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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Elle

I wake to the sound of someone knocking on my door, which is weird because, unless it’s one of my neighbors, whoever is out there shouldn’t have access to the building.

Still groggy, I glance at the clock. 8:15 AM. Too early for a casual visit, too late for an emergency – or so I hope. The knocking comes again, sharper this time, and I groan, dragging myself out of bed and shrugging on my robe.

“Coming!” I call, stifling a yawn as I shuffle toward the door.

I peer through the peephole and see a courier standing there, holding a sleek black envelope. My stomach sinks. This can’t be good.

Unlocking the door, I crack it open just enough to speak. “Yes?”

“Delivery for you,” he says, his tone brisk. He hands over the envelope before turning and walking away without another word.

Closing the door behind me, I clutch the envelope, my heart pounding. I already know who sent it. The embossed logo of Sterling-Knight Enterprises on the corner confirms it, but I don’t need the branding to tell me. This has Seb written all over it.

I carry it to the kitchen table, dropping it like it’s something dangerous. For a moment, I just stare at it, the morning sunlight streaming through the window and glinting off its glossy surface.

Finally, I rip it open, my pulse quickening as I pull out the contents. Inside, there’s a single sheet of folded paper resting atop a thick contract.

The note is written in Seb’s sharp, slanted handwriting:

Elle,

Sign this and bring it with you. I’ll pick you up at 6.

Seb

That’s it. No explanation, no apology, no elaboration. Just the kind of clipped, no-nonsense instruction I should expect from a business arrangement.

My jaw tightens as I set the note aside and open the contract.

The words blur together at first, my eyes scanning over page after page of dense legalese. My head starts to ache as I try to focus, but the gist of it is clear: this isn’t just a marriage. It’s a business deal.

The terms are laid out in excruciating detail – what’s expected of me, of him, of us as a ‘couple’. Appearances we’re required to make, the timeline of our public engagement and eventual separation, the carefully crafted narrative we’re supposed to present to the world.

It’s all here, spelled out in cold, unfeeling language.

I swallow hard, my chest tightening as I flip through the pages. There’s nothing romantic about this. Nothing that speaks to the connection I’ve felt with Seb in those rare, unguarded moments. There’s not even a hint of truth in it. Nothing about how he proposed in our fabricated ‘love’ story that even resembles reality.

This is all for show. All about his father, his inheritance, his empire.

Not us. Not me.

I should have known. Of course, I knew. But seeing it here in black and white feels like a knife twisting in my chest.

By the time I reach the signature page, my hands are trembling.

I grab a pen from the counter, hesitating as I stare at the blank line where my name is supposed to go.

If I sign this, I’m agreeing to play my part. To be the perfect fiancée, the perfect wife, to fool Seb’s father into believing this sham of a relationship is real. And worse, I’m agreeing to put my own feelings on a shelf. To bury whatever this thing between us might have been before it could even begin.

And in exchange, I’ll get fucked. Once.

There’s nothing in here about ‘For Me’ or us attending the club. Nothing about extramarital…experimentation. Just a year of being his. Without him ever really being mine.

But what choice do I have?

I think about Seb’s father, the man I’ve heard about but never met. I think about Seb, who’s counting on me to pull this off. And I think about myself – the girl who promised she’d never let anyone control her life, yet somehow ended up here, pen in hand, about to sign away a piece of herself.

Because at least this will be my choice, not my mother’s.

I press the pen to the paper, my signature flowing across the line with practiced precision.

It’s done.

I sit back, staring at the signed contract like it’s some kind of monster.

I’ve made my choice.

Now all that’s left is to follow through.

By the time Seb arrives, I’m ready. I’ve curled my hair into soft waves and pinned it back with a large black velvet bow. I’ve chosen a sleek black dress that hugs my figure without being too revealing. It’s elegant, understated, and just the right mix of approachable and untouchable. It’s armour.

My makeup is flawless, every detail carefully considered. I’m not just putting on a performance for Seb’s father – I’m putting one on for Seb, too.

I won’t let him see how much this hurts.

A strand of pearls around my throat, a spritz of my custom-blended perfume, Chanel heels and bag, and my cashmere coat draped over my shoulders. I’m ready.

Almost ready.

I slip my hand into my coat pocket and withdraw the ring. It feels even heavier than before, but that’s just the shackles of the contract weighing me down. I slip it onto the ring finger of my left hand. A perfect fit. Did I notice that yesterday? I can’t remember.

The buzzer sounds, and I grab the contract, slipping it into my bag before heading to the intercom.

“Come on up,” I say, my voice calm and controlled as I leave the door on the latch for him. You can do this, Elle.

Moments later, Seb steps into my apartment, his presence filling the room like it always does. He looks good – too good – in a tailored suit that emphasises the breadth of his shoulders and the sharp lines of his jaw.

