I had never felt more exposed than I did standing in front of Barrister Lawson's polished oak desk the next morning. The office was too bright, the air-conditioner too cold, and my heartbeat far too loud. I held the shortlist in my trembling hands, three names printed in simple black ink that suddenly felt heavier than the entire Lawson estate.
The lawyer regarded me calmly.
"Have you made your selection?"
My throat tightened.
"Yes."
The word barely left my mouth.
I passed him the sheet. He didn't snatch it or flip it dramatically. He lifted it with deliberate care, as if the thin paper carried explosive weight. His gaze skimmed the top name.
Adrian Lawson.
Expected.
Approved.
Safe.
His eyes moved to the second name.
Kade Lawson.
Reasonable.
Respectable.
Predictable.
Then his gaze slid to the third name.
Rhys Sterling Lawson.
The man whose shadow had stretched across my entire night.
The lawyer's brows lifted slightly.
"A bold choice."
"It isn't a choice," I whispered. "It's… unfinished history."
He nodded once, neither judging nor comforting, then stamped the document with the Lawson gold seal.
"It is done."
My stomach dropped.
Done.
As in final.
As in binding.
As in no turning back.
"The trustees will meet with all three candidates," Barrister Lawson continued. "But due to his exceptional financial profile and the stability his empire could bring, Rhys Sterling has been pre-selected as your temporary spouse for the trust term."
I froze.
"He was chosen already?"
"Yes."
"But you only just submitted my shortlist."
"The trustees reviewed all candidates last night," the barrister said. "They deemed his application… strategic."
Strategic.
Of course it was.
My past had always been an inconvenience, his name showing up on that list had not been fate.
It had been intention.
Deliberate.
Calculated.
My blood went cold.
"So," I said softly, "he will be the one I marry."
"Temporarily," he corrected. "For contractual obligation only."
My heart didn't care about technicalities.
A knot formed in my chest.
"Your next step is to contact him," the barrister added. "A private meeting is required before you both sign the preliminary agreement."
My pulse stuttered.
I had to face him.
Face the boy who left.
Face the man who returned with an empire behind him.
Back in my bedroom, I sat stiffly at my desk. My laptop glowed like a spotlight on my uncertainty.
I opened a blank email window.
My fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard.
How did one write to a man who had once been my entire world…and then vanished from it without a goodbye?
I inhaled deeply.
This wasn't emotional.
This was business.
I typed:
Subject: Request for a Private Meeting, Urgent
Then I froze again.
Too formal?
Too cold?
Good.
Better cold than cracked.
I continued.
Mr. Sterling,
This is Reece Kay. I have been informed by the Lawson trustees that you were selected as the primary candidate for the temporary contractual marriage requirement under the Kay–Lawson trust clause.
My chest tightened.
I kept typing anyway.
I am requesting a private, in-person meeting to finalize terms before we proceed. Please respond with a date and time suitable for you.
I hesitated.
Should I add Thank you?
No.
Politeness implied comfort. I was not comfortable.
I signed: Reece Kay
My stomach twisted.
I stared at the email for five full minutes.
My pride was dissolving.
My past was resurfacing.
And my future was suddenly in the hands of a man who had mastered silence.
I clicked Send.
The whooshing sound felt like a slap.
I didn't realize I was shaking until my phone buzzed with a random notification and I nearly jumped out of her skin. I grabbed my pillow, hugging it as if it could anchor me to reality.
Minutes passed.
Thirty.
Sixty.
Still nothing.
I paced my room.
I sat on the edge of my bed.
I opened my laptop.
I closed it again.
What if he ignored me?
What if this was his revenge?
What if he said yes too quickly?
What if he said no?
Rhys Sterling had built an empire, a kind of empire that held meetings with presidents and shut down markets with a single press statement.
Why would he respond to a girl he left behind eight years ago?
A girl whose family business was drowning.
A girl who was, to him, the past.
I sank onto my bed, pressing a hand over my eyes.
This was foolish.
I should never have left him on the list.
Except… I needed answers.
I needed closure.
I needed…
A soft ding interrupted my spiral.
My laptop screen lit up.
1 New Email — SterlingTech Capital HQ
My heart lunged into my throat.
I opened it.
My breath caught.
It wasn't a secretary.
It wasn't an automated message.
It wasn't an assistant.
It was him.
From: Rhys Sterling
Subject: Re: Request for a Private Meeting, Urgent
My shaking fingers clicked the message.
Reece,
Your request has been received. I'm available tomorrow at 9 a.m. at SterlingTech Headquarters, Eleventh Floor, Executive Wing. Ask for me at the front desk.
R.S.
Short.
Controlled.
Emotionless.
And somehow more intense than any message I had ever read in my life.
He didn't ask why I needed to meet him.
