The heavy oak door creaked open, and Elena stepped into the cold, sterile office. Marble floors stretched out before her, and the ticking of a vintage clock echoed in the silence. Her heels clicked softly as she walked toward the man seated behind a large mahogany desk—Sebastian Knight, the infamous CEO of Knight Enterprises.
He didn't look up from the papers he was signing. "You're late," he said, voice flat, emotionless.
"I wasn't aware punctuality mattered in arranged marriages," Elena shot back, standing tall despite the butterflies in her stomach.
That made him look up.
His eyes were sharp—too sharp. Grey like a thunderstorm, calculating, unreadable. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of surprise—or curiosity—but it vanished instantly.
"Sit."
It wasn't a request.
Elena sat.
The silence between them was unbearable. She could hear her own heartbeat as he slid a thick document across the table.
"This is the marriage contract," he said, pushing a black pen toward her. "Three years. No emotional involvement. No physical expectations. No interference in personal lives. In exchange, your family's debt will be cleared."
Her eyes widened. She had known what she was getting into… but hearing it laid out so plainly still made her chest tighten.
"And after three years?"
He leaned back, eyes cold. "We divorce. Clean and simple."
Elena picked up the pen but hesitated.
"Why me?" she asked softly.
A long pause.
Then he said, "Because you're convenient. Not too loud, not too weak. And you look good on paper."
Her pride flared. She signed anyway.
He stood, reaching for a small box. "Then congratulations," he said dryly. "You're now Mrs. Knight."
He opened the box and handed her a ring.
It wasn't even her size.
---
When Elena walked out of his office, the world outside hadn't changed—but hers had. She was now the wife of a man who saw love as a liability… and her as a placeholder.
But what neither of them knew, was that fate had written a different kind of contract. One no one could escape.