know is that this arrangement benefits us both. You need financial stability. I need someone who can play the role convincingly and discreetly."

Emma's mind was in a frenzy- the proposal was nonsensical, even immoral, but it beckoned financial salvation for her family. Her father's deteriorating health flashed in her mind. Sophia, who worked like hell to make it to college before being hit with a potential dropout.

"And why me?" at last, she asked.

Adrian's lips curved in a slight smile. "Because you're an outsider. Someone without ties to my world. That makes you less likely to betray me. And, frankly, I trust your intelligence and discretion more than anyone within my circle."

His words sounded a compliment but were rather a warning. Emma took in a shaky breath. "You're asking me to forgo a year of my life for this... arrangement. To lie to everyone I know."

"I am offering you a way to escape," was Adrian's cold reply, "but of course, you're free to decline. Just think about it before you do. What could that money mean for your family?"

The room almost felt like it was closing in on her. Emma hated the fact that he was right, like he could see straight to her weaknesses. She was almost embarrassed at herself for even thinking about it.

"What's the hook," she asked loudly.

Adrian's smile widened, though even as it did, it never reached his eyes. "There are always downsides, Ms. Clarke. But for now, all you need to know is that the contract is binding and discretion is non-negotiable."

Emma stared at him while she held a thousand confused, tempestuous thoughts. She wanted to say no; to walk out of this office and never look back. But the image of her father in his hospital bed, of Sophia studying late into the night, wouldn't let her.

"How long do I have to decide?" she asked.

Rising from his seat, Adrian towered over her and said, "Take the night to think about it. I need your answer by tomorrow." Raising a hand, Emma stood there for a second before taking it. He had a very firm grip, and his touch was warm against hers.

And now she was leaving that office, heart pounding, because she knew Emma's life would never be the same again. Adrian went back to the window once again, with a mild gaze now as the door closed behind Emma. He gazed at her as she walked across the plaza beneath him, her body rigid and her steps quick and very purposeful.

Different from the women he met most of the time. Ordinary in some ways, extraordinary in others. There was a fire in her: a determination that made it interesting for him. Adrian Cross was one who never believed in love or sentimentality. He lived in a world of strategy and control. The same went for the current arrangement. Emma Clarke was of help-a means to an end, in fact.

And yet, as he watched her disappear into the teeming sea of humanity, a small part of him wondered if he had miscalculated her so much. Because one of the things Adrian had learned in his ascent was that underestimating someone could be fatal.

Scent of toast floated through the tiny kitchen of Emma's Brooklyn apartment, an area so curtained by claustrophobia it would qualify more as a pantry with a delusion of grandeur. In fact, the one responsible for it is Sophia, her younger sister, glaring at the toaster as if the sheer force of will can undo all damages.

"I swear, this toaster hates me," Sophia said, her cheeks flushed.

"Maybe it's because you're squeezing in bagels that don't fit," Emma retorted, breezing into the kitchen. "She pushes on Sophia and grabs a butter knife to start scraping the charred remains off the bagel.

That was how the family really was: chaotic but imperfectly familiar home. The old armchair their father had kept sat in the middle of a living room with a blanket folded neatly over the back.

Bills piled up on one corner of that table, half-covered by an old tabloid Emma wrote for. The tabloid shrieked: "Billionaire Playboys: Secrets Behind the Money!"

It wasn't exactly Pulitzer Prize material but, hey, it paid for groceries that week.

"Did Dad take his meds this morning?" Emma asked, glancing back at Sophia over her shoulder.

"I reminded him," Sophia said, pouring coffee into a chipped mug. "But he grumbled about how it's all just 'snake oil' and told me to mind my own business."

Emma sighed. Their father, Richard Clarke, had congestive heart failure two years before. Thus, the costly medical fees would slowly drain the family dry. He had been a stubborn man all his life, but the illness had made a fortress out of his pride. To convince him to rest or accept help would be like wrestling a bull into a tutu.

"I'll talk to him," Emma said, her voice softening.

Sophia leaned on the counter with an extremely concerned look on her face. "You're taking too much, Em. Work, Dad, and keeping this whole place afloat ... I don't want you to burn out." Emma smiled tiredly at her sister. "I'm fine, really. Just concentrate on your classes. That's your job."

Sophia, however, couldn't buy anything of it. And before she could even begin arguing with Emma, their father slowly ambled into the kitchen. "Morning, Dad," Emma greeted him and shoved a plate of scrambled eggs and toast forward.

"Morning, sweetheart," Richard said into his casket voice. He eyed the food with suspicion. "This isn't one of those 'healthy' breakfasts, is it?"

"Eggs, Dad. Not kale smoothies," Emma rolled her eyes.

He still huffed out his grumbling but sat up and began eating. Emma stared at him for a moment before she felt her chest tightening. The once strong body had thinned, and now his hands were trembling slightly as he lifted his fork.

"Don't you have work to get to?" Richard asked abruptly. "Yeah," Emma replied and grabbed her bag. She didn't mention that her "work" for the day involved chasing down a lead that might not even pan out.

