The Pact Bride: A CEO's Proposal

Sharon's POV

There was a lot of noise in the diner, including the sizzling sounds of a busy kitchen, plates clinking, and laughter. Despite the pain in my feet from running all day, I persisted. I kept reminding myself that every table I served brought me one step closer to making it through another month because rent wasn't going to pay itself.

"Pardon me! A piercing voice pierced the atmosphere.

A man in a dapper suit was staring at me from his booth when I turned around. In front of him sat his half-empty coffee cup, with a faint rise of steam. My stomach rumbled, but I forced a smile and walked toward him.

"Yes, sir? Is something wrong?"

"This," he said, gesturing to the cup as if it had offended him directly, "it is not coffee." It's mud. Black coffee should be bold and rich, not... this garbage."

"I'm so sorry about that," I said, trying to keep my tone polite. "Let me get you a fresh cup"

"Don't bother," he snapped, throwing a crumpled dollar bill on the table. "You should find another job because you clearly can't handle this one."

My cheeks heated, but I nodded, biting my tongue. He wasn't worth the struggle. I took the cup and began to head back to the counter when I heard my boss, Carl, call my name.

"Sharon! Can I see you in the back?"

Oh no. This couldn't be good. I glanced at the other tables, hoping someone might require anything to postpone whatever Carl needed, but there was no escape. With a deep breath, I followed him to the little, messy office at the rear.

Carl leaned on the desk; his arms folded. "Look, Sharon. I hate to do this, but we're letting you go."

"What?" My voice cracked. "Releasing me? Carl, I apologize for my occasional tardiness, but I've been putting in a lot of effort.

He sighed and remarked, "I know you have." However, we're laying off employees since the complaints are mounting. There is nothing I can do.

I wanted to protest, but I could see by the expression on his face that it was useless. As I left the office, picked up my suitcase, and left the diner for the last time, my shoulders drooped.

When I went outdoors, the chilly air slapped my face. My fingers clenched around my battered bag's straps. Dismissed. Once more.

The sounds of the city blended into a monotonous drone as I strolled along the street. My thoughts were racing. How might I proceed? Rent was due in a week, and I had nearly depleted my money.

I noticed a piece of paper as I passed a streetlight. The edges blowing in the wind, it was taped to the post.

"A secretary position at Donald Enterprises is open. No prior experience is necessary. Must be industrious and open to learning. Apply internally.

The phrases made my brows wrinkle as I gazed at them. Donald Enterprises? One of the largest businesses in the city was that one. The statement that "no prior experience required" seemed to have been designed specifically for me, even though I had heard that their CEO was brutal and scary.

I paused. Could I enter such a place? A female who had recently lost her job at a diner.

Then I remembered the eviction notice on my kitchen table and my empty wallet. The luxury of self-doubt was not available to me.

I inhaled deeply, tore the flier from the wall, and shoved it inside my backpack.

The following morning, I craned my neck to see the elegant architecture and enormous glass windows of the tall Donald Enterprises building. Sharp-suited people walked by me, hardly glancing at the girl in the old clothing.

"Just take a deep breath," I told myself.

The foyer was shining with marble flooring and sparkling lights as I entered. I walked to the reception desk, my shoes squeaking.

I said, trembling, "I'm here for the secretary position."

Despite raising an eyebrow, the receptionist gave me a clipboard with a form. "Complete this and wait over there."

I waited in the waiting room, typing my name and details with shaking hands. Other applicants were chatting around me, and I felt out of place because of their fancy attire and self-assured grins.

"Davis, Sharon?"

I looked up to see a tall woman with a clipboard. Her piercing eyes caused me to sit up straight.

"Follow me," she said.

I trailed following her, trying not to trip over my own feet. She showed me a modern office with a desk that was intimidatingly enormous and windows that extended from floor to ceiling.

Donald Grant sat behind that desk.

He had sharp features that could have been carved out of stone, dark hair that was neatly groomed, and a younger age than I had anticipated-possibly in his mid-thirties. I felt as though he could look straight through me as his piercing eyes met mine.

