EMILY.

James soon sent the details of the next interview.

My stomach churned with a mix of dread and faint hope as I reached the location. It was a small, unassuming building, almost hidden amongst the taller, glitzier structures of the city.

Once inside, I hesitated, my gaze sweeping warily over the quiet, surprisingly plush interiors.

"Mrs. Emily," James's voice boomed, startling me.

I spun towards the sound, finding him emerging from a discreetly closed door.

"Hello," I managed, my voice feeling a little too small in the sudden silence.

He gestured to the room he’d just exited. "Please, come in."

My shoulders tensed. This was it. Still, I pushed past the anxiety and stepped inside. A simple table and a few chairs were the only furnishings, giving the room an air of sterile formality.

"I'm sorry if this seems inconvenient," he stated, his tone surprisingly soft. "It's just for confidentiality's sake."

He gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat."

I sank onto the chair, my hands already feeling clammy.

James continued, a weary sigh escaping him. "We've had other applicants come in today, huff, it really is a long day."

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Other applicants?"

The thought hadn't truly crossed my mind.

He nodded. "You are not the only one applying for this role, Miss Emily. There are many others, which is why we have these separate rooms."

The realization hit me then: the other hopefuls, like me, were likely tucked away in similar quiet rooms, waiting for their turn.

"It’s for confidentiality," he added. "A joint interview wouldn’t suit a role like this."

He picked up a sleek tablet from the table. "So, shall we start the interview?"

My lips felt glued shut. I cleared my throat. "Sure."

He gave a brief nod, his eyes scanning the tablet. "Emily Carlson."

"Yes," I replied, my voice a little steadier now.

"Age?"

"Twenty-five." A flicker of annoyance pricked at me. It was right there on my resume, clearly printed. Why ask again?

He looked up, his gaze direct. "The questions might start to become uncomfortable, but it's just part of the interview process."

I rubbed my suddenly damp palms against the rough denim of my jeans and offered a tight nod, bracing myself.

"Do you have any health issues?"

"No."

"Do you smoke, or get involved in any hard drugs?"

A flush crept up my neck. Was this truly necessary for the contractual marriage?

Despite my discomfort, I admitted, "No."

He typed something on the tablet, then looked up. "Can you give more details about your family? Who do you stay with? Are you still studying?"

"I was adopted by the Carlsons. It's just my younger sister and my dad now. My dad is in the hospital, so I'm staying with my sister. No, I'm a graduate with good grades in Theatre Arts." The words tumbled out, rehearsed yet raw.

His brow creased. "And your mom?"

A familiar, agonizing knot tightened in my throat. "She died in a car accident," I managed, the memory a sharp, cold jab.

"I'm so sorry to hear about that," he said, his voice surprisingly laced with genuine sympathy.

I nodded, deflecting. "It's fine." It wasn't fine, but what else could I say?

"Should I move ahead with the questions, or would you like a break?" he asked, his gaze softening.

"Please, go on," I urged, wanting to get this over with, to push past the ache.

"Do you have a boyfriend or fiancé?"

My entire body stiffened. This question felt far too personal, especially given the bizarre circumstances of this 'interview.'

"No," I replied, my voice flat.

He glanced down at the tablet again, then a small smile touched his lips. "That's all."

"That's all?" I echoed, disbelieving.

He nodded. "This interview was purely a test of your honesty. I've had a background check done on you, Miss Emily, and you passed."

What? My mind reeled, trying to process his words.

He exhaled, leaning back slightly. "Most contestants failed woefully with blatant lies. But your neighbors, they really had good things to say about you, and you did well admitting to the truth. So, congratulations to you, Miss Emily, you passed the interview."

I blinked, my mouth dry.

"T-thank you," I stammered, the words barely audible.

"Now, the next step," he continued, a new gravity in his tone. "I will have my client step in with his lawyer to discuss the contract, terms and conditions, and... the marriage."

"Alright," I managed to nod, though my head was spinning.

A contractual marriage.

Reality hit like a brick.

This wasn’t a dream—it was my new, terrifying truth.

Then, he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts.

I took a deep, shaky breath, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick, suffocating.

Was I truly going to marry a complete stranger?

A desperate laugh bubbled up, tasting like ashes.

