"Sometimes the hardest negotiation is between heart and duty."
---
Dylan's Point of View
"Asher!"
I bolted upright, breath ragged, drenched in sweat. The nightmare again. Only this time it was sharper, the elevator, her voice, her smile. But that wasn't a dream. That was real.
Asher. My first love. The woman who disappeared the very day I was going to propose. The ghost who haunted me for five years.
I sat in the dark, chest tight. There was no going back to sleep. At barely five a.m., I pushed out of bed and into the quiet halls of Dia's Mansion.
Two years ago, Andre, Ian, and I abandoned our family homes and moved here. It was easier to work together, easier to escape the chains of our families. Easier, on most days, to forget.
The silence was thick, broken only by the faint hum of catering staff preparing breakfast.
"You're up early," Andre said when I walked into the kitchen. He was perched on the counter, a coffee mug in hand, his expression unusually solemn. He offered me a cup and I nodded.
"You good though? With the whole drama from yesterday?"
I gave a humorless laugh at his choice of words. "That's the least of my problems."
The truth pressed heavier than the cup in my hands. "The shareholders' meeting is ticking closer," I admitted, voice low. "And I still don't have a wife."
Andre burst out laughing. "Who would've thought Dylan Reed would lose sleep over marriage?"
I stayed quiet. Even from the grave, my father still held the strings.
Andre studied me, more serious now. "Must it be her though? Ava Carter?"
I hesitated. It didn't have to be her. There was no logical reason. But something in me wanted it to be her so badly that I had gone to her house myself yesterday to leave the contract.
"It doesn't," I said finally. "But it's not like I can start interviewong candidates for a contract marriage."
He grinned, but the weight of his gaze lingered.
Hours later, buried behind the glow of my computer screen, I tried to drown myself in work. Solving what I could, ignoring what I couldn't. For a fleeting moment, I even considered Andre's stupid suggestion about blind dates.
Then my phone rang.
An unknown number. I answered on the third ring.
"This is Ava Carter," a panicked voice rushed through the speaker. "I'll do it. I'll sign the contract."
For a moment, silence stretched. This was what I wanted. Yet her call had come too soon, too suddenly. I wasn't ready. I needed time to steel myself against the consequences of binding my life to a complete stranger.
But time was a luxury I didn't have.
"When would you be free to negotiate and sign?" I asked, my voice steady, masking the storm inside.
"Now. Right now!" she insisted.
My throat went dry. "Fine. Come to the Reed Empire Hotel. Ask to see Mr. Reed."
The line went dead.
This was really happening.
---
Ava's Point of View
The polished glass doors shut behind me with a heavy click. The office stretched wide, sleek and cold, sunlight pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows. Every corner gleamed, every surface screamed wealth.
My worn-out sneakers squeaked against the marble floor, too loud, too small for a room like this.
And then my eyes found him.
Mr. Reed.
The same man I had half-dragged into the hospital only yesterday, gasping for breath, chest heaving as panic consumed him. Now he sat before me, calm, composed, untouchable, as though that breakdown never happened.
He didn't rise from his chair. He only lifted his gaze, cool gray eyes sweeping over me like an appraiser.
For a moment, I felt small. Out of place like a smudge on something pristine.. But something inside me stiffened. I lifted my chin and walked deeper into the room.
"Miss Carter," he said at last, voice clipped, professional. "Shall we discuss terms?"
Something inside me twisted, heat flaring through my veins. Terms. That was what he called it.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe before answering. "No."
His eyes narrowed. A flicker of surprise, quickly masked.
"Let's discuss people," I continued, my voice trembling but firm. "My family isn't a transaction."
The silence between us grew heavy, sharp enough to cut.
Life is an unpleasant pill to swallow and I had swallowed more than my share already. I refuse to let anyone walk over me. Even if it meant standing toe-to-toe with the man who held my survival in his hands.