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Without warning, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The warmth lingered for a second before he abruptly stood up and left the room.
Minutes later, he returned, a document in one hand and a pen in the other. He placed the contract in front of her and handed her the pen.
“There.”
Ivy took the document, her eyes scanning the contents. It stated everything she had asked for—the one-year marriage, the divorce terms, the promise that he wouldn’t seek her out afterward. But there was more.
If they divorced, he would give her fifty percent of his wealth. Half of his existing properties. A fifty percent share of his business for life.
Her brow furrowed as she pushed the document toward him. “Why are you giving me all this?” she asked, frowning. “I can’t take it. Change the document. I’ll leave with what I brought into this marriage. I don’t want your money.”
Christian slid the document back into her hands. “You’ll be my wife once we’re married,” he said simply. “I don’t want you to leave me, and I don’t want a divorce. Ever. But if it does happen, you’ll walk away with all this—and whatever else I give you. If you don’t agree to it, then we’re not signing anything at all.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes, her grip on the pen tightening.
She wanted to argue, but deep down, she knew he wouldn’t budge. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her gaze to the paper.
As her pen hovered over the signature line on the paper, a memory from five years ago surfaced.
It had been three weeks since the incident at the bar. Christian hadn’t stopped pursuing her since. Everywhere she went, he was there. He wasn’t her boyfriend—not officially—but he acted like one. Everywhere she went, he was there—taking care of her, bringing her food and medicine, making sure she got home safely, and even drove her home.
He didn’t care about the gossip in the office about his closeness with Ivy, didn’t care about the whispers of her colleagues. The only thing that mattered to him was what Ivy said.
Except for one thing.
He wouldn’t stop introducing her as his girlfriend.
She remembered that day in the meeting room when all the executives had gathered. As the meeting ended and people filed out, an older businessman had approached her, smiling kindly.
“You’re impressive,” he had said, sliding a piece of paper toward her. “Would you mind writing down your name and number? I’d like to introduce you to my son. I think you’d be a great match.”
Since he was a major client, Ivy hadn’t wanted to reject him outright. However, she planned to politely turn down his son at their first meeting. Smiling, she took the paper and began writing her name—only for Christian to snatch it from her hands.
His grip was firm, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to protest. Then, she had watched, stunned, as he scribbled something on the paper and slid it back toward the older man.
Curious, Ivy had glanced at the paper.
Underneath her name, Christian had added three words:Christian Evans’ girlfriend.
The number had been scratched out beyond recognition.
The businessman had picked up the paper, taken one look at it, and burst out laughing. “Alright,” he had said, shaking his head. “I get it.” Then, with a knowing smile, he had walked out of the room.
The moment they were alone, Ivy had turned to Christian, glaring. “You need to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” he had asked, frowning.
“Getting so close to me,” she had snapped. “It’s not right. I need to work. People are talking about us.”
“So what?” he had said, utterly unfazed. “You’re my girlfriend. What does it matter what people say?”
Frustration had flared in her chest. “Stop calling me that. I’m not your girlfriend.”
Christian had only smiled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.
“You are my girlfriend, Ivy.”
“Stop.” She had warned him.