Two hours later, she found herself standing in front of CrossTech Tower for the very first time. Not that she would have ever planned to be there; it was going to be some generic fact-finding mission gathering evidence on rumors of some shady new data-mining program purportedly spearheaded by that infamous Adrian Cross.

But, as Emma stood in the lobby, waiting to see if her fake charm would be enough to persuade the receptionist into spilling any juicy details, fate (or possibly bad luck) had other plans. "Excuse me miss," a deep, unmistakably authoritative voice said behind her.

Emma turned. And there he was. Adrian Cross. In the flesh.

Up close, he looked much scarier than in photographs. Towering and impeccably dressed, he radiated an air of control that was absolute in itself enough to generate its own gravitational pull. But what threw Emma off guard was his expression-calm, yes, but with a flicker of curiosity in those steel-gray eyes.

For a moment, Emma froze. Then her brain kicked into overdrive. Say something clever, she thought.

"Uh . . . hi?" she blurted. Brilliant, Emma. Truly Pulitzer-worthy.

Adrian's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly.

"Maybe how can I help you?"

Emma straightened and maintained the posture of the confident journalist she wished to be and said, "Actually, I came here hoping to ask you some questions concerning the recent allegations that CrossTech's new program violates privacy of users. Will you care to comment?"

The receptionist who had been shooting daggers at Emma since her arrival gasped audibly. Adrian, however, remained unfazed.

"That is brave," he said, in a level voice.

"My job," Emma answered, resting her chin.

Adrian scrutinized her for a while, weighing options. Finally, he said, "Walk with me."

Emma blinked. "What?" "You like the answers, don't you?" he continued, moving away.

She rushed after him with her heart racing; this was not how she'd expected the day to turn out.

He led her to a sleek café just now being completed down the street. The place was all glass and chrome, with baristas who could have moonlighted as runway models. Emma felt distinctly out of place sitting across from Adrian at a small table near the window.

He ordered an espresso. She, despite feeling out of her depth, ordered a latte with caramel drizzle.

"Now," Adrian said, leaning back in his chair, "what exactly do you think you know about CrossTech?"

Emma had caught the challenge in his tone. She took out a notepad from her bag, flipping it to the page where she had noted all that she had found out.

"There's a rumor that CrossTech is collecting user data through the new app without proper consent," she said. "And they sell the data to third-party companies."

Adrian raised a brow. "Rumors."

"I have sources," she said, much to admit, though they were of dubious credibility-to-say-the-least.

"And you thought it was a good idea to confront me head-on?" he asked, lips curving into a faint smile.

Emma shrugged, pretending to be unconcerned. "Figured, might as well give it a shot. Besides, you're less scary in person."

Laughed at that short, unexpected sound. Adrian caught her off guard.

"That was bold and funny," he said. "You're full of surprises, Ms...?"

"Clarke," she said. "Emma Clarke."

"Well, Ms. Clarke, I suggest you research a little bit before throwing accusations. But I admire your spunk."

Emma's cheeks flushed; she could not tell, though, whether it was out of embarrassment or the strange heat brought on by his gaze.

Now, home that evening, Emma ran the encounter in her mind. She was no closer to proving the scandal, but Adrian Cross somehow struck her as more fascinating than the cold, robotic businessman she had imagined; there seemed to be a flicker of something human beneath the polished exterior, something she could not quite put her finger on.

His father was asleep, slumping in his chair, the blanket slipping off one shoulder. She gently straightened it, feeling a very sore heart at the sight of such frailness. Sophia came into view at the doorway with a gentle visage on her.

"How was work?" Sophia whispered.

Emma hesitated. "Interesting."

Her sister shot her an arched brow. "Interesting; as in you got a lead? Or interesting; as if you found some hunky guy?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Don't get any ideas. It's complicated."

Sophia grinned. "With you, everything is complicated."

Emma chuckled lightly, even as she made her way towards her room; there was an annoying thought that clung to her mind. Adrian Cross was no longer simply a story; he had become a puzzle, and one she was unsure whether she wanted to solve or perhaps was afraid to solve.

Sadly for her, their fates were destined to intertwine in ways neither could predict.

Adrian Cross seldom went home. The sprawling estate located just outside the city felt less like a sanctuary and more of a mausoleum - cold, empty and full of memories he preferred to ignore. But tonight, as he entered through the grand foyer, the expensive echo of his Italian shoes on marble reminded him of why he detested avoiding this place.

"Adrian," his father's voice boomed from the study even before he had gotten the chance to take off his coat.

Adrian's jaw tightened. His father, Lawrence Cross, was not someone who asked or called for someone: he demanded. The once-mighty titan of industry, now retired but still clubbing influence around, had always viewed Adrian more as a legacy project than a son.

Adrian walked into the study, where Lawrence sat behind an oak desk that looked as if it had been fashioned from the very wood of the tree it had sprung from, a picture of power octogenarian. His sharp blue eyes, so much like Adrian's, locked onto him with an expression equal parts annoyance and amusement.

