Chapter 3
2409words
I stood at the entrance, my palms slick with sweat.
The text had specified the dock warehouse, but this morning I'd received another: location changed to the Plaza Hotel.
He was toying with me.
"Miss Williams, Mr. Devonhill is waiting for you."
A bodyguard in a black suit held the door open.
I walked in.
Oak Hall was spacious and luxuriously decorated, but only one person sat at the central table.
William Devonhill.
About forty, silver-gray hair, British bespoke suit, with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Those eyes were arctic.
"Miss Williams, I'm delighted you came. Please, sit."
His voice matched the one from the phone—outwardly polite but with an undercurrent of control.
I sat down, my spine rigid.
"Would you care for a drink? Champagne? Red wine?"
"No need. Please get straight to business."
William smiled, picked up a folder from the table, and slid it toward me.
"Excellent. I appreciate directness. So let's get straight to the point—your father owes me five million dollars."
Five million.
Much less than what he'd claimed on the phone.
"You said eighty million."
"On the phone? Oh, that was just to get your attention. The actual debt is five million dollars—though for you, that's still quite substantial, isn't it?"
He was toying with me.
"The court will handle all debts—"
"Open the file and see."
I opened the folder.
The first page was a loan agreement dated six years ago, with my father's signature at the bottom.
Five million dollars, 18% annual interest, compounded.
Second page.
Guarantor.
My signature.
No.
"This is impossible. I never—"
"On your eighteenth birthday, remember? Your father had you sign a stack of documents. Said they were trust fund paperwork."
Eighteenth birthday.
I remembered.
Father said they were trust documents. I signed without reading because I trusted him.
"You tricked a minor into signing!"
"Darling, you signed on your eighteenth birthday—legally an adult—and with a lawyer present as witness. Completely legal."
My hands trembled.
"I can sue—"
"What money would you use to hire a lawyer? And even if you win, how long would it take? Three years? Five years?"
William leaned forward.
"I don't have that much patience."
The air between us froze.
"What exactly do you want?"
"I just told you—marry me, and all debts will be written off."
He said it so casually, as if discussing the weather.
"You're insane."
"I'm perfectly sane, Miss Williams. Look at your current situation."
He extended his fingers, counting them off one by one.
"Your father is a fugitive. All assets frozen. Homeless in twenty-five days. Burdened with five million in debt. And all of New York high society is mocking you."
Each sentence cut like a knife.
"You're twenty-five, well-educated, attractive, with British noble blood—all qualities I need."
"I am not a commodity."
"In this world, everyone is a commodity. Just at different prices."
His smile made my stomach turn.
"I need a wife with background to elevate my social status. You need someone to pay your debts and provide security. Win-win."
"I would rather die."
"Don't be dramatic. Death is too easy. Living to pay off debts—that's the real torment."
He stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
"By the way, I saw you with Pierce last night. He walked you home. Even gave you his jacket."
My blood ran cold.
"You're spying on me?"
"Protecting my investment. You're my debtor, so naturally I need to ensure you won't run away."
He turned around.
"Pierce is wealthy, but he can't help you. He's a businessman. He won't oppose someone like me for a bankrupt woman."
"Besides."
He walked back to the table, standing uncomfortably close.
"I don't mind that you've had contact with him. After marriage, just be a good Mrs. Devonhill. All I need is your family name and your face."
I stood up, knocking over my chair.
"I will not marry you."
"Then how do you plan to repay the five million?"
Silence.
"Or would you prefer to repay your debt in other ways? I have many businesses that need people. Casinos. Clubs. And some... less respectable establishments."
His meaning was crystal clear.
"You have only two choices, Miss Williams. Marry me and live as a wealthy woman, or work in my businesses until you die."
"What about a third option?"
"There is no third option."
He pulled a black velvet box from his pocket and flipped it open.
Inside was a massive diamond ring—at least ten carats.
"In three days, I will come for you. We'll meet with lawyers and sign a prenuptial agreement. Then this"—he nodded at the ring—"will be yours."
"You wish."
"Think carefully, Annabel."
It was the first time he'd used my first name, and it sent chills down my spine.
"Three days. I await your favorable response."
I turned to leave, the bodyguard holding the door open.