"You're here to work as a secretary?" he asked, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I was able to say, "Yes," while gripping my luggage.

"Take a seat."

He took up my application and glanced over it, and I obliged my pulse racing.

His tone was bland as he stated, "No experience in corporate settings." However, you have experience as a waiter. That indicates that you're accustomed to managing commotion and making demands on others.

"Y-Yes, sir," I said, astonished that he had seen it.

"Why do you want this job?" he said, leaning back in his chair and observing me."

I took a deep breath. "I... I require a new beginning. An opportunity to demonstrate my abilities.

He arched an eyebrow. "That's truthful. Most individuals would have responded with a prepared statement about their aspirations or enthusiasm for the business.

I blinked. Was that a compliment?

"You'll start tomorrow," he said, stopping in front of me as he moved around the desk, his presence overpowering. 9 a.m. sharp. Avoid being late.

My mouth fell open. "Hold on... I got the job?"

Something that wasn't quite a smile twitched his lips. "I need you more than anything else."

My head was whirling as I walked out of the building. I had entered with the expectation of being rejected and left with a job at one of the city's most influential corporations.

However, I couldn't get Donald Grant's comments out of my head.

"Just what I need."

By that, what did he mean?

I briefly pondered if I had just made the greatest choice of my life or the worst one.

Sharon's POV

It seemed like the elevator journey to the twenty-fifth level went on forever. I clamped down on my bag's strap until my knuckles were white. My first day at Donald Enterprises was today.

I emerged into a busy corridor with well-dressed individuals moving purposefully. Heels clicked, phones rang, and printers hummed in the background. I felt like an intruder in my thrift-store outfit and scuffed sneakers.

"Davis, Sharon?" A severe voice yelled.

When I glanced around, I saw a tall woman holding a clipboard and sporting a neat bob. Her piercing eyes swept over me as if determining whether I belonged.

I answered, attempting to sound certain, "Yes, that's me."

I'm Emily, and I work as Mr. Grant's assistant. Come with me.

I rushed to catch up with her as she went quickly down the corridor, almost falling over my own feet. Before coming to a halt in front of a desk filled with paperwork and a modern computer, we passed rows of offices with glass walls.

Emily pointed toward the desk and said, "This is your workstation." Every day, you will receive an email with your responsibilities. Avoid making a mistake and don't annoy Mr. Grant until it's required.

I answered, nervously nodding, "Got it."

She narrowed her eyes and said, "Oh, and one more thing-Avoid getting in anyone's way."

She then pivoted on her heel and vanished into the commotion.

Staring at the computer screen, I sunk into the chair. Organizing a list of client connections was my first assignment. Simple enough, isn't it?

However, it appeared that the software shown on the screen was written in a foreign language. I closed the file by mistake as I wrestled with the mouse, clicking wildly.

As I fought to reopen it, I whispered to myself, "Great start, Sharon," feeling the weight of every set of eyes that glanced my way.

I was able to correct my error and finish the assignment by midday. With a slight sense of accomplishment, I decided to take a brief rest.

Emily suddenly showed up and said, "Mr. Grant wants you in the boardroom, Sharon."

I felt sick to my stomach. "Me? Why?"

Was I stuttering? She yelled and turned to go.

With my pulse racing, I rushed to the boardroom. Executives were seated around a long table inside, their faces tense. Standing at the head, Donald had a stern and icy look.

Donald threw a file on the table and declared, "This report is unacceptable. Do you believe that I use shoddy data to manage this business?"

Among the executives, one stumbled, "Mr. We'll fix that right away, Grant-"

"I'd rather not be corrected." Donald cut in, his voice as sharp as a sword. "I want results."

I saw the scenario play out while standing motionless next to the entrance. He was merciless, eliminating justifications with ruthless effectiveness. However, there was a certain allure to the way he controlled the space.

Donald's eyes snapped to mine as he said, "Sharon."

