The Price of Three Years

POV: Roman

The atmosphere inside my spacious office is thick with anticipation as Gideon and I wait for my PA, Clara, to arrive and officially finalize the terms of our unorthodox agreement. Gideon, stepping fully into his role as my lawyer, lounges in the leather guest chair wearing an incredibly smug grin that makes me want to punch him squarely in the jaw.

"I told you she’d come around," he gloats, clearly overly proud of his master plan. He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought as he drums his fingers against the armrest. "What changed her mind, though? Yesterday she looked ready to kill you."

"Who cares? The point is, she agreed," I reply dismissively, impatiently checking my expensive watch for the third time in ten minutes. "She’s late. She’s never late."

I shoot Gideon a hard, warning glare, strictly instructing him to keep his mouth shut and let me do all the talking. The last thing I need is for his obnoxious humor to accidentally scare her off before she actually signs her name on the dotted line.

Finally, the heavy office door clicks open. Clara walks in, and I nearly do a double-take. She is wearing the absolute ugliest, most shapeless faded sweater I have ever seen in my entire life. It swallows her frame entirely, looking like something dragged out of a dumpster.

"You're late," I state, making sure my tone remains authoritative and unyielding.

She visibly swallows, her knuckles turning white as her hands clutch the strap of her cheap bag. "Traffic."

Ignoring my previous warning, Gideon immediately chimes in from his chair, raising a teasing brow. "Or cold feet?"

But Clara doesn't flinch. She keeps her voice completely steady, her eyes locked forward, ignoring Gideon entirely to look at me. "Neither. I said I’d do this, and I meant it."

Intrigued by her sudden steel, I walk toward her slowly, purposefully closing the physical distance between us until there are only mere inches separating our bodies. I don’t speak at first. I just stand there, staring down at her, analyzing the defiant set of her jaw and the way she absolutely refuses to back away from my suffocating proximity.

"We'll draft the terms today," I say finally, my voice dropping lower, echoing in the quiet room. "You’ll move in by the end of the week. Appearances matter—and if anyone suspects this is fake, we both lose. You’ll attend dinners, events. I’ll handle the media entirely. You just smile and look like you’re hopelessly in love with me. Think you can manage that?"

She refuses to look away, lifting her chin to meet my gaze directly. "Do I get a say in the rules?"

"We’ll see," I reply, allowing my lips to curve slightly into a faint, challenging smirk.

Gideon, sensing the heavy tension crackling between us, drops the playful act and transitions into pure business mode. He sits up straight and lays out the aggressive timeline. "We'll announce the engagement this coming Saturday. He'll purchase a ring before then, and you'll have an actual wedding ceremony in exactly two weeks."

Clara nods hesitantly, absorbing the shock of the accelerated schedule. Meanwhile, I am struggling to keep my focus on the negotiation. I physically cannot stop looking at that complete monstrosity of a sweater—and more importantly, the faint, purplish bruise barely peeking out from under a layer of cheap, poorly blended makeup on her cheek.

My jaw clenches hard. The sight of it sparks a sudden, irritating flash of anger in my chest, but I force myself to keep my mouth shut about it. It isn't my business yet.

Gideon continues, casually mentioning her needing to pack her belongings to move into my penthouse on Sunday. Clara visibly recoils, clearly caught off guard by the logistics of the arrangement.

"Wait—what do you mean, move in together?" she stammers, her eyes darting frantically between us.

"Well, every married couple lives together, don’t they?" Gideon chuckles smoothly, sliding the thick, heavily drafted legal contract across the glass desk toward her. He quickly details the three-year mandatory duration of the marriage and emphasizes the strict, non-negotiable ban on any outside romantic relationships.

Then comes the money. The hook.

"You’ll be paid one million dollars immediately once the contract is signed, and the other million when the three years are successfully completed."

Her eyes widen to an almost comical degree. The total sum is exactly double what I had initially offered her. She completely struggles to find her words, her mouth opening and closing silently as the massive weight of two million dollars crashes over her. Gideon and I both wait in the heavy silence, watching her process the astronomical sum.

"Too little?" I ask dryly, finally breaking my silence, deliberately testing her greed.

She stares at me, completely still for a long, breathless moment. The sheer overwhelming financial shock seems to have paralyzed her vocal cords, right until Gideon's loud clearing of his throat snaps her out of her daze.

"Yes—I meant it’s enough. More than enough," she stammers quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly.

My lips twist into a knowing line. Everyone has a price.

Gideon hands her the thick file, informing her she has until Friday to thoroughly review the clauses and officially sign it. As she stands up from the chair to leave, he leans back, delivering one final, absolute condition.

"You can’t utter a single word about this to anyone. If you do, the deal is instantly off."

"Of course," she replies softly, her grip tightening fiercely on the file.

And with that, she turns and leaves the office, taking my future with her.