SERAPHINA’S POV

The car ride to Mr. Ashford's estate was silently eerie. He didn't speak, neither did I. I stared out of the window: the sprawling cityscape gave way to manicured lawns and imposing gates.

His house wasn't a house; it was a mansion, a monument to wealth and power.

It loomed before me, cold and impersonal—so different from the little, cluttered house I had grown up in.

If inside, it overpowered completely.

Marble floors beamed with light from crystal chandeliers; priceless pieces of art graced the walls.

Everything was in its right place, shiny and perfect. Just sterile. The house seemed far less a house than some cold museum.

Mr. Ashford led me through the large, echoing halls to what I presumed was going to be our suite.

The room was huge and had a four-poster bed draped in silk, an awe-inspiring view of the city. Beautiful, yes, but it felt cold, impersonal.

Just like him.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. "I have something for you to sign," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

He pulled a document from his jacket pocket and handed it to me.

I took it—my fingers trembling slightly. It was a contract, thick and intimidating.

I scanned the first few lines, my heart sinking with each word. It was a marriage contract, outlining the terms of our… arrangement.

"I… I don't understand," I stammered.

He let out a sigh then, one that sounded to be more of a bother than anything else. "It's quite simple, Seraphina. I want a child. You will provide me with one."

My breath caught in my throat. A child? I wasn't ready for a child. I wasn't ready for marriage. I wasn't ready for any of this.

"I… I can't," I whispered, shaking my head.

He lifted an eyebrow, and his eyes felt like knives piercing into me. "You can't?"

"I'm not… I'm not ready," I stammered in a voice almost barely audible above a whisper. "I'm too young. I… I don't want this."

He chuckled. A hard, humorless sound. "Your wants are irrelevant, Seraphina. You agreed to this marriage. You agreed to the terms."

"But… but I didn't know," I protested. "I didn't know you wanted a child."

"You should have asked," he said coldly. "But then again, you're not exactly known for your assertiveness, are you?"

His words stung, but I couldn't deny their truth. I'd always been so passive, compliant. I had never dared speak my own mind, voice my own desires, my own needs.

"Look," he said, his voice softening slightly, though his eyes remained hard. "I'm offering you a deal. You give me a child, and in return, you'll receive one million dollars. After the child is born, you can do whatever you want. You can leave, you can stay, I don't care. Just give me what I want."

One million dollars. The amount was overwhelming. It could change my life, give me the freedom I had always craved. But the thought of having a child, a child with him, filled me with dread.

"I… I don't know," I said, my mind reeling.

"You have three days to decide," he said, turning to leave. "Think carefully, Seraphina. This is your only chance."

He rose and left the room, leaving me to my thoughts and the contract. I sank onto the bed—the heavy silk sheets felt like weights against my skin. One million dollars. Freedom. But at what cost?

The next three days were a torment. I hardly slept, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. I thought of the money, what it would mean for me, for Leo. I could take him away, far away from our parents, from Isabelle. We could start anew, a better life.

But then I thought about the child, the innocent life that was going to come into this world, a world of cold and indifference. Was I going to be a good mother? Was I going to raise a child in this environment, in this loveless marriage?

I had thought of Mr. Ashford, about his coldness, his ruthlessness. He did not want a wife but an heir. He did not want a wife but a deal.

On the third day, Mr. Ashford returned. He found me in the library—a huge room with leather-bound books. I sat by the window, looking out at the rain.

"Have you made a decision?" he asked; his voice boomed within the silent room.

I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with tears. "I… I don't want to do this," I whispered.

He sighed, his face hardening. "I didn't expect you to. You're weak, Seraphina. You always have been."

His words cut like a slap in the face. I knew he was right, but it still hurt to hear it.

"But," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register, "I don't care what you want. You're my wife now. You belong to me. And I want a child."

His words sent shivers down my spine. He wasn't asking; he was telling. He wasn't giving a choice; he was issuing an order.

"If you don't sign the contract," he said, his eyes gleaming with a cold light, "I will make your life a living hell. I will make you regret the day you were born. You understand?"

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. I saw the ruthlessness in his eyes, the unwavering determination. He meant what he said. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

I knew then that I had no choice. I was trapped, a pawn in his game. I was a bird in a cage, and he held the key.

"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'll sign the contract."

He nodded, a flicker of something that might have been satisfaction crossing his face. He handed me the contract and a pen. My hand shook as I took it. I stared at the document, the words blurring through my tears. I signed my name, my future sealed with a single stroke of the pen.

I had just returned the contract to him. And now, in despair, it overcame me that I had chosen—or rather the choice was given to me: to give this man a child, a desire he wished. And as I looked into his cold, unyielding eyes, I knew my life with him would be nothing more than a transaction, cold and loveless. I had sold myself, my body, my future, for a million dollars. And I knew, deep down, that I would pay the price.