If Mum were alive, she would never, ever allow me to get involved in something like this. But I had no choice, Mum. I really didn't. Dad's life... it depended on this.

The soft creak of the door swinging open jolted me. I snapped my gaze towards it, seeing James re-enter the room.

"Please, come in," James said to someone outside.

Then, a faint whirring sound, the quiet echo of wheels, reached my ears. A man on a wheelchair smoothly wheeled himself into the room.

My breath hitched. I had expected someone older, perhaps a distinguished businessman with silver hair.

But this man… to my surprise, he looked startlingly young, undeniably handsome.

He was dressed in a tailored suit that broadened his shoulders, his short dark hair perfectly styled. But it was his eyes that captured me: deep, intense blue, utterly unreadable. And in a jarring jolt, he reminded me, of the masked man I had kissed that night.

A flicker of memory stirred—those eyes, that jawline.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

When his gaze, piercing and direct, fell on me, his blue eyes seemed to darken, like a storm brewing on a bright day.

A shiver traced a path down my spine, and I swallowed hard.

Even seated, confined to the wheelchair, he gave off an aura of immense authority, a silent power that filled the small room.

James stepped forward, gesturing towards the man in the chair. "This is my client, Mr. Zachary."

Then, he turned to me. "Mr. Zachary, this is Miss Emily."

"Hello," I forced out, offering a smile that felt brittle.

He didn't respond, didn't offer even the slightest acknowledgment or a ghost of a smile. His expression remained a cool, blank mask.

James seemed to notice the sudden, heavy tension settling between us. He offered a quick, somewhat strained smile. "Mr. Zachary isn’t fond of idle conversation, Miss Emily. His lawyer will handle the discussion."

Just then, the door opened again, revealing a slim man with an easy smile.

James quickly introduced him. "That's his lawyer, Amos." He then turned to me. "Now that he's here, I'll go send off the other applicants. If you need anything, just contact me."

"Sure," I murmured, my voice a little breathless.

James nodded and left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Amos approached me, his smile warm and reassuring. He extended a hand, his grip firm. "Amos Thorne, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emily."

"You too," I replied, a small measure of relief washing over me at his friendly demeanor.

After our handshake, Amos gestured to the chair opposite me. "Please, take a seat."

I settled back into the chair.

Amos spoke in a professional, yet gentle tone as he pulled a thick folder from his briefcase. "This is a contractual marriage you're entering with my boss, Mr. Zachary."

"Your boss?" I clarified, a fresh wave of nervousness washing over me.

He nodded. "I work for Mr. Zachary, and I'm also his personal lawyer. What about you, Miss Emily? Do you have a lawyer?"

I shook my head, a familiar sense of inadequacy bubbling up.

"No." I'd never needed one. Most of my previous stunt contracts for the entertainment company were straightforward, things I handled myself. I couldn't afford a lawyer even if I wanted one.

He offered another reassuring smile. "That's totally fine. As long as you understand the terms and are comfortable with them, there's nothing to worry about."

I nodded, though a part of me doubted his words.

My gaze flickered to the cold, silent man in the wheelchair. His face was like a chiseled statue, devoid of emotion. Our eyes met, and those deep blue eyes, so like the stormy ocean, seemed to bore into me, sending another shiver down my spine. I quickly shifted my gaze back to Amos.

Amos slid the folder across the table to me. "Here, you can check this out."

I flipped the folder open, my eyes racing across the pages, scanning for the crucial details.

Purpose: Business-related. I would play the role of this man, Zachary’s wife.

Duration: Indefinite. At Zachary’s discretion.

Compensation: $1,000,000 as a signing bonus. Once the contract has ended, there would be another $1,000,000.

I heaved a silent sigh of relief.

The signing bonus. That was the lifeline, the reason I was here.

It was enough for Dad's treatment. Enough to keep him alive.

But at what cost to me?

I skimmed further, words blurring until key phrases leapt out.

Living Arrangement: I would live in Zachary’s residence.

Confidentiality: No disclosure of the contract or personal matters. Breaking this would result in termination.

The confidentiality clause was already etched in my mind from the non-disclosure agreement I'd signed days ago.

I looked to the next section.

Termination Clause: If I revealed the existence of this agreement to anyone, living or dead, I would pay ten times the amount Zachary was offering as signing and completion bonus.

My lips parted slightly in disbelief. Ten times?

