Clause Seventeen
The contract arrived at 8:03 a.m.
Exactly as promised.
Evelyn was still standing at the kitchen island of her tiny downtown apartment when her email notification lit up her screen.
From: Marcus Patel, Chief Legal Officer, Reed DynamicsSubject: Confidential Marriage Agreement Draft
Efficient.
Cold.
Predictable.
She didn't open it immediately.
Instead, she walked to the window and looked out at the snow covered streets below. Toronto looked softer in the morning light. Less ruthless. Almost forgiving.
Almost.
Then she opened the document.
Forty two pages.
Of course it was.
Evelyn skimmed with sharp, practiced focus.
Financial compensation: substantial.Penthouse residence: mandatory.Public appearances: minimum twenty-four events.Media compliance clause.Confidentiality agreement.Non-disparagement clause.
Her lips curved faintly.
Alexander Reed didn't do anything halfway.
Then she reached page twenty-nine.
Clause Seventeen.
Her eyes narrowed.
Clause 17: In the event that either party develops emotional attachment or engages in conduct that compromises the strategic purpose of this agreement, the non-affected party retains full authority to terminate the contract immediately without financial obligation.
Interesting.
He didn't want feelings complicating control.
She read it twice.
Then a third time.
So he thought emotions were a liability.
Good.
That meant he feared them.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Evelyn Carter."
"Alexander Reed."
No greeting.
No pleasantries.
His voice carried that same steady calm like nothing in the world could truly disturb him.
"You've received the draft."
"Yes."
"And?"
"Your legal team is thorough."
A pause.
"Clause Seventeen," she added.
Silence.
He noticed everything.
"So you read it properly," he said.
"Of course."
"And your thoughts?"
She moved to the table, pulling out a chair.
"It's unnecessary."
A beat.
"Is it?"
"Yes," she replied smoothly. "You made it clear emotions won't be involved."
"And if you're wrong?"
"I won't be."
The faintest shift in his breathing.
Amusement? Challenge?
"Be at my office at noon," he said. "We'll finalize."
The call ended.
By eleven fifty eight, Evelyn was stepping off the private elevator again.
This time, she felt it.
The shift.
She wasn't just a visitor now.
She was about to become part of the building's architecture.
Elena Brooks greeted her with a small, unreadable smile.
"They're waiting for you in the conference room."
They.
Evelyn stepped inside.
Alexander sat at the head of the long black glass table.
To his right: Marcus Patel, legal precision embodied.
To his left: Grace Anderson, PR strategist, sharp-eyed and observant.
Four leather bound copies of the contract sat neatly aligned in front of them.
Alexander didn't stand this time.
He simply watched her approach.
"You're punctual," he said.
"I respect contracts."
His gaze lingered half a second longer than necessary.
"Sit."
She did.
Marcus slid a copy toward her.
"Please review the final revisions. Signatures required on pages 4, 12, 18, 29, and 42."
Evelyn flipped through calmly.
But she wasn't reading randomly.
She was searching.
There.
Page thirty-six.
A new addition.
Her pulse flickered — barely.
Clause Twenty-Two: The parties agree to present themselves as a fully committed marital unit, including shared residence, shared financial appearances, and reasonable public displays of affection to ensure authenticity.
Reasonable public displays of affection.
That hadn't been there before.
She looked up slowly.
Alexander met her eyes without flinching.
"You added this," she said.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because," he replied evenly, "the public can detect distance. Investors can detect dishonesty. If we're doing this, we do it convincingly."
Grace leaned forward slightly. "Media scrutiny will be intense. Any visible tension will create speculation."
Evelyn's fingers rested lightly on the page.
"And how do you define reasonable?" she asked.
Alexander's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"A kiss at events. Holding hands. Physical proximity."
Her heart thudded once.
Slow.
Controlled.
"You're asking for performance."
"I'm asking for believability."
Silence stretched across the table.
This was the real negotiation.
Not money.
Not housing.
Power.
"And if I refuse that clause?" she asked softly.
Alexander leaned back in his chair.
"Then we don't proceed."
Direct.
No manipulation.
Just leverage.
She studied him.
He thought he was steering this.
He thought proximity would be her discomfort.
He didn't realize she had spent months preparing to stand this close to him.
To breathe the same air.
To dismantle him from the inside.
She picked up the pen.
"I'll agree," she said.
Grace relaxed slightly.
Marcus nodded.
Alexander didn't move.
But his eyes darkened.
Evelyn signed page four.
Then twelve.
Then eighteen.
Page twenty-nine.
Clause Seventeen.
The no emotions clause.
Her pen hovered for half a second.
Then she signed.
Finally, page forty two.
The last signature.
She slid the contract across the table.
Alexander took the pen.
Signed without hesitation.
Marcus collected the copies.
"Congratulations," Grace said lightly. "We'll draft the engagement announcement immediately. Photos this weekend. Charity gala next Thursday."
Evelyn barely heard her.
Because Alexander stood.
And so did she.
They were alone at the head of the table now.
Marcus and Grace moved to the far side, quietly reviewing documents.
"You didn't negotiate," Alexander said quietly.
"I didn't need to."
"You're very sure of yourself."
"I have to be."
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just near enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.
"One year," he said. "After that, we walk away clean."
Clean.
If only he knew.
"And if something changes?" she asked softly.
His gaze sharpened.
"It won't."
She smiled faintly.
"Confident."
"Controlled."
There it was again.
That electric current between them.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
But dangerous.
He extended his hand again.
"This is your last chance to reconsider."
She took it.
Their hands clasped.
Longer this time.
His thumb brushed the side of her wrist unintentionally or not, she couldn't tell.
"Mrs. Reed," he said quietly.
The words sent something strange through her chest.
Not guilt.
Not fear.
Something else.
Outside the conference room, snow continued falling.
Inside, the war had officially begun.
As Evelyn stepped into the elevator with her signed copy tucked inside her bag, she allowed herself one small, private exhale.
Clause Seventeen.
No emotional attachment.
He thought it protected him.
He didn't realize emotions weren't her weakness.
The truth was.
And she was about to find it.
Because buried in Reed Dynamics' internal archives behind encrypted financial transfers and shell corporations
Was the name Daniel Cross.
And she was closer to it than ever.
The elevator doors closed.
And above her, forty-eight floors of glass and steel waited.
So did her husband.