His signature leather jacket is nowhere to be seen and damn, if the sight of him all suited and booted doesn’t make me weak at the knees. I’m glad I dressed up too. We complement each other nicely. Look good together.

“Elle,” he says, his eyes sweeping over me. “You look...” He trails off, his gaze lingering just a moment too long.

I force a smile, ignoring the way my chest tightens. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

For a fraction of a second, something flickers in his eyes – something like hurt. But then it’s gone, replaced by his usual cool composure.

“Of course,” he says, his voice steady.

As we leave the apartment and head to the car waiting downstairs, I keep my head held high, my expression carefully neutral.

This is the performance of a lifetime, and I’m determined to make it convincing.

For his father.

For Seb.

For myself.

Seb opens the car door for me, and I slide in without a word, clutching my bag like it’s a lifeline. He settles into the driver’s seat, his cologne filling the space between us. Normally, the rich, smoky scent would unravel me, but not today.

Today, I am steel. Galvanised.

The ride is silent, save for the hum of the engine filling the space between us. I keep my gaze fixed out the window, watching the city pass in a blur of gray and neon lights. Oxford Street gives way to quieter streets, and I can feel Seb’s gaze on me, heavy and questioning, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning to meet it.

Seb doesn’t say much, which is unusual for him. Normally, he’d fill the silence with something – his sharp wit, a half-smirk, an offhand comment designed to provoke. But today, he seems...off.

Good. Let him stew in it.

Finally, he speaks. “Elle, about before?—”

I cut him off, my tone crisp. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

His jaw tightens and he grips the steering wheel a little harder. “I disagree,” he says, his voice lower now, edged with frustration.

I keep my eyes on the road ahead, refusing to give him an inch. “We have a job to do, Seb. Let’s focus on that.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, I think he might press further. But then he exhales sharply and leans back in his seat.

“Fine,” he says, his tone clipped.

When we pull up in front of the restaurant, Seb gets out first, walking around to open my door. His movements are smooth, practiced, perfectly gentlemanly. I hate it. I want the real Seb back, but there’s no time to dwell on that, as he leads me toward the doors, with his large palm burning the small of my back through my coat. It’s a calculated move, I know – one meant to sell the image of us as a couple. But it still sends a shiver down my spine, and I hate myself for it.

The restaurant is the kind of place that screams exclusivity. The kind of place where reservations are made months in advance, where the chandeliers cost more than most people make in a year.

A ma?tre d’ greets us, his demeanor warm and deferential. “Mr. Sterling-Knight. Please follow me, your father is waiting.” He takes my coat and leads the way.

We’re led into a formal, private dining room that could rival the set of a period drama. The table is set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses, perfectly crisp white linens and a centrepiece of fresh flowers. It would be beautiful if the air wasn’t thick with the kind of tension that comes from years of unspoken power struggles.

At the head of the table sits the man himself: Alexander Sterling-Knight.

He rises as we enter, his presence commanding, his tailored suit immaculate. His eyes are sharp, calculating, and when they land on me, I feel like I’m being appraised.

“So, you’re Elle,” he says, his tone polite but laced with something I can’t quite name. “Aiden’s sister, yes? Sebastian has told me...some things.”

I force a smile, channeling every ounce of composure I have. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling-Knight.”

“Alexander,” he corrects, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long. A slight smile curves at the corner of his lips but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Please, join me.”

Seb pulls out a chair for me, and I sit gracefully, smoothing my dress as I settle in. He takes the seat beside me, his posture relaxed but alert, like a predator ready to strike.

Alexander sits back down, steepling his fingers as his gaze shifts between us. “I must admit, I was...surprised to hear about this engagement. You’ve always been so focused on…other business, Sebastian. But I suppose even you aren’t immune to love.”

There’s a faint edge to his words, a challenge hidden beneath the surface.

Seb smiles, the expression easy and confident. “When you meet the right person, you just know,” he says, his hand reaching for mine. He laces his fingers through mine, his grip firm but gentle. His fingers toy with the ring on my finger, causing the diamond to glint in the light. His father’s eyes fall upon it, his expression tightening.

I force myself to relax under Seb’s touch, letting my smile soften as I look at him. “Sebastian has a way of surprising people,” I say, my tone light and affectionate.

Alexander’s eyes narrow slightly, but his smile remains intact. “Indeed.”

“You work in retail, is that right?” he asks, his tone almost condescending.

“I own, manage and run an exclusive designer boutique,” I correct, keeping my tone even. “I’ve worked hard to build it up, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

His lips twitch in something that might be amusement. “Commendable,” he says, though the word feels hollow.

Seb stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t speak.