He didn't ask how I felt.
He didn't even ask if I agreed to the marriage arrangement.
He simply accepted.
As if he'd been waiting.
As if this meeting wasn't surprising.
As if he saw it coming.
I read the email again.
Then again.
Then again.
Each time, the same chill spread across my skin.
Tomorrow.
I was going to see him.
Face-to-face.
The boy who had broken my heart.
The man the world feared.
The billionaire who had volunteered himself into my collapsing life.
I didn't sleep.
I tried.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes:
Rhys at seventeen, grinning with mango juice on his fingers, calling me stubborn.
Rhys at twenty, jaw clenched, telling a reporter old lives burned.
Rhys at twenty-five, stern, unreadable, staring at cameras like they were enemies.
I couldn't reconcile the versions.
I couldn't predict which one I would meet tomorrow.
I sat by my window as the hours crawled. The sky turned from black to steel blue to the pale wash of morning.
At 6 a.m., I forced herself off the bed.
I needed composure.
Strength.
Armor.
This wasn't a reunion.
This was a negotiation.
I showered.
Dressed.
Pulled my hair into a low, calm bun.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't look like a girl meeting her past.
I looked like a woman walking into war.
At 8:12 a.m., I stood outside SterlingTech Headquarters.
The building was monstrous, glass and steel rising like a titan into the sky. Cars lined the circular driveway. Security was everywhere. Employees streamed in with company badges and expensive coffees.
My pulse thrummed.
I had stepped into another world.
His world.
I inhaled slowly and walked toward the entrance.
The revolving doors swallowed me into a marble lobby that felt more like an airport than an office. Screens lit the walls with market updates. A signature sculpture hung from the ceiling like a suspended storm.
I approached the front desk.
"Good morning," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "I'm here to see Mr. Rhys Sterling."
The receptionist's eyes widened slightly, just slightly, before she masked it with professional calm.
"Name?"
"Reece Kay."
"Of course, Miss Kay. Mr. Sterling is expecting you."
Expecting.
As if he'd been counting the minutes.
The receptionist pressed a button.
"Eleventh floor," she said. "You'll be escorted up."
I nodded and followed the usher to the private elevator.
My palms were damp.
My breath, unsteady.
My heart… terrified.
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped inside.
The doors closed.
I was going up.
Up toward answers.
Up toward danger.
Up toward Rhys.
The boy I once loved.
The man I would soon confront.
As the elevator ascended, I whispered the truth I had been avoiding since the moment I saw his name on the list:
"I'm not ready."
But the elevator didn't care.
It kept rising.
I'd always imagined that walking into Rhys Sterling's world would feel like stepping into a storm.
I was wrong.
A storm has a sound.
A storm has chaos.
A storm has signs that warn you to run or hide.
But the moment the private elevator stopped on the top floor and the doors slid open, what greeted me was silence, thick, cold, and suffocating. The kind of silence that didn't come from peace.
It came from power.
And from someone who knew he owned every inch of the air I was about to breathe.
I stepped out.
The hallway stretched forward like a black mirror corridor, walls made of tinted glass, marble floors kissed by soft light, and quiet so deep it hummed in my bones.
I swallowed.
This wasn't an office.
It was a throne room.
And the man waiting inside was the king.
A woman in an all-black suit stepped forward with flawless posture.
"Miss Reece," she said. "Mr. Sterling is ready for you."
Ready.
The word hit me like ice water.
He was expecting me.
Wanting this meeting.
Waiting for it.
I followed her down the corridor, my heels clicking sharply, too loudly, like an accidental rebellion against the oppressive quiet. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, matching the rhythm of my steps.
We stopped in front of two enormous black glass doors.
The assistant pushed one open.
"Go right in."
I inhaled slowly.
Held it.
And walked inside.
His office, no, his penthouse office, was cathedral-level massive.
A sweeping wall of floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking, dizzying view of the entire city below, cars like ants, buildings like toys, the world so small it could fit into his palm.
The room itself was minimalist and cold: black steel, dark marble, sharp lines. No personal photos. No clutter. No weakness.
And there he stood.
Back turned to me.
Hands in his pockets.
Staring out at the skyline like he owned every building, every streetlight, every breath the city took.
My lungs tightened.
Rhys Sterling.
Older.
Broader.
Colder.
Dangerously composed.
The boy I knew was gone.
This man…
This man felt like the final version of a prophecy.
I opened my mouth.
Before I could speak, his voice cut through the stillness.
Low.
Smooth.
Precise.
"You're early."
My heart jolted.
He hadn't even turned around.
I found my voice. "You replied late."
A pause, barely a second, but enough for tension to curl in the air.
Then he finally turned.
And the world tilted.