I winced. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"Take this," he said, giving me a folder. "Have it sent to the finance department immediately. Additionally, don't waste time."

I practically sprinted out of the room as I said, "Yes, sir."

I kept thinking about him in the boardroom as I rushed down the hallway. Scary? Of course. However, there was another element something that made it difficult to turn away.

I had found a rhythm by the middle of the day. Even if the chores weren't simple, I was resolved not to make the same mistakes twice.

"Who allowed her entry? A recognizable voice interrupted my focus with a snap.

A stunningly attractive woman was standing next to Donald's office when I looked up. Her beautiful clothing exuded wealth, and her blond hair was groomed flawlessly.

A voice whispered behind me, "That's Rebecca Harper, Donald's ex-fiancee."

A former fiancée? As I watched Rebecca stroll into Donald's office without even knocking, my interest was aroused.

Minutes later, heated voices poured into the corridor.

"You can't just show up here, Rebecca," Donald's voice was low and forceful.

"I had to see you, Donald," she answered, her tone dripping with fake kindness. "We have unfinished business."

I immediately glanced aside, pretending to focus on my computer, but my ears were burning.

Rebecca appeared from the office a moment later, her heels clicking on the floor. She swept the room, her gaze falling on mine.

"Sharon, isn't it?" Rebecca came over to my desk with a phony civility in her voice.

I hesitated before answering, "Yes," wondering how she knew my name.

Her smile was cold as she drew in closer. "A word of advice, my love-don't get in my way."

I was taken aback and blinked. "I... I don't get it.

"Oh, you will," she responded in a condescending tone. "People like you don't stay with Donald for very long."

She turned and left, leaving a fog of anxiety behind her, before I could reply.

Her comments kept coming back to me as I sat still in my chair. What did she mean by "people like me?" And why did she appear so desperate to terrify me?

As the day finished, I gathered up my things, my thoughts racing. I had only just begun my work, and already, I'd made an enemy.

Whatever Rebecca's problem was, I had a sickening sense that was merely the beginning.

My thoughts were racing as I packed up my belongings after the day. Even though I had just recently begun my work, I had already created a foe. I couldn't get rid of the impression that Rebecca knew something I didn't, and her comments were like a riddle wrapped in dread.

The cool evening air did little to ease my anxiety as I left the office building. I felt as though I was walking through a fog, even though the city was bustling all around me. My phone buzzed in my bag, jolting me from my thoughts.

A text message lit up the screen.

Unknown Number: Steer clear of unfamiliar situations. Think of this as your only warning.

As I gazed at the letter, my hands shook and my breath caught. Who was the sender of this? Did Rebecca do it?

I felt vulnerable as I looked around the packed street. Was I being watched?

I quickly grabbed up the phone when it fell out of my fingers and clattered to the floor. I had a heart-stopping epiphany that made my heart race.

This was a declaration of war, not only a warning.

I was also in over my head.

Sharon's POV

As I scribbled frantically, desperate to complete my chores before the approaching deadline, the office buzz filled the air. However, fragments of discussions drifted around me, making it difficult to concentrate.

One voice said from behind the partition, "Did you see Rebecca yesterday?" The tension between her and Mr. Grant was off the charts.

"I heard she broke off their engagement. Rumour has it she's back to reclaim her spot," another responded.

On the keyboard, my fingers became cold. Had Donald and Rebecca been engaged?

A third voice, almost heard, said, "Poor Sharon, She doesn't stand a chance if Rebecca wants her gone."

I gulped and gazed at the screen, the words blending into one another. I wasn't supposed to be here for just this reason. These folks understood their way around this world, were polished, and exuded confidence. I was simply an outsider pretending to be someone else.

But why did I appear to threaten Rebecca so much? I was simply a secretary trying to maintain my position, and I was nothing.

I shook my head and tried to concentrate. I couldn't live here by focusing on workplace gossip.

"My office, Sharon." Donald's voice pierced the atmosphere like a whip now.

