Just after our eyes locked and formal introductions were made, I noticed something, an almost imperceptible expression in Mr Westwood's eyes and a light twitch at the corner of his mouth, a flicker of nerves masked beneath that polished calm.

Was he... flustered?. He disguised it quickly, slipping on his armour of nonchalance and polished professionalism, but I caught it. This could be good. For the first time since my father's will had thrown my world into chaos and a feeling of emptiness, I find myself enjoying a moment. I have the upper hand in this situation. And it feels delicious and intoxicating. Normally, I would have just played the passive role, nodding here, offering a courteous question there, and letting the executives iron out the messy details. But not today. I wanted him cornered. I wanted him to fumble. Leaning forward, I lace my fingers together atop the table.

"So, Mr Westwood," I begin, my voice smooth, "tell me, why exactly does Arclight want a partnership with Hartley Holdings?"

His jaw tenses ever so slightly.

"We're convinced that your company's market presence complements our expansion strategy." I tilt my head, feigning polite curiosity.

"Expansion strategy?. Could you elaborate, please?". Mr Westwood folds his hands together.

"We're targeting emerging markets across Africa and parts of Europe. Your distribution networks offer a significant advantage."

I nod slowly.

"Hmm. So you're looking to use our infrastructure to gain access to territories you haven't been able to penetrate on your own? "

His brow lifts. "Leverage is the word-collaborate... semantics."

I chuckle softly. "Semantics are important in business, Mr Westwood. Words shape deals."

Then, a flicker of something in his eyes. Irritation? Or admiration? I can't tell. Yet. Desmond shoots me a curious glance from across the table. He's probably confused at what was going on.

Courtney makes a smirk. The rest of the executing team are surprised that I'm taking the wheel. I usually leave it to them. Asking questions occasionally. Mr Westwood's team look equally bewildered but maintain calm expressions on their faces. I press on.

"And what exactly are you offering in return for this... collaboration? "

"Technology integration. Joint marketing campaigns. Cross-brand promotions-"

I hold up a hand. "Joint marketing with a company known for hostile takeovers?"

A faint murmur ripples through the room. Mr Westwood's eyes narrow.

"That was a strategic acquisition, not a hostile takeover," he replies coolly while fumbling with his pen and lightly tapping his feet on the floor. I have him where I want him. Discomfort.

"Of course," I say, leaning back in my chair, studying him.

"Let's talk numbers then. Your last quarterly growth report – care to explain the sudden dip? "

Desmond's eyes widened slightly. Courtney's pen paused mid-scribble. Mr Westwood didn't flinch. "Market fluctuations. We're diversifying investments to counterbalance."

"Market fluctuations? " I echo. "Or investor confidence?". A muscle twitched in his jaw. I smirk inwardly.

For the next thirty minutes, I hammer him with question after question - client retention strategies, internal management turnover, scalability concerns and revenue growth.

Every answer he gives, I twist, reframe, challenge, and poke holes in. And every time, I saw him tighten up just a bit more. By the time I finally leaned back, crossing my legs elegantly, Mr Westwood's carefully maintained mask had cracks.

"Well, Mr Westwood," I say with a gracious smile, gathering my notes, "thank you for your time. We'll be in touch."

I know I'm going to accept the proposal. I'm just playing around. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Of course."As I rise, one of his associates approaches, offering a polite bow. "If you don't mind, ma'am, we'd love to treat you to lunch." I offer him a warm, professional smile.

"Oh, no, thank you very much. Perhaps another time."

He nods respectfully before walking off. My gaze lingers on him for a moment. They really do have polite people in this company. Why's Damian Westwood such an exception? . I start heading out with Desmond and Courtney.

"My, that was intense," Desmond comments."Really?" Courtney interjects,

"I enjoyed it." I laugh.

"Me too."And that's when I heard it.

"Rachel." I freeze. I recognise that voice quite alright. But "Rachel" with no formality?. I turn, a slow smirk curving my lips.

"Yes, Mr Westwood?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he closes the distance between us, grasps my hand firmly, yet not roughly, and pulls me toward a side hallway.

"We need to talk." Courtney opens her mouth, but I give her a subtle wave. Desmond looks alarmed, and I signal him to stay put.

"I'll be back. You guys head on. Tell everyone I'll be right there." They nod. Apprehensively. I let him lead me, his grip firm but not painful. Oddly enough, it's... warm. Almost protective. Like he doesn't want to hurt me. Well, he shouldn't. His company's reputation could be on the line. He pulls me into a quiet corridor, away from the bustling conference rooms.