"Oh, one more thing."
William's voice followed me.
"Don't think about going to the police. And don't think about asking Pierce for help. I have many friends in this city—judges, police, politicians. You can't beat me."
I walked out of Oak Hall, rushed to the nearest bathroom, and vomited.
*
I don't remember leaving the hotel, but when I came to my senses, I was in Central Park.
The sun was setting. People jogged past. Dog walkers chatted. Couples kissed on benches.
Normal life.
I no longer belonged to that world.
My phone rang.
Ethan.
I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the answer button.
It rang three times before I answered.
"Annabel."
His voice nearly broke me.
"Hi."
I tried to make my voice sound normal.
"Where are you? Your voice doesn't sound right."
"I'm fine. Just a little tired."
"Are you crying?"
"No."
But tears were already streaming down my face.
"Tell me where you are."
"Ethan, I really am fine—"
"Annabel. Tell me."
His tone brooked no argument.
"Central Park. On a bench near the Bethesda Fountain."
"Don't move. I'll be there in ten minutes."
He hung up.
I sat on the bench, watching the fountain, tears flowing unchecked.
*
Seven minutes later, Ethan appeared.
He wore a dark blue shirt, no tie, clearly having rushed over.
He sat beside me without a word, simply handing me a pack of tissues.
I took them and wiped my tears.
Silence.
The setting sun stretched our shadows across the ground.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
His voice was gentle.
I shook my head.
"Okay. Then we'll just sit here."
He didn't press for answers. Didn't try to comfort me with empty words. He just stayed.
The quiet gradually calmed my racing heart.
After a long while, I spoke.
"If someone owes you money, but they die, should their family pay back the debt?"
Ethan turned to look at me.
"Legally speaking, it depends on the type of debt. Heirs who inherit assets also inherit debts, but if the inheritance isn't enough to cover it, heirs don't need to use their own assets to pay it back."
"What about personal debts? The illegal kind."
His expression darkened.
"Is someone threatening you?"
I didn't answer.
"Annabel, look at me."
I turned, meeting his intense gaze.
"Is someone threatening you?"
I nodded.
"About your father's debt?"
I nodded again.
"How much?"
"Five million dollars."
Ethan didn't look shocked. He just nodded, as if calculating something.
"Who is it?"
"William Devonhill."
His expression changed, and for the first time, I saw something dangerous flash in Ethan's eyes.
Deadly.
"Devonhill."
He repeated the name.
"You know him?"
"I've heard of him. Gray industries. Casinos. Loan sharks. Some shadier businesses. Deep connections in political circles."
My heart sank.
"What does he want you to do?"
I remained silent.
"Annabel."
"He wants me to marry him."
Ethan stood abruptly, walked to the fountain's edge, his back to me.
His shoulders were rigid with tension.
After a long moment, he turned around.
"Remember what I said? We can help each other."
"Ethan..."
"I need a wife. One with background and education. Someone who can make traditional families accept me."
He walked back, crouched before me, his eyes level with mine.
"You need someone to help you escape Devonhill. Pay off your debts. Start a new life."
My heart began to race.
"What are you talking about?"
"A contract marriage. One year. I'll clear all your debts, provide living expenses. In exchange, you accompany me to social events, help me enter traditional business circles."
"After a year, we divorce amicably. You get a settlement—enough to fund your research in Germany and start fresh."
He spoke with such calm, as if discussing any ordinary business deal.
"This is a transaction?"
"Yes, but at least it's a fair deal. I won't force you. Won't monitor you. You'll have your own life."
"After a year, you'll be free, and I'll have what I need."
He extended his hand.
"Consider it?"
I looked at his hand—long fingers, clean nails.
Nothing like William's cold control.
It was... a choice.
"I need time."
"Of course. But how long did Devonhill give you?"
"Three days."
"Then you have two days to consider my proposal. Give me your answer on the third day."
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I knew who it was.
"Answer it."
Ethan said.
I picked up.
"Miss Williams, have you thought about it?"
William's voice.
"I... I need time..."
"Of course, you still have three days. But don't disappoint me. And don't try to escape. My people are watching you."
"By the way, I see you're with Pierce again. In Central Park. Very romantic. But don't forget—you belong to me."
