Page 28 of Her Obedience (Ruin & Gold #1)

T he offices of Westley, Geller & Associates occupy the forty-second floor of a gleaming tower in downtown Chicago, floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of Lake Michigan.

I sit in a tastefully appointed conference room, a stack of documents nearly three inches thick placed before me on the polished mahogany table.

Lawrence Geller—silver-haired, impeccably dressed, with the carefully neutral expression of a man who has facilitated countless morally ambiguous arrangements—sits across from me, while Gage occupies the head of the table, scrolling through messages on his phone with apparent disinterest in the proceedings.

"These are the final prenuptial documents for your review, Miss Everett," Geller explains, his voice carrying the practiced cadence of someone who has delivered this speech many times. "Mr. Blackwood has already signed where indicated. Your signatures are required on the tabbed pages."

"Perhaps Mr. Geller could summarize the key provisions," Gage suggests without looking up from his phone. "For clarity."

Geller nods, folding his hands atop the document.

"The agreement is comprehensive but follows standard formats for high-net-worth individuals.

In essence, Miss Everett, you waive claims to Mr. Blackwood's existing assets and business holdings in the event of divorce.

However, you receive a settlement of five million dollars for each year of marriage, capped at fifty million after ten years. "

"And if Gage dies while we're married?" I ask, the question emerging more bluntly than intended.

Geller's expression doesn't change. "In that event, you would receive twenty percent of Mr. Blackwood's personal estate, estimated currently at approximately four hundred million dollars, as well as lifetime income from a trust established for any children of the marriage."

"And Wildflower? My business?"

"Remains entirely yours regardless of marital status," Geller confirms. "Mr. Blackwood has specifically excluded your business from matrimonial property, guaranteeing your continued control irrespective of future circumstances."

I turn to a tabbed page, scanning provisions regarding children—their education, healthcare, custody arrangements in case of divorce. All meticulously planned, as if our theoretical offspring are business assets requiring careful management.

"There are non-disclosure provisions on pages 87 through 112," Geller continues. "Standard confidentiality regarding Mr. Blackwood's business operations, personal matters, and family history. Violation of these provisions would nullify financial settlements."

Of course. Can't have the purchased wife revealing family secrets.

The door opens, and my father enters without knocking, his presence immediately dominating the room. "Has she signed yet?" he asks Gage directly, not bothering to acknowledge me.

"We're reviewing provisions," Gage replies, finally setting down his phone. "Ensuring clarity before finalization."

My father makes an impatient sound, taking a seat without invitation. "The agreement was finalized weeks ago. This meeting is a formality, not a negotiation."

"Nevertheless," Gage says, his tone cooling slightly, "Penelope deserves to understand what she's signing."

The unexpected support catches me off guard. I continue turning pages, finding a section that makes me pause. "This indicates I must reside at the Blackwood Estate for a minimum of three hundred days per year. I'm essentially prohibited from independent travel or separate residence."

"A reasonable provision ensuring marital cohesion," my father dismisses. "Standard in arrangements of this nature."

"It's controlling and excessive," I counter, looking directly at Gage. "Most marriages don't require legal provisions dictating physical presence."

Gage studies me for a moment. "The provision can be modified to allow travel with advance notification and appropriate security measures. Two hundred and fifty days minimum residence seems reasonable."

The minor concession is meaningless in practical terms—I remain a prisoner with slightly longer permission slips—but the willingness to adjust terms at all is unexpected.

"Page 143 requires my signature," I note, finding another concerning section. "This waives my right to contest any security measures Gage deems necessary, including surveillance, restricted communication, and limited access to certain resources."

"Again, standard provisions," Geller interjects smoothly. "Mr. Blackwood's position necessitates comprehensive security protocols. This merely confirms your acknowledgment of those requirements."

"It's imprisonment disguised as protection," I say flatly.

My father slams his hand on the table. "Enough dramatics, Penelope. You'll sign the agreement as written. Your childish resistance has already delayed this arrangement beyond acceptable timelines."

"William." Gage's voice cuts through my father's outburst with quiet authority. "Your presence was requested for witness signature, not commentary on the proceedings."

My father's face flushes with anger, but surprisingly, he falls silent. The dynamic between them continues to intrigue me—my father clearly deferring to Gage despite his normal dominance in all situations.

I continue reading, finding a section regarding my professional activities.

"Page 217 specifies that any expansion of Wildflower requires your written approval," I tell Gage, unable to keep the resentment from my voice.

"Including new locations, service offerings, or significant client acquisitions. "

"A reasonable provision ensuring business activities don't conflict with security considerations," Gage replies. "Though I'm open to establishing agreed-upon parameters that would streamline approval for certain categories of expansion."

"How generous," I murmur sarcastically, turning another page.

The room falls silent as I continue reading, the only sound the occasional rustle of paper and my father's impatient sighs.

I find provisions regarding marital relations—the document carefully avoids explicit sexual requirements while using phrases like "reasonable expectations of physical intimacy" and "good faith efforts toward procreation" that leave little doubt about the expected nature of our relationship.

"Page 286," I say after nearly an hour of reading. "This section requires me to 'present myself appropriately for all public appearances, maintaining standards befitting the Blackwood name.' Who determines what's 'appropriate'?"

"Within reason, I do," Gage answers directly. "Public appearances impact business relationships and strategic alliances. Appropriate presentation is simply good business."

"So I'm to be a decorative accessory with no personal style or expression."

"You're to be a partner whose appearance reflects mutual interests rather than individual impulses," he corrects. "The provision doesn't dictate day-to-day private choices, only public-facing presentation."

My father checks his watch with obvious impatience. "This review has extended well beyond reasonable timeframes. The wedding date approaches, and numerous arrangements remain pending. Penelope should sign now."