Once we're alone, he spins around, pushing me lightly against the wall. His hands shoot up, pinning me gently but firmly over my head.

"Excuse me? " I gasp. He leans in, his face inches from mine. His eyes lock onto mine, hard and unyielding. And I feel a stupid shiver run through me.

"Just so we're clear," he says, his voice low, "I'm not desperate for this deal. Hell, I could close down your company within the twinkle of an eye if I wanted. I'm only doing this because our fathers were friends. Mine asked me to help, so see this as me honouring his wishes. I won't have you play games with me or tease me when I most definitely don't have anything to lose." He leans even closer, my insides tingling at the close proximity.

"I still don't care about you."

His words hit like a slap. His father?. What's his father got to do with this?. Then it hits me. Westwood. The name. Dad's friend. At the funeral. Oh my goodness. I stare back at Damian, stunned. I'd read him wrong. Totally wrong. How come I didn't know about this? Dad didn't mention anything about Arclight. Mr Westwood certainly didn't mention it. But then, pride is a stubborn thing. I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and meet his stare head-on. And that's when I really saw him.

He stands at least 6'2, a towering figure of handsomeness. His dark, sleek hair framed a symmetrical face - cheekbones sharp enough to cut, a strong jawline, and full lips pressed into a frown. His fitted suit barely contains the muscles beneath: broad shoulders and toned arms. A hint of ink peeked from under his collar, a tattoo snaking along his neck. He looks...raw, dominating. Masculinity personified. And for a moment... I forget how to breathe.

"Rachel," his deep voice snaps me back to the present. Without thinking, the words blurt from my lips.

"Marry me." Wait, what? The silence that followed was deafening. Then his brows shoot up.

"What did you just say? " I swallow, straightening.

"Marry me. A contract marriage. Business only." Am I seriously proposing to this man?. I'm such a mess. He looks genuinely amused now. "You're serious? " I draw in a breath. In one fast, breathless sentence, I tell him everything: my father's will, the insane marriage condition, and the looming deadline. His expression slowly shifts from amused to contemplative. When I finish, I hold his gaze.

"So basically... we get married, I get my company, and you honour your father's wish. A win-win situation." He nods slowly.

"Interesting." I brace myself for a flat-out rejection. Instead...A slow, unamused smile spreads across his face, the kind that could make a sane woman run. The kind that made me want to place a slap across that smug face of his.

"I like it," he says. I blink.

"You... do? " He does?. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sleek black business card and hands it to me.

"Call me. Or text. Whichever, so we can discuss the details."

Yes. He's definitely insane. Before I can process it, he turns on his heel and walks off, his confident stride unhurried. I just stand where he left me, heart thundering in my chest, clutching the card like a lifeline. Did that really just happen? Could this day get any more chaotic?. When I finally returned to my team, they were all waiting with curious glances. I force a neutral expression, sliding the business card into my purse.

"Everything alright? " Courtney asks quietly."That was more intense," Desmond comments. I give a short laugh before I respond.

"Everything's perfect. How about we get pizza on the way? "

"Sounds great. I haven't had lunch," Desmond says, placing his hand on his stomach. Courtney rolls her eyes. I laugh again, but my insides are a whirlwind of emotions. I'm not sure if I'd just made the smartest business move of my life...or the most dangerous mistake of my life.

After a long, gruelling day at the office, with my emotions tangled in knots, I finally get home. The moment the front door clicks shut, I exhale a deep, weary sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. I drop my purse by the console and pull out my phone to place an order for dinner. I'm in the mood for the usual. Tonight calls for indulgence. I order a seafood platter-lobster tail bathed in garlic butter, grilled scallops, king prawns, and oysters on the half shell-paired with a bottle of vintage white wine. For dessert, I settle on a creamy tiramisu and a slice of molten chocolate cake. I tell the chef I'd be dining in my room.I start up the staircase, desperate for a hot bath, when I catch sight of Aunt Vera descending. I instinctively roll my eyes. Why is she still here?.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the CEO of Hartley's, soon to be crumbled," she sneers, her voice a mocking singsong.I stop in my tracks, forcing a smile.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the aunt who got dumped because she couldn't keep her legs closed and still hasn't gotten her life together after twelve years."

The maids nearby giggle. I throw them a playful wink.Aunt Vera's face twists as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of sour bile.