"What is it, Father?" Adrian asked, the tone clipped.

Lawrence slid a tablet across the desk. "Care to explain this?"

Adrian picked it up, eyes furrowing as he scanned the screen. It was a blog post from some independent site he vaguely recognized. The bold headline screamed: "CrossTech's Dirty Little Secret: The Data Scandal They Don't Want You to Know About."

And underneath, in boldly printed letters, was the byline: Emma Clarke.

Adrian read the piece in silence. Speculative, packed with half-truths, but it could rouse public mistrust. In tone, it was sharp, direct, and laced in determination. He could practically hear Emma's voice in the words.

"Nothing I can't handle," Adrian said before placing the tablet down.

Lawrence scoffed. "It's not about bearing, Adrian. It's about perception. Do you have any idea what this might do to our reputation? You may think you're above it all, but just one misstep, and everything you've worked for could come crumbling down. Fix this."

Adrian gritted his teeth. "I will."

"Good," Lawrence said, leaning back into his seat. "And during this whole mess thing, maybe try to utilize some of the charm you inherited from your mother into this fix-it project. God knows you didn't get it from me."

Adrian did not reply. He turned on his heel and left, his father's presence weighing on him like a lead chain.

Emma's day has started like any of the day's normal mornings - rushed and chaotic. She managed to spill coffee on her blouse during the morning scramble of trying to shove her laptop into her bag; the subway ride to work was a nightmare where she stood the entire distance, rough and irritable at the end of it from having to endure so many people.

By the time she reached the office, all that remained was her consideration of the prospect of returning to work on the CrossTech story. She had leads to follow, angles to explore. That blog post was her first strike, but she knew there was more to uncover.

Emma comes off the elevator: the strange sight of her coworkers whispering in clusters, eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and dread.

"What's happening?" she asked Lauren, the receptionist, who looked like she had just seen a murder happen.

"Adrian Cross was here," Lauren whispered, her voice tinged with reverence.

Emma, frozen. "What?"

"He barged into Mr. Hanley's office like twenty minutes ago," Lauren said, carefully glancing toward the closed door of the editor-in-chief. "And when I say stormed, I mean, he was looking ready to tear the place apart."

Emma felt her stomach churn. This couldn't be good.

Just as she was getting ready to ask some more questions, the door opened into Mr. Hanley's office, and there appeared Adrian Cross towering and formidable, his expression a mask of barely restrained fury.

Emma's breath caught. For a brief moment, their eyes met; then something flickered in his gaze, anger even more, and then he walked past her without one word and left the office in stunned silence.

"Clarke!" Mr. Hanley's voice broke her dazed state.

Emma stepped into the editor's office, where he paced like a man preparing for meltdown.

"Care to explain why one of the most powerful men in this city just charged in here threatening legal action?" snapped Hanley, waving about a printout of her blog post in the air.

Emma blinked. "He what?"

"He wants the story dropped. Completely," Hanley said, red-faced. "And he made it very clear that if we don't, he'll bury this paper under so many lawsuits that we won't see daylight for years."

Emma's chest tightened. "But he can't do that. The story's real."

"Real or not, we ain't taking that risk," Hanley slammed the paper down on his desk. "As of now, you're off the CrossTech case. Understood?"

Emma opened her mouth to rebut, but the look in Hanley's eyes told her the argument was a lost cause. Defeated, she left his office with a racing mind.

She spotted Adrian near the elevators, his back turned to her while he waited for the doors to open. Without thinking, she rushed toward him.

"Hey!" she called, her voice sharper than she intended.

Adrian turned cool, unreadable.

"What the hell was that?" Emma demanded as she stopped a few feet away from him.

"I told your superior to drop the subject," Adrian stated flatly.

"Why should I? If you're innocent, why go to such extremes to shut me down?"

The ghost of a smile, almost mockingly, twitched at the corners of Adrian's lips. "Because I don't have the luxury of letting people like you wield half-truths against me."

Emma's fists balled at her sides "You can't just silence people because you don't like what they're saying."

He stepped closer, under his towering presence her feeling but not without protest. "I didn't silence you, Ms. Clarke. I made it clear that the claims you are making have no basis."

"You would just need to open your office there if you have nothing to hide," Emma said, glaring at him, her heart racing. "Then why not allow me to investigate?"

Adrian pulled a sleek black business card from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Come to my office tomorrow," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Uh, you want the truth? Fine. I'll give it to you."

Before she could respond, he stepped into the elevator when the doors opened and then closed behind him, leaving Emma staring at her reflection in the polished metal.

The card in her hand looked down, and the embossed CrossTech logo sparkled in light.

Even during that night while she rode a subway back to her apartment, Adrian's words spiraled through her thoughts. Something bothered him-that something could push her further into fears that screamed for her to be careful.

She was thinking of her father, who was still struggling to keep the life he had built, and of Sophia, who deserved a future not clouds of debt hanging over her.

By the time Emma got to her apartment, she resolved.

She would face Adrian Cross on his turf tomorrow and though the truth he would offer was ready, she would meet it.