I sprung, snatched up my notes, and hurried to his office. There had been no space for uncertainty in his tone.

Donald was inside, standing stiffly at the window. His piercing eyes fixed on me as he turned to face me.

"Do you have a dress for the evening?" he asked abruptly.

I was taken aback and blinked. "Well... No?"

He rubbed his temples and moaned. "You don't, of course. Emily is going to set one up for you. Tonight, you will join me for a dinner meeting."

My mouth fell open. "Me? Why?"

With a sharp tone, he stated, "Because I need someone I can trust."

Have faith? Whatever this was, that didn't seem like the appropriate word.

He narrowed his gaze and said, "And one more thing-you must pretend to be my fiancée."

"What?" I let out a gasp. "Why would I act in that way?"

His face remained unwavering. "Because it is essential. I don't have the patience to answer questions about my personal life. For the evening, you will act as though you are my fiancée. It's simple."

Simple? This didn't sound easy at all. But before I could object, he handed me a credit card.

"Emily will handle the details. Be ready by seven," he said dismissively.

I went out of his office in a trance, gripping the card like it may burn a hole in my hand. What had I just agreed to?

Emily's dress was stunning; it was deep emerald, green, had a modest neckline, and had just the right amount of sparkle to make me feel like I belonged. In the mirror, I hardly recognized myself.

Donald was waiting for me at the location, looking incredibly put together in a fitted suit. I briefly believed I glimpsed approbation as his gaze swept over me.

He offered his arm and remarked, "You clean up well."

I mumbled, feeling out of my element, "Thanks, I guess."

Rich elites filled the room, their talk and laughing mixing into a sophisticated symphony. To avoid tripping over my heels, I stayed close to Donald.

As the evening went on, I came to understand that my job was more than just playing the part. I had to grin, speak, and dodge inquisitive queries.

"How did the two of you meet, then?" one woman asked, her diamonds glittering under the chandelier.

I froze, unsure how to answer.

Donald stepped in nicely. "We met at a charity event. Sharon was arranging it, and I was instantly struck by her dedication."

"Oh, how romantic!" The woman cooed.

With perspiration on my palms, I faked a grin.

Later, I was cornered by an older man who seemed overly curious about my background while Donald excused himself to talk to a business partner.

"My dear, what is the occupation of your family?" His tone was brimming with condescension as he asked.

"I-uh-" I stumbled, my cheeks getting hot.

Donald's voice interrupted, firm and protective, "She doesn't need to answer that." He came up beside me, his hand lightly on my back.

Muttering something to himself, the older man retreated.

As we went outside to get some fresh air, Donald remarked, "You handled yourself well."

I gave a headshake. "I thought I was going to drown."

With a rare tenderness in his face, he grinned. "Sharon, you took me by surprise. I didn't believe you were capable of it.

The tension between us briefly changed as an unsaid force moved through the room. However, he turned aside as fast, ending the moment.

With the evening's burden pressing down on me, the trip home was quiet. I tried to take in all that had transpired as I gazed out the window.

When we reached my apartment, Donald surprised me by stepping out of the car.

"We need to talk," he continued, his tone serious.

I fumbled with my keys, letting us inside.

"What's this about?" I asked, nervous under his intense gaze.

He plopped down on my worn-out couch, appearing entirely out of place in my modest living room.

"I realized something tonight," he said in a measured tone. "You can manage more than I thought you could. Additionally, you are uniquely positioned to assist me."

"Assist you?" I repeated, confused.

"I need a wife, Sharon," he remarked plainly.

My heart stopped beating. "Excuse me?"

"Not a real one," he stressed, leaning forward. "A contract marriage. It would benefit both parties. I would receive financial stability, and you would receive... Let's just say that it would help me with a few issues.

My thoughts were racing as I gazed at him. A marriage under contract? This isn't possible.

He got to his feet and said, "Give it some thought." "Don't take too long, though."

He then left, leaving me on my own with a ton of questions and no answers.