"Just you wait. My son will be the head of this company. And I'll have you and your mother out of this house as fast as this." she says as she snaps her fingers.I give her a slow, deliberate look.

"You're delusional, Aunt Vera. Honestly, you're more of a dreamer than Alice in Wonderland."

Jason passes by, trying not so hard to hide the amusement on his face. He smothers a grin before walking off. The light mood lifted some of the heaviness lingering since the reading of the will yesterday. It's a small victory, but I'd take it.

"Rachel!" Mum's voice calls. I turn as she approaches, brushing past Aunt Vera like she was invisible.

"You're back," she says warmly, giving me a brief hug. Aunt Vera scoffs and slinks away, feeling scorned.

"Yes, Mum. I'm exhausted. I just want to eat and sleep."

"Before you go to bed, sweetheart, there's something I want to talk to you about."I groan inwardly.

"Okay, Mum."I retreat to my room and step into yet another hot shower. It feels... therapeutic. The water cascades down my body, but it can't wash away the thoughts swirling in my head-mostly about Damian. Am I making the right decision with this arrangement? Could I handle being tied to a man as proud and headstrong as I was? I see friction in our future. Hell, there's no future. Nevertheless, I'm going to pull through this. I always pull through every and any situation or inconvenience.After my shower, I slip into a silk nightgown and perch on the edge of my bed, skimming through reports on my tablet. A knock interrupts me. I open the door to find Mum standing with a maid carrying a food tray.

"I haven't had dinner either, so I thought I'd eat with you," Mum says softly.I nod and gesture for her to come in. She sat at my table while I remained on the bed. We eat in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. I could feel them simmering just beneath the surface.Finally, I set my spoon down.

"Mum. I know you're not in my room just to have dinner. Spill it."

She sighs. "Honey, I'm worried. You don't have a fiancé or a partner. What's the plan?

"I'll figure it out, Mum." Matter of fact, I have. But then, I'd love for this to be a surprise. "I spoke to Mr Raymond and we've agreed that you can marry his son." She says plainly. Like it was the best thing she's ever done for me. Like she did not just set my whole being ablaze with irritation. "You did what?. Without my permission?"

I clench my hands into a fist. I have no idea why I did that. It's not like I'm going to hit her.She gives me a sharp look.

"Looking for a partner and planning a wedding isn't going to be easy. Do you think I'd want a rushed wedding for my daughter?. I had to find you a husband fast so we can focus solely on the wedding preparations." Wow. She's more bothered about the wedding than about whoever it is I would be getting married to. In that case, I have nothing to worry about. But still, her words enraged my insides. I clench my jaw.

"I said I'll handle it mum."She leans forward.

"By doing what exactly? Waiting for a miracle? This isn't a fairy tale. You need a husband, and you need one now."

"Mum, I know exactly what I need. I don't need you trying to shove some desperate plan down my throat."

Her expression darkens. "Desperate? I'm trying to save you from losing everything your father built. But maybe you don't care about that."I shoot up from the bed.

"Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare imply that I don't care. I've sacrificed everything for this family, for this company. And you, what have you done? Arranged a marriage with a college kid? What in the world?"

Her face hardens.

"Richard is a good boy. And his family has influence. It makes sense. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?. He's a freaking child, Mum! Five years younger than me! He can't even legally drink, for God's sake!"

"It's a solution!" she snaps back. "Or would you rather see Aunt Vera's son take over? Is that what you want?"

My heart pounds in my chest. "I would rather figure this out on my own than marry someone I have nothing in common with, someone I don't respect. Someone I've never even spoken to"

Hell I never even thought of if Mr Raymond was married or had a family. I had no cause to. I only saw him like once a year when Dad was alive. Her eyes narrow.

"You've always been stubborn. Just like your father."

"And you've always been manipulative too. Just like your husband," I fire back before I could stop myself. She stands, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"If you want to throw your future away, be my guest."

"I don't want your help, Mum. I'll figure it out. My way."

She looks at me for a long, tense moment before turning on her heels and walking out. The door closes with a soft but final click.I sit back down, my hands trembling. I call in a maid to clear the dishes, the weight of the argument settling on me.Later, lying on my bed, I grab my phone and open a chat with Damian.

"Hi, it's Rachel," I type.His reply comes instantly.

"Hi."Straight to business, then.

"So, about the basis of the contract...""Yeah?" Short. Curt. Annoying. "We'd get married, I'd inherit my father's company, and you'd satisfy your dad's wishes."