Was this man for real? He was demanding an exorbitant sum if I so much as breathed a word of this.

I glanced up, but Zachary remained unmoved, his eyes flicking down at the document as if utterly bored by the entire process.

Then another set of words burrowed into my head, chilling me to the bone:

'Only Zachary could end the contract.'

I stiffened, a cold dread seeping through me.

This wasn't just a contract; it was a cage, a form of undeniable bondage. He was the one who made all the rules, held all the power.

Could I truly cope with living under such strict, uncompromising terms with a man as cold as ice?

"Are you satisfied with it?" Amos asked, his voice breaking into my thoughts. He added, "You have the right to negotiate if you are uncomfortable with any terms."

"I only have a problem with the one that states only Mr. Zachary could end the contract," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "What if I wanted to end it?"

Amos's tone remained soft, but firm. "Miss Emily, you aren't allowed to end the contract. Only Mr. Zachary has that right."

"Alright, then what about the duration? A stated specific period would be fine," I pressed, hope clinging to my voice.

Amos glanced at Zachary, a fleeting, almost slight exchange passing between them, before he looked back at me. "A specific period hasn't been decided yet, Miss Emily, and that's the reason for the large sum of money as the signing bonus. But you will definitely be informed once it is."

I sighed in resignation, the hope deflating. It was clear. They weren't willing to negotiate on the fundamental terms.

Zachary's voice cut through the silence then, neutral and low, yet it held an undeniable authority. "If you agree with those, we can move ahead to the important terms and conditions."

His voice was like a blade grating on ice, a cold, sharp sound, yet it instantly sent an odd warmth blooming deep in my belly, a strange, unexpected sensation.

"Sure, I agree," I replied, pushing down the confusing feeling.

Amos cleared his throat and pulled out a sleek tablet. "These are the conditions Mr. Zachary requires you to strictly follow."

My eyebrows furrowed. Was it necessary he read them out? I could read them myself. Unless, of course, these were very important to Zachary.

Amos began to read from the screen, his voice clear and precise.

"No romantic relationships during the marriage."

My eyes went wide in shock. This was a part of the 'important terms' of this marriage? It sounded utterly ridiculous.

"Maintain a distance of at least three feet from Mr. Zachary when not in public."

I grimaced inwardly. Given his icy demeanor, that wouldn't be hard. Why would I not keep a distance from someone like him?

"Do not enter Mr. Zachary’s bedroom. Or his library."

"No involvement in Mr. Zachary’s affairs. Just as he won’t involve himself in yours."

"No sexual or romantic intentions toward Mr. Zachary. No photographs or videos of him."

This Zachary was truly something. The list went on and on, each condition more bizarre than the last, making my stomach churn with a mix of disbelief and growing nausea.

"And lastly," Amos added with a slight cough, as if even he found this one a bit absurd, "no fantasizing about Mr. Zachary. He… will not be doing so either."

I blinked.

Seriously? I almost scoffed aloud, but swallowed it back.

So, my soon-to-be husband was handsome and icy cold. Noted. And apparently, he had an ego the size of a continent, dictating even my thoughts.

"Is that okay, Miss Emily?" Amos’s statement snapped me out of my indignant thoughts.

Okay? They were horrific. My entire life was about to be dictated by this rigid, cold man.

Yet, Dad's life hung in the balance.

I nodded, the single movement heavy with the weight of my hopelessness. "Yes."

Amos offered a light, almost sympathetic smile and slid another document towards me. "This is the contract detailing everything I mentioned and everything you've read. You can skim through it and sign."

I forced myself to read through the entire document, my heart pounding, before picking up the pen and signing my name, sealing my fate.

Zachary signed without a single word, his hand moving with swift, practiced accuracy. Then, he wheeled himself out of the room, leaving a lingering chill in his wake.

"I apologize, but we are actually running out of time," Amos said, his tone genuinely apologetic.

"Oh, alright," I replied, assuming they had other business meetings to attend to, perhaps more lucrative deals than my arranged marriage.

Amos glanced at me, a hint of urgency in his eyes. "When I said we're running out of time, I'm talking about the wedding."

I stiffened, my breath catching. "Am I getting married today?"

Amos nodded, a small, knowing smile on his face. "Yes. You need to reach City Hall quickly before the court closes for today."