The waiter appears, breaking the tension as he pours wine and takes our orders. I take a small sip, letting the rich, velvety flavor coat my tongue.

“So, Elle,” Alexander says once the waiter has left. “Tell me, how did you and Sebastian meet?”

I glance at Seb, a flicker of uncertainty passing between us.

“We’ve known each other for years,” I tell him vaguely, wanting to insert a little truth into our carefully concocted story. “But we reconnected more recently at one of his charity events,” I say smoothly, my voice steady. “We didn’t exactly hit it off at first.”

Seb chuckles, his thumb brushing against the back of my hand. “That’s putting it mildly. She told me off for being ‘impossibly entitled.’”

Alexander raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Did she now?”

I nod, my smile widening just enough. “I wasn’t wrong,” I say, my tone playful.

Seb grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No, you weren’t. But I like to think I’ve improved since then.”

I laugh softly, the sound light and genuine – too genuine, considering the weight of the moment.

Alexander watches us closely, his expression unreadable. “Well, it’s clear you’ve had an...impact on him, Elle.”

The meal progresses, each course more elaborate than the last, but I barely taste any of it. My focus is on maintaining the facade, on playing the part of the devoted fiancée without giving away how deeply unsettled I feel.

Alexander watches me closely, his questions growing more pointed, more invasive.

“And what about your family, Elle?” he asks, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual authority. “Are they supportive of this...arrangement? I expected your mother to have married you off by now.”

I hesitate, caught off guard by the question. “My family...” I trail off, glancing at Seb for a split second before straightening. “They trust me to make my own decisions. Yes, my mother in particular, would like to have seen me settle down sooner, but my father respected my wish to wait and marry for love.”

Alexander’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s…good. Independence is important. Though I imagine this—” he gestures vaguely between Seb and me “requires more...collaboration.”

“Elle and I work well together,” Seb cuts in, his voice cool but firm.

Alexander’s gaze shifts to his son, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. “Do you?” he asks, his tone pointed.

Seb doesn’t waver. “Yes.”

The moment stretches taut before Alexander finally inclines his head, his expression giving nothing away.

By the time dessert arrives, I feel like I’ve run a marathon, my nerves frayed but my mask firmly in place. I force myself to smile and nod politely, taking small sips of my wine as the conversation flows around me. The tension in the room is thick, the weight of Alexander’s approval hanging over us like a cloud. I can feel his gaze on me more than I’d like, scrutinizing my every word, every movement.

Alexander finally rises from the table, the faint clink of his silverware signaling the end of the meal. He’s a man of power and precision, and his every gesture is deliberate. He extends his hand to me once more, his grip firm, and I feel the weight of it. His smile is as calculated as ever, the kind of smile you’d give to a business associate – polite, but with an edge.

“I approve of the match, Sebastian,” Alexander continues, his gaze shifting to Seb for the first time in what feels like hours. “I’ll make all the necessary arrangements with the press, but I think it’s best you both move into the manor until the media attention dies down after the wedding.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I don’t let it show. Seb, sitting beside me, stiffens slightly but doesn’t object. This was always part of the plan, after all – public appearances, appearances of a perfect couple, no matter the cost. But living together under his roof, under his father’s watchful eye? The thought sends a shiver through me, but I swallow it down.

“Of course,” Seb says, his voice steady. “We’ll do whatever is necessary. Elle’s safety will always be my main priority, Father.”

Alexander nods, clearly satisfied with the response, but then his sharp eyes shift back to Seb. “So when do you plan to have the wedding? Have you set a date yet?”

I freeze, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. Seb hesitates for a moment, glancing at me, his gaze unreadable.

“We were thinking six to eight weeks,” Seb answers slowly, his voice measured, clearly not wanting to rush things but also fully aware of the pressure from his father.

Alexander’s smile falters for just a moment before his expression hardens, and I can feel the weight of his displeasure. “No,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Two weeks. There’s no reason to wait.”

I blink, feeling the tension in the room spike. Two weeks? That’s... impossible .

Seb’s face tightens, but he doesn’t argue. “Understood, Father,” he says, his tone respectful, though I can hear the strain behind it.

“No reason to delay,” Alexander continues, his tone final. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can take your place, both in this family and in the company. We’ll make the announcement to the press tomorrow, and then start the preparations.” He looks directly at me then, his eyes cold. “I trust you’ll be ready in time, Elle.”

I feel my heart race, the weight of the expectations crashing down on me. A wedding in two weeks? There’s no way I can pull this off.

“Of course, Sir,” I manage to say, keeping my voice steady even as my stomach twists.

“Good,” Alexander says, his approval hanging in the air like a command. He turns to Seb, and with a look that carries years of unspoken authority, he adds, “We’ll handle the details. Make sure everything is ready. This is what’s best for everyone.”