"Established."Is he a robot? I'll try again. "It would be a short-term arrangement, four to six months. We'd get married, perform all the necessary appearances, and I'd have to move into your residence for credibility."A pause.

"Rachel, proposing a business deal and calling the shots... I like it." I can almost see his smirk. "But there would be rules. And four to six months is short. Could raise eyebrows. A year should be better."

"A year. That's fine. And what rules are you talking about?" I type, my fingers tight on the phone."You'd live in my house. This stays strictly confidential, between us. Strictly contractual."

"I'm not dumb, Damian. I know what this is." I scoff to myself.

"Then we're good. Come to my office tomorrow."I wanted to type, 'Can't you come to mine?' but then, I initiated this. So, I swallow my pride.

"Okay."I wonder what business it is Dad could have discussed with Mr Westwood. I'll ask Damian about it tomorrow. After tossing around for about 5 minutes, I head downstairs to help myself to tea. I don't want to disturb the maids. They'd be tired. As I'm heading back to my room, I notice light spilling from Dad's study. Curious, I peek in, and there was Mum, rearranging things that didn't need rearranging. Her grief sat on her shoulders like a heavy cloak.I go back into the kitchen to prepare some tea for her too.

"Here," I say, setting it gently on the table beside her.She looks up, her eyes softening. "Thank you."I offer a faint smile before turning and heading back upstairs to my room.Whatever arguments or disagreements lay between us, she's still my mother.And tomorrow... I'd meet Damian face-to-face to sign away the next one year of my life.

I decided I'd head to Damian's office first, before going to mine. It has to be discreet, so I'll drive there myself. The morning air feels tense, as though even the universe knew I was about to seal my fate.When I arrive at Damian's office building, a staff member greets me and ushers me into the reception. His staff, all neatly dressed in black and white corporate attire. One of the receptionists, a lady with sleek dark hair and red nails, stands and offers me a polite nod.

"I'll let Mr. Westwood know you're here," she says, her voice smooth like velvet.

"Thank you." I sit down in the reception area, deliberately taking in the sight. This definitely isn't your average reception. The walls are a deep grey, adorned with tasteful art that seemsboth expensive and oddly vague. The furniture is sleek, a mixture of polished chrome and soft leather. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. Classy. Expensive. Cold. Much like the man himself.After a short wait, the receptionist returns with a smile.

"You may go in now."

I rose, smoothed down my skirt, and walked towards the double oak doors. I knock once before pushing them open.There he was, Damian Westwood. Feet casually propped on his mahogany desk, his chair slightly reclined. The first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, revealing a peek of ink on his chest, the tattoo I had glimpsed the previous day but could now see more clearly. He held a sleek black mug in one hand, sipping...tea or coffee. I couldn't tell. He gestures lazily towards the seat opposite him. I sit down, maintaining a composed expression. I hold back the urge to scan his office, the modern bookshelves. I don't want him thinking I'm impressed...or intimidated. Instead, I crossed my legs, placed my bag on my lap, and tapped my fingers against it. Waiting.

"It's common courtesy to greet, you know,"

he says, his voice low, laced with a mocking edge.

"Then why didn't you?"

I snap, glaring at him.His eyes darkens as they locked onto mine. He rises slowly, rounds the desk, and sits on the edge, leaning in.

"This sort of behaviour could attract...punishment," he says, something flickering in his gaze. Anger? Amusement? I can't tell. I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze head-on. No way was I letting him shake me. God...am I seriously going to be married to this man?He holds my stare for a heartbeat longer before standing and returning to his chair.

"Let's get this over with."

"Right. We're going over the rules and agreements before we put pen to paper. If we're able to finalise this morning, I'll have the contract ready and sent to you by evening."

"You're really calling the shots, Rachel," he says with a smirk. I don't like the way my name sounds on his tongue, like he owns it.

"Forget the fact that our fathers were friends. I never even knew you existed," I shoot back.

"Aww, and I knew you did. I'm so hurt." His words were laced heavily with sarcasm, sharp enough to cut glass.I roll my eyes.

"So...what would you like to lay down?"He chuckles.

"Ladies first."

