Chapter 3 - The Contract
Gabriel reached across the obsidian desk and slid a sleek, black leather folder toward the center of the table, leaving it open for her to see.
Clara approached slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird as she looked down at the thick stack of legal documents inside.
The top page was printed with bold, clinical headers: Master Financial Guarantee and Medical Trust Agreement.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper as she looked up from the paper to his brooding face.
“That is absolute security for your brother,” Gabriel said, leaning back against the edge of his desk and crossing his arms over his chest.
“It guarantees payment in full for Lucas’s bone marrow transplant, all experimental immunotherapy, private nursing care, and a five-year recovery stipend.”
Clara’s eyes scanned the legal jargon, seeing the astronomical figures spelled out in crisp black ink, representing a future Lucas would never have otherwise.
“And the second part of the contract?” she asked, knowing with certainty that Gabriel Thorne never gave away a single dollar without extracting a heavy return.
Gabriel stood up straight, closing the distance between them until she could smell his subtle, expensive cologne of cedarwood and vetiver.
“The second part is a six-month exclusive personal employment agreement,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers with unwavering intensity.
“You wanted fifteen thousand dollars for one night,” Clara said bitterly, her cheeks burning with humiliation. “Now you want six months of my life for one hundred and forty thousand?”
“You misunderstand the terms, Clara,” Gabriel corrected softly, his voice dropping into a register that sent a strange shiver down her spine.
“I don't want a mistress, and I am not looking to purchase what you refused to sell me at the Carlyle Regency three nights ago.”
Clara blinked in utter confusion, her defensive posture faltering slightly as she searched his sharp features for any sign of deception.
“Then what do you want from me?”
Gabriel reached out, his long, tapered fingers tapping the bottom of the contract where two signature lines waited in the dim light.
“I want you to move into my penthouse, accompany me to every corporate and social event, and act as my public fiancée for the next six months.”
May you like
The room seemed to spin violently around Clara, the sheer absurdity of his demand rendering her momentarily speechless.
“Your fiancée?” she gasped, stepping back as if the contract had suddenly caught fire. “Why would a billionaire need a fake fiancée from a hospital waiting room?”
