Chapter 1 — The Contract Bride (Talia's POV)
If someone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be walking into a billionaire's office to discuss marriage — not love, not romance, but a contractual agreement — I would have laughed in their face.
But here I am, in six-inch heels that are killing my toes, marching through the glass doors of Reid Enterprises like I own the place.
The receptionist tries to stop me with a polite smile.
"Ma'am, do you have an appointment?"
I flash her my best fake smile. "Tell your boss his future wife is here."
Her jaw drops.
I don't blame her — I'm still trying to process the insanity myself.
The elevator ride to the top floor feels like a climb toward my doom. My heart pounds, but I square my shoulders. I refuse to look weak — not in front of him.
Because he is the reason I'm here.
Alexander Reid. Billionaire. CEO. Human iceberg.
And unfortunately, the man my father sold me to.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal a hallway so quiet, I can hear the click of my heels echo. Everything screams money — polished marble, abstract art, gold-trimmed doors.
When I push open the last door, he's there — sitting behind a sleek black desk, typing something on his laptop.
He doesn't even look up.
"Miss Brooks," he says, voice calm, clipped, like he's been expecting me. "You're late."
I raise an eyebrow. "You're lucky I showed up at all."
He looks up then — and for a split second, I forget how to breathe.
He's unfairly handsome. Sharp jawline, perfectly tailored suit, hair slicked back just enough to look expensive but not arrogant. But his eyes — gray, cold, emotionless — ruin the fantasy.
That's Alexander Reid for you.
Everything about him says don't come close.
He studies me for a moment, his gaze slow and assessing, like I'm another business project.
"I don't tolerate tardiness," he says.
"And I don't tolerate arrogance," I shoot back.
One corner of his mouth twitches — not quite a smile.
"Then this should be fun."
He gestures to the chair opposite him.
I drop into it, crossing my legs, pretending I'm not trembling inside.
"So," I say, tapping the desk with a manicured nail, "what's this about, really? You and my father decide my life is a bargaining chip now?"
He finally closes his laptop, folding his hands like a man in full control.
"Your father owes my company a significant amount. I'm offering him a solution."
"By marrying his daughter?" I snap. "How old-fashioned. Why not just throw me in a dungeon while you're at it?"
"I don't do dungeons," he replies coolly. "Too messy."
I glare at him. "You think this is funny?"
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "No. I think it's efficient. I need a wife for twelve months. Your father needs debt forgiveness. You need to stop pretending you have a choice."
His words hit harder than I expect. I open my mouth, close it, then force out a laugh that sounds more brittle than bold.
"Wow. You really think you can buy anyone, don't you?"
"I don't buy," he says, eyes narrowing slightly. "I invest. And I always get my returns."
Something about his calm, controlled voice makes me want to throw his laptop out the window.
"I'm not one of your business assets, Mr. Reid," I say, standing up.
He rises too — slowly, deliberately, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"You're right," he says softly. "You're a liability."
My breath catches.
For a heartbeat, the air between us feels electric — tense, charged, dangerous.
He walks around the desk until he's standing right in front of me.
He's tall — way taller than I thought — and the way his cologne mixes with his cool tone almost makes my knees wobble. Almost.
He holds out a folder.
"The contract," he says simply.
I don't take it.
I just stare at it — and at him.
He sighs. "You can read it before you sign. It includes financial terms, public appearance requirements, and… other conditions."
"Conditions?" I repeat. "Like what? Do I have to call you darling in public? Sit pretty beside you at events and smile like I'm not dying inside?"
He doesn't answer.
He just watches me with that same unreadable expression, like he's waiting to see how far I'll go before breaking.
"I'm not signing anything," I say finally, crossing my arms.
He smirks — it's faint but infuriating.
"You will."
That simple sentence sends heat rushing to my face.
"Don't be so sure," I say, stepping closer. "You may have scared my father, but you don't scare me."
For the first time, something flickers in his eyes — amusement? irritation? I can't tell.
He takes one small step closer until we're almost chest to chest.
"Maybe not yet," he murmurs. "But you should learn when to stop testing me, Miss Brooks. I'm not a man who likes to be challenged."
"Well," I whisper, tilting my chin up, "I'm not a woman who likes to be controlled."
The silence between us tightens, charged and breathless.
I can hear my heartbeat, the distant hum of the city below, and the low rhythm of his breathing.
Then, without warning, he places the pen on the folder and slides it toward me.
"Read it," he says. "Then decide how much your pride is worth compared to your father's company."
My hand twitches. For a moment, I actually consider it — consider signing away my freedom to save the man who gambled it away.
But then I remember the night I found my father drinking, eyes red, voice shaking as he told me about the debt. About how this marriage was the only way out.
I remember the anger that burned through me — not just at him, but at myself for being powerless.
No. Not this easily.
I take a slow breath and meet Alexander's gaze. "You're unbelievable."
He shrugs. "I've been called worse."
"You really think you can control me with a few papers and a pen?"
"I don't think," he says coolly. "I know."
The arrogance in his tone makes my blood boil, but also — God help me — makes something deep inside me stir.
"Enjoy your little fantasy, Mr. Reid," I say, grabbing my bag. "Because this girl doesn't sign her life away that easily."
As I turn to leave, his voice follows me — calm, certain, dangerous.
"You'll be back, Miss Brooks. Before the end of the week."
I don't look back.
I can't. Because if I do, I might just prove him right.
I storm out of the office, slamming the door harder than necessary, my heart pounding against my ribs.
The elevator doors close around me, and I finally let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I lean against the wall, eyes stinging with tears I refuse to let fall.
"I won't let him win," I whisper to myself. "Not him. Not anyone."
But deep down, a small, terrifying part of me knows the truth —
Alexander Reid has already started winning.
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