"I haven't finished reading," I reply, not looking up from the document.

"Reading changes nothing about the outcome," my father says dismissively. "Your signature is required regardless of your opinion on specific provisions."

"Nevertheless, she'll read as much as she wishes before signing," Gage states with that same quiet authority that somehow silences my father more effectively than shouting ever could.

I continue reading for another forty minutes, finding provisions regarding everything from medical decisions to approved social connections to protocols for family holidays. My entire existence mapped out in legal language, my cage constructed of paragraphs and subclauses.

Finally, I close the document, looking directly at Gage. "If I refuse to sign, what happens?"

"You know the answer to that question," he replies evenly. "Your father's legal protection would be withdrawn. Criminal charges would proceed. Wildflower would lose its operational support and location. Your sister's marriage would face complications from the resulting scandal."

"This is ridiculous," my father interrupts. "She has no choice but to sign. This performative resistance wastes everyone's time."

Gage ignores him, his gaze steady on mine. "The prenuptial agreement provides security and clarity, Penelope. The alternative benefits no one, yourself included."

I stare at the document, the physical manifestation of my captivity, the legal framework disguising ownership as marriage. Pages of provisions and requirements, of restrictions and expectations, all wrapped in language of partnership that means nothing when one party cannot walk away.

"Do you have a pen?" I ask finally.

Geller produces a heavy fountain pen, placing it beside the document. "Initial the bottom of each page, then sign where indicated by the tabs."

I take the pen, its weight substantial in my hand. "No changes to any provisions? No negotiation at all?"

"The time for negotiation has passed," my father snaps. "Sign the document, Penelope."

Gage studies me for a long moment. "The residence requirement will be reduced to two hundred and fifty days as discussed. The business expansion approval process will include predetermined parameters for certain categories of growth. Those amendments can be formalized in an addendum."

Minimal concessions that change nothing fundamental about my situation, yet the willingness to adjust any terms at all seems significant in context.

I begin initialing pages, the repetitive motion almost meditative. Page after page of legal language, each one another bar in my gilded cage. When I reach the signature pages, I pause, pen hovering above the line.

"Once signed, this document is legally binding," Geller reminds me unnecessarily. "Your signature represents informed consent to all provisions contained herein."

Informed consent. As if anything about this arrangement involves genuine choice or consent.

I sign my name on the first indicated line—Penelope Arabella Everett—the familiar loops and curves of my signature a strange contrast to the sterile legal document beneath. I continue signing where indicated, each signature another lock clicking into place around my life.

When I finish the final signature, I set down the pen and look directly at Gage. "I will never forgive you."

He meets my gaze without flinching. "I don't need your forgiveness, Penelope. Only your compliance."

My father rises, straightening his jacket with an expression of satisfied completion. "That concludes this matter. I'll expect confirmation of the remaining wedding arrangements by Monday."

"My office will send updates as scheduled," Gage replies, his tone professionally neutral. "Victor will see you out, William."

As if summoned by his name, Victor appears at the door, ready to escort my father from the conference room. My father departs without a backward glance, his purpose accomplished, his daughter's future secured as a business asset rather than an independent being.

Geller efficiently gathers the signed documents, placing them in a leather portfolio. "I'll have copies prepared for your records, Miss Everett. The originals will be secured in our vault."

"Thank you, Lawrence," Gage says, the dismissal clear in his tone. "That will be all for today."

When Geller departs, I remain seated, suddenly exhausted by the hours of reading legal provisions designed to contain every aspect of my existence.

"The prenuptial agreement protects you as well," Gage says after a moment of silence. "Financial security regardless of future circumstances. Professional independence within reasonable parameters. Clear expectations rather than unpredictable demands."

"A beautiful description of captivity," I reply, too drained for anger. "Clear expectations for my cage dimensions."

He studies me, his expression thoughtful rather than triumphant. "You signed with a steady hand, Penelope. No hesitation on the final pages. Whatever emotional resistance you maintain, your practical mind has accepted reality."

"My practical mind recognizes the absence of viable alternatives," I correct. "Acceptance implies agreement with the underlying premise."

"A semantic distinction without practical difference." He rises, gathering his phone and tablet. "Our engagement is formalized with tonight's signing. The wedding proceeds in thirteen days, with final preparations accelerating accordingly."

I stand as well, needing physical movement to offset the emotional numbness spreading through me. "What happens now?"

"Dinner at Astor Club with Judge Harrison and his daughter. A public appearance celebrating our recent engagement." He checks his watch. "The car departs in ninety minutes. Marta has prepared appropriate attire in your suite."

Of course, straight to public performance as the delighted fiancée.

"And if I prefer to remain at the estate tonight?"

His expression softens marginally. "Tonight's appearance is optional if you genuinely need time to process. The Harrisons would understand a rescheduled engagement."

The unexpected flexibility catches me off guard. "I thought every public appearance was mandatory. Part of our 'arrangement.'"

"Most are," he confirms. "But mental wellbeing factors into effective partnership. If you require private processing time, that's a reasonable accommodation."

We leave the conference room together, walking in silence to the elevator that will return us to the ground floor where Victor waits with the car.

As we descend, I watch Chicago's skyline through the glass elevator walls, the city seemingly remote from my current reality despite its physical proximity.

"Thirteen days," I say quietly, more to myself than to Gage.

"Yes," he confirms. "Thirteen days until our wedding."

The elevator reaches the ground floor, doors opening to reveal the building's marble lobby. Gage places his hand at the small of my back as we cross toward the exit where Victor waits beside the car.

I've signed away my independence with steady hands and clear eyes.

Thirteen days to prepare for whatever comes next.