I nod, my jaw clenched tight, and desperately try to control the rising panic.

As Alexander rises to leave, shaking Seb’s hand firmly, I sit there in a daze, trying to breathe. This wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t prepared for this, not at all. The room seems to spin, and I can hear Seb’s voice cutting through the haze, but it feels distant now, as though I’m hearing it through water.

“Welcome to the family,” Alexander says to me one last time before leaving, his voice laced with just enough sincerity to make me wonder if he means it.

“Thank you, Sir,” I repeat automatically, the words tasting hollow in my mouth.

Seb’s hand rests on mine again as his father exits, but I barely feel it, the weight of his words and his expectations sinking in, dragging me under.

As soon as Alexander leaves, I stand abruptly, my legs shaking beneath me.

“You were perfect,” Seb says, his voice low, his eyes warm as they meet mine.

I force a smile, my heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. “Just doing my part,” I say lightly.

He reaches for my hand, but I pull away, pretending to adjust my bag.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice firmer than I intend.

Seb hesitates, his brows furrowing slightly, but he doesn’t argue.

We walk in silence, the distance between us feeling wider than ever, every step I take an echo of the deadline we’re now staring down. Two weeks. Two weeks. Two. Weeks.

A fortnight of living under his father’s roof, trying to keep up the charade of being a blissfully in love engaged couple, under intense scrutiny twenty-four seven.

I don’t know if I can do this.

Once again, Seb holds the car door open for me, and I slide into the plush leather seat, clutching my bag tightly in my lap. The contract weighs heavier than its physical presence, a silent reminder of what I’m walking into. He rounds the car and gets in beside me, his presence a quiet storm of tension and unreadable emotions.

The car pulls away from the curb, the hum of the engine once again filling the silence between us. I stare out the window again, watching the city blur into a haze of glass and steel. He’s not looking at me, but I can feel his gaze lingering, heavy and searching.

“Did you read it?” he asks finally, his voice low.

I don’t turn to him. “Every word.”

“And?”

I tilt my head, offering him a tight smile. “It’s thorough.”

His brow furrows, and I catch the faintest flicker of something in his expression – concern? Regret? I can’t be sure. “Elle, I?—”

“Let’s not do this,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. I take a breath, softening my tone as I dig the contract out of my bag and hand it over. “Seb, I signed it. Isn’t that enough?”

He doesn’t reply right away, his jaw tightening as he glances quickly out of his window. “It’s not about the contract,” he mutters, almost to himself.

“Isn’t it?” I counter, my voice quiet but firm.

His head snaps back to me, his eyes narrowing slightly. But instead of pressing the issue, he lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his seat, his expression hardening into something distant and unreadable.

Good. Let him put up walls. It’s easier this way.

By the time the car pulls up outside my apartment the silence is unbearable.

“Elle—” Seb begins but he’s interrupted by his phone beeping.

He looks down at it, frowns, and swipes to open his messages. For a moment there’s silence and then a look of fury flashes over his face like lightning.

“Seb? What is it?” I ask despite myself.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

“Tell me. We’re in this together, right?”

There’s a pause that lasts so long I start to wonder if he’ll ever reply, but then he reluctantly confesses, “My father has ordered me to stay at your house tonight.”

My brows knit together. “What? Why?”

“We need to pack your things. He said movers will be here with boxes within the hour and will return in the morning to bring your things over to the manor.”

“He knows where I live?” I swallow nervously, not liking the implications of Seb’s words. Seb doesn’t reply, but I hear the way his back molars grind together.

“I guess I’d better get started then. But you don’t need to come up. I can do it myself.”

“Elle—”

“It’s packing for a trip. A vacation. Two weeks. I’ve done it hundreds of times before, Seb. I’ll be fine. No need to stay.”

“If I go home, he’ll have questions.”

“A man of your reputation, Seb. I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to go,” I tell him firmly. Again, something unreadable flashes in his face – disappointment maybe? – and I’m left wondering if Seb wants to come in and help me pack. But he can’t. I won’t let him. I have to pack up my life, my independence and my freedom in one night. I can’t do that with him helping. I can’t reveal how much this is costing me.

I give him a tight smile. “See you in the morning?” I ask.

“Of course. I’ll be here with the removal men. I’ll bring breakfast.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I climb out of the car before Seb can make a move to get the door for me. Straightening my dress, I bend down to speak to him. His gaze is intense and makes my stomach swoop.

“Seb? The wedding…I’ll take care of the details,” I say, the words coming out faster than I intend, before walking briskly toward my door. He looks like he wants to say something, but I don’t wait for him to. I need air. Space. Something to clear my head before I lose it completely.

The wedding is in two weeks. And I have no idea how I’m going to survive this.