Location: Declan Westcott's Penthouse & Hospital | Evening → Night
HARTLEY'S POV
I steps into Declan's private study and softly closes the door. I stand behind the desk with my sleeves rolled up.
Declan tossed the New York Ledger on the table.
"Care to explain why the headline reads: 'Westcott Wedding Confirmed by Inner Source'?"
I blinked. "I—wait, what?", I said sitting on the couch opposite to the desk.
He pushed the paper toward me. "Someone leaked confirmation. Your name. The timeline. Specific details."
"Not me," I responded quickly. "I haven't told anyone. I've barely told myself."
Declan didn't respond.
Crossing my arms. "You think I leaked it?"
"Someone did."
"And I'm the easiest to blame, right?"
"You're the most emotional."
I stood. "Wow. Gaslight me harder, Westcott."
He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Helena is running an internal check. Until we know who did it, keep your mouth shut."
"You know what? No," I scoffed.
He moved from behind the desk, slow and deliberate. Declan never raised his voice—he didn't need to. His presence filled a room like smoke: invisible until you choked on it.
"Then you'll be replaced."
There it was. The threat behind the ice.
I laughed—sharp, humorless. "You'd really throw me out just to feel in control again?"
He was close now. Too close. His voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"You don't understand the damage Camilla can do. I've seen it. I won't risk Leo."
That's when the anger cracked, and something else slipped through—something tight and desperate.
I saw it.
And that scared me more than the threat.
I stepped back. "If you want a puppet, Declan, hire someone with strings. I care about Leo. I'm not going to stop being human just because you're terrified of losing control."
For a second—just one—he looked like he wanted to say something else.
Then the door creaked open behind me.
"Sir?" said his assistant, a tall man with slicked-back hair and a face like a funeral. His name was Marcus Ryder, but I called him The Butler of Doom.
"Speak," Declan snapped.
"Miss Sinclair's presence is... complicating things. Especially with Camilla. You should know that the board is starting to raise questions."
Ryder looked at me as if I were a wildfire slowly creeping toward the estate.
"Miss Sinclair, respectfully… If you push him any further, you'll bring ruin to both him and Leo. And I don't believe that's what you want."
I wanted to punch something. Preferably a wall. Or Marcus's symmetrical face.
Instead, I turned back to Declan.
"If you're going to fire me, do it. But don't expect me to walk around here like a ghost.
He looked up, surprised.
"I've followed every stupid rule. I smile. I wear the gowns. I let Camilla verbally assault me in public—"
"She does that to everyone—"
"And I pretend like you're not a walking emotional sinkhole," I snapped. "But this? You accusing me of betrayal after two days of marriage? Screw that."
Declan stared at me.
And for once… didn't fire back.
A long silence.
Then: "Sit down."
"No."
"Sit."
"I'm not a dog!"
"I'm not asking again."
I sat—mostly because my knees were shaking.
Declan stood slowly and walked to the window.
"I don't trust people," he said. "They lie. They leave. They sell you out when it benefits them."
"Well, congratulations," I muttered. "You've just described every human ever."
"I don't want that from you."
I blinked. "What?"
"I don't want betrayal from you."
"I'm not going to betray you, Declan."
He turned. "Prove it."
"How?"
He didn't answer.
That was worse than yelling.
I went back to the guest suite. Slammed the door. Ripped off my shoes. Punched a pillow because it was either that or scream.
Camilla Larue.
Of course this had her fingerprints all over it. Whispering things into the media's ears like poison, then waiting for the walls to cave in.
And now Declan thinks I'm the leak.
Unbelievable.
He kisses me like he can't breathe without it, then he turns around and hands me a muzzle."
—-----------
Later that afternoon, Helena Pierce arrived. Older. Elegant. Razor-sharp in pearls and suspicion.
She sat beside Hartley and smiled.
"I must say, you're braver than the last one."
"The last one?"
"Declan's ex. A glass doll. Pretty. Breakable."
"What happened?"
"She fell in love."
Hartley looked away. "That won't be a problem."
"I hope not," Helena said, tapping her folder. "Because if you do—you'll break. And he won't catch you."
************
That night, Hartley found Declan in the study. Still in his suit. Still tense.
She leaned on the doorframe.
"I'm not going to fall in love with you," she said quietly.
He didn't look up. "Good."
"Because if I did, I'd end up hating you."
His voice was low. "They all do."
Declan replies coldly, "I included clause sixteen to make you fear me. Control is leverage."
"You set this up to own me—and Leo," she says, struggling to find her breath.
Declan shrugs. "I prefer to call it insurance."
Her eyes widened in anger.
"Insurance? You treat my brother like collateral."
"Without me, he dies. With me, he lives. It's simple."
She fights back tears.
"You're impossible."
He steps forward, closing the distance between them. "Look, you're stronger than you think, Hartley. You just need to stop pretending you're not smart."
A charged silence follows, and then she presses on. "Why didn't you just pay the bills without the contract?"
He leans in closer, his voice low. "Because you would have walked away. I needed to ensure you stayed."
She flinches.
"I'm not your property."
He lightly touches her wrist. "Maybe not yet."
—---
In the hospital corridor, Hartley comes across Leo dozing off and waking up intermittently. She takes out her phone.
"I... I'm here, Leo," she almost sobs.
"You don't have to lie. I know you're scared," he replies.
"I'm scared for myself, but I did this for you," she counters.
With gentle determination, he tells her, "Promise me you'll find a way back to yourself."
Her throat becomes tight.
—-----
HARTLEY'S POV
Back at the penthouse, Declan entered without knocking. I was in the living room, my shoulders tense.
"I saw you at the hospital."
"You didn't have to."
"Actually, I came for you," Declan sighed.
He stepped closer. "I shouldn't have called you my 'temporary wife' earlier—it sounds cruel."
"You believed I'd leave," I said bitterly.
He gently brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Not now," he responded softly.
I was still trying to catch my breath.
"Do you ever think about us—putting aside the contract, but...us?"
I could almost feel my heart drop as I peeked down.
"I shouldn't," I said, but was careful to avert my eyes from him.
The moment of calm was broken when, unusually, his thumb stroked my lips.
"Then don't fight the feeling." I moved to make distance, but was still caught within his orbit, clearly lost.
*********
For four hours, Declan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. The skyline sparkled, but he didn't seem to notice that I stood behind him, my voice small.
"I'm beginning to hate you."
"Yet I wake you in my dreams," he responded without turning to face me.
My breath hitched. "That makes you pathetic."
He turned to me, his expression intense. "Or honest."
I simply walked away.
Back in my room, I turned on the TV out of habit. News anchors were already dissecting the kiss, the gala, the mystery woman on Declan Westcott's arm.
"…no confirmation on who she is, but sources say Declan Westcott may have secretly married…"
She changed the channel, but another headline popped up:
> "From Nobody to Westcott's Bride—Who is Hartley Sinclair?"
Panic gripped my chest. My photo was splashed across the screen. My name, my face. Leo's hospital name even showed up in a corner headline.
My brother wasn't safe anymore. Nothing was private.
I picked up my phone—five missed calls from an unknown number. A message from the hospital:
> "Patient transfer requested by Declan Westcott Holdings. Please confirm."
I froze.
I didn't sign anything for a transfer. I haven't
authorized that.
"Declan had moved Leo. Without telling me".
-----
At two o'clock, Hartley's phone buzzed. It was a message from Camilla LaRue:
"We need to talk. It's about Leo."
Hartley opened it, and her heart stopped. This wasn't just about Declan anymore...