Those dark, unreadable eyes locked onto mine, eyes I used to recognize instantly, eyes that once softened when they looked at me.
Now they were guarded.
Sharp.
Like glass that could cut.
He studied me without blinking.
Five years of silence in one long, slow sweep.
"You look the same," he said quietly.
My pulse stuttered.
I didn't know if it was a compliment or an accusation.
"I don't," I whispered.
A corner of his mouth lifted, not a smile.
More like acknowledgment.
"No," he agreed. "You don't."
He took a step forward.
Just one.
It was enough to pull the air out of my lungs.
"How long have you been back in town?" he asked.
His tone was almost casual.
Almost.
"Since the boutique started drowning," I answered. "Since… everything fell apart."
His jaw flexed.
A flicker of something, anger? frustration?, crossed his face before disappearing.
"And this marriage," he said, "you're prepared for it?"
Prepared?
I felt my body stiffen. "Are you?"
He didn't blink.
"I wouldn't have put my name on the list if I wasn't."
My chest tightened.
There it was.
Confirmation that he chose this.
Not the trustees.
Not a coincidence.
Him.
"Why?" I asked, too fast, too raw. "Why your name? Why now?"
For the first time, his gaze wavered.
Barely.
But I saw it.
"It's not relevant."
"It is to me."
He exhaled through his nose, controlled frustration.
"You're thinking emotionally," he said. "This is a business arrangement."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
A spark of anger flared in my chest.
He was doing it again.
Building walls.
Controlling the narrative.
Silencing everything that mattered.
I stepped closer.
"Five years," I said softly. "You owe me more than business."
Silence.
Then he stepped toward me, closing the gap until only inches, painful inches, remained.
His presence swallowed the space between us.
He looked down at me with eyes too sharp, too intense.
"I owe you nothing," he said.
The words stung.
But when he said them, his voice shook, just barely.
Just enough for me to hear the lie.
I should've stepped back.
I should've remembered this was negotiation, not emotion.
But his eyes,
God.
They pulled me in like gravity.
"What do you want from me, Rhys?" I asked, barely breathing.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
My breath hitched.
Something hot and dangerous sparked between us, familiar and terrifying.
"I want clarity," he murmured.
"About the contract?"
"About you."
My heart stopped.
"Rhys…"
His hand lifted.
I froze.
He touched my chin, lightly, carefully, like I might break. The shock of warmth shot straight through me, burning everything I thought I'd buried.
"You walked into my building," he said softly. "Into my office. Into my world…"
His thumb brushed the corner of my jaw.
A trembling breath escaped me.
"…and you're acting like I'm the one invading yours."
Heat curled low in my stomach.
His face was inches from mine.
Dangerously close.
Much too close.
"Rhys," I whispered again, this time without strength.
His eyes darkened.
"Say my name like that again," he said quietly, "and I will forget every reason I had to stay professional today."
My knees almost buckled.
Then,
A sharp vibration tore through the room.
His phone.
The moment shattered.
He stepped back quickly, too quickly, ripping the warmth away.
I steadied myself.
He didn't look at me.
He didn't speak.
He turned toward his desk, picked up the phone, and silenced it.
When he finally faced me again, the fortress was back.
Walls rebuilt.
Control restored.
"We need to discuss terms," he said, tone flat.
I swallowed hard.
Of course.
Of course he would hide behind business.
He always had.
I straightened my shoulders.
"Fine," I said. "Terms."
But my voice wasn't steady.
His eyes flicked to me.
They softened, just for a heartbeat.
"Reece."
My name on his lips felt like a bruise.
"This won't be easy," he said.
"No," I replied. "It won't."
"We'll fight."
"Most likely."
"You'll hate me."
"I already do."
A breath of a laugh escaped him, pained, bitter.
"Then we're starting honestly."
Silence wrapped around us again.
But this time, it wasn't empty.
It was heavy.
Charged.
Alive.
"We will sign the preliminary agreement tomorrow," he said.
I nodded.
"And today?" I asked.
His eyes held mine.
"Today," he said softly, "you walk out of here knowing one thing."
I waited.
He stepped closer again, just enough for the air to crackle.
"You're not the only one who isn't ready."
My breath caught.
Before I could speak, he turned away.
Conversation over.
Meeting done.
Feelings boxed.
But my heart,
My heart was a live wire, sparking uncontrollably.
I walked toward the door.
At the threshold, I looked back.
He was staring at the skyline again.
Hands in his pockets.
Back to me.
Walls up.
But his reflection in the glass,
God.
His reflection was watching me.
Not the city.
Me.
I turned and walked out before I could crumble.
The elevator doors closed behind me.
My pulse raced.
My lips tingled.
And every step away from the Black Glass Tower felt like stepping out of the gravity of a star I wasn't sure I could escape again.