"Fine. First of all, no Intimacy, whatsoever. It's a contract marriage, not a real one. No expectations of a physical relationship. Second of all, a public appearance clause. We maintain a united front in public. Events, family gatherings, corporate functions.Third of all, separate living spaces. We will not share a bedroom. Boundaries must be respected. Fourth of all, no Interference in personal affairs. I handle my life; you handle yours. No meddling in each other's personal relationships outside the contract.Fifth of all, the duration of the marriage is just one year. After that, we part ways with no strings attached. Sixth of all, confidentiality agreement. Neither person speaks of this arrangement to the public. And lastly, mutual respect: no insults, no undermining. This is a business arrangement." I blabbed in one breath.

"Your turn," I said.He leans back, that devilish smirk still on his face.

"Okay. So, in as much as this is staging, we have to be honest with one another. As long as it concerns the marriage. Anything else is irrelevant. Also, there'd be an emergency clause; that is, in case of unforeseen circumstances, we back each other up.

Oh yeah. We'd have to show the public how 'deeply in love we are with each other'. I do expect you to play the perfect wife in public,hand-holding, small gestures when necessary. You're an actress. Act. Yeah, I think that's all. For now. Public Affection Clause? I'm supposed to display public affection? I'm not entirely the romantic type, but I find public affection worse. It cringes and creeps me out. I think mostly because I'm a little bit shy. I laughed to myself. Who'd believe that the only daughter of a business mogul was a shy girl? The only person who knows that side of me is Aiden, my ex.But then... public affection to a man I'd rather hit on the head with my heels? Oh good lord.

"Um, Damian," I started.

"Calling me by my first name. Getting comfortable already?" He raised an eyebrow and had that smirk on his face that I so much wanted to slap off.

"About the public affection...to what extent does it have to be?" I needed this cleared up before it became an issue.

"What extent can you take?""I could hold hands..."

"That's the bare minimum, Rachel. We'd hold hands, of course. Lock arms, even. You might have to sit on my lap. Give me a kiss on the cheek. That's vice versa."

I felt my whole body heat up. I couldn't do all that. My face was turning red; I was sure of it. I heard him chuckle."

"What's so funny?"

"Look at you. You're red as the color itself."

I wanted to stab him with the pen on his table. My eyes darted to it involuntarily, imagining myself lunging for his throat. He must have noticed because he casually picked up the pen and rolled it between his fingers.

.

"This is going to be interesting," he said, wearing that irritating smirk. I scoffed.

"That's what public affection entails, Rachel. And it's necessary if you want to keep up a believable front," he added, his tone growing serious.We both fell silent after listing our terms.

"So...it's settled then. I'll have the contract ready by evening," I said, gathering my bag.

"I'll send someone to pick it up."

Without waiting for any further exchange, I stood, gave him a curt nod, and left. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked out of his office.The moment I slid into my car, I gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"You've gone and done it this time, Rachel."

I drove to my office with a swirl of mixed emotions clawing at me. Was I making a mistake? Probably. But it was too late to back out now.By midday, I was sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop, replaying the conversation with Damian when the door slammed open.

"Rachel!!"I jumped.

"Layla, keep it down!"

Layla, my best friend and resident chaos-bringer, strolled in with a mischievous grin.

"Ooo... somebody's in a shitty mood. How's your mom?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "She's good. Except she now wants me to marry Dad's lawyer's son."

"Crazy." Layla plopped onto the couch, crossing her legs.

"Are you going to?"

"Of course not. He's practically a kid."

"I do have someone in mind," she said, eyes glinting.I shot her a suspicious look. "Who?"

"Aiden."I gaped. "No way, Layla. No way."

"Oh, come on. He's still in love with you."

"And I'm not," I deadpanned. Aiden was my ex. We'd dated for two years, until he turned into a sex-starved man-child. I wasn't ready, and instead of respecting that, he literally begged me. Begged. On his knees. The memory still made me cringe. That was the beginning of the end.

"Oh, Rachel, don't be like that." Layla pouted. "Anyways... too late. He's flying back to Los Angeles next week."I whipped my head around.

"Excuse you? What did you do?""I just told him you're still single and haven't found anyone since him...so maybe he still had a chance."

She gave a sweet, unapologetic smile. I wanted to scream.

"Why did you do that?! Gosh, Layla!" I slumped back into my chair."

"Well, you've got until next week to figure it out," she said, standing.

"Layla, I want to kill you."

"Awwn. Love you too" she said as she laughed. As soon as she left, I grabbed my phone and called Courtney.

"Get me pizza. Please."

Because if I was going to drown in this mess, I might as well do it with a slice of pepperoni in hand.