The call ended.
My hand trembled.
"He's monitoring me. His people are nearby."
Ethan stood and scanned the area, but who in the crowd was William's spy?
"Come on. I'll take you home."
"No, he'll see—"
"Let him see. I want him to know that you don't belong to him."
Ethan took my hand—warm and strong.
We left the park, his car waiting at the curb.
*
The car stopped in front of my building, but I didn't get out.
"Ethan."
"Hmm?"
"Why me? There are so many well-connected women in this city. Why choose me?"
He was silent for a long moment.
"Because you didn't pretend on that balcony. You admitted you were an outsider too. In that moment, I knew you understood me."
"And."
He turned to look at me.
"You won't fall in love with me. That's the key to this arrangement's success. After a year, we can part ways cleanly."
He was right.
I wouldn't fall in love with him.
I no longer had a heart capable of loving anyone.
"I'll consider it."
"Good. Give me your answer in two days. My phone is on 24/7."
I opened the car door, preparing to get out.
My phone kept vibrating, the screen lighting up then darkening. Once. Twice. Three times.
Devonhill.
"Don't answer it."
Ethan said.
I declined the call, then turned off my phone.
"He'll be even angrier."
"Let him be angry. I'll handle it."
"You don't understand. He has power, connections—"
"Annabel."
Ethan took my hand.
"Trust me."
I looked into his eyes—deep brown, utterly serious.
I nodded and got out of the car.
*
I walked into the building lobby, and doorman Frank called out to me.
"Miss Williams, someone sent you flowers."
He pointed to the corner of the lobby.
A large bouquet of black roses.
My blood froze.
"When was it delivered?"
"Half an hour ago."
Half an hour ago, I was still at the park.
I walked over and read the card attached to the flowers.
"See you in three days, my fiancée. —W.D."
I tore up the card and rushed into the elevator.
My hands trembled so badly I couldn't even get the key into the lock.
"Need some help?"
I spun around in surprise. Ethan stood in the hallway.
"How did you—"
"I waited downstairs for a while. Saw something was wrong, so I followed you up."
He noticed the torn card in my hand.
"Did he threaten you again?"
I nodded, tears streaming down my face again.
Ethan took my key and opened the door for me.
"Go on in."
I stepped aside.
Ethan walked into my apartment—this place that would no longer be mine in twenty-five days.
He saw the Monet painting against the wall, legal documents scattered on the table, packed boxes.
And that debt agreement.
He walked over, picked it up and examined it.
Five million dollars.
My signature.
Guarantor.
His fingers lingered on the document before he looked up at me.
"Annabel."
"I know this is absurd, but this is my only option—"
"No."
He cut me off.
"You have another option."
He set down the document and walked over to me.
"Let my lawyer meet with you. Hear the specific terms. Review the agreement details."
"Tomorrow at ten in the morning, she'll bring a formal draft of the prenuptial agreement."
"If everything is as I said—fair, clear, and legally protected."
"Make your decision then."
He extended his hand.
"Would you be willing to meet with my lawyer?"
I looked at his hand.
Looked at the debt documents on the table.
Looked at the Monet painting on the wall.
Looked at this home I was about to lose.
I remembered William's cold eyes.
Remembered the black roses.
Remembered those four words: "my fiancée."
Then I looked at Ethan, his gaze sincere, waiting, without coercion.
This was a choice.
A real choice.
I took a deep breath.
"Let me meet your lawyer and hear the specific terms."
"If everything is as you say..."
"I'll consider it."
Ethan nodded, showing not disappointment but relief.
"That's a rational decision. Tomorrow at ten, my lawyer will come."
"After reviewing the agreement, you can make your final decision."
He extended his hand.
I hesitated for a second.
Then I took it.
"See you tomorrow, Annabel."
"See you tomorrow, Ethan."
He released my hand.
"Rest well. And don't let fear make decisions for you."
He walked toward the door, then looked back.
"Annabel."
"Yes?"
"From now on, you have choices."
The door closed.
I sat on the sofa, looking at my hand.
The hand he had just held.
Still warm.
Outside the window, night fell.
The city lights flickered on.
I hadn't made my final decision yet.
But at least,
I had hope.
