"I want you to get married—in an hour," Zachary said.
Celestelle blinked. Was he joking? Dreaming? Delirious? Or was she now beginning to hear things out of too many thoughts and imaginations.
But before she could voice her confusion, he continued, "I'll make sure you get everything you want—fame, power, money, influence, shelter—whatever it is, as long as money and position can make it happen. All you need to do is agree to get married in an hour."
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Was she being handed a gold medal without running the race? She peered at him closely, searching for even a trace of a smirk or mockery in his eyes. But no, he seemed dead serious.
Her heart skipped. Were the heavens finally smiling on her? Looks like they also wanted her to take revenge. She thought her head down, and her silk midnight hair came scattered on her cheeks,,, trying to hide her delighted smile.
She had been thinking all morning about getting discharged from the hospital. When that seemed impossible, she thought about going straight to the civil affairs bureau to try her luck. Maybe find a wealthy scion, though she knew that was not really possible, even if she hoped so desperately. And now, out of nowhere, everything had come right to her desk—just like that.
First she had been discharged without the help of a husband and now she didn't even have to stress herself about a husband and it had come right to her. Isn't it what they call fate being on one side.
Still, she had to steady herself.
What if he was lying? What if all that talk about power and name was a joke?
Fame wasn't something she craved. At least, not now. What she truly needed was power—to crush Celestela's enemies—and a name, to flush them out into the open.
Getting married had never been about love. It was all for Celestela. After revenge, she had no plans. No destination. She'd leave the country, build something for herself, and make a name on her own terms.
Closing her eyes to calm the racing thoughts, she finally asked, "Are you sure you can give me power and a name of my own?"
Zachary held her gaze for a beat before nodding. "Yes, I can. That is, if you agree to get married now and follow the conditions."
Celestelle's heart thumped. Conditions?
"What are the conditions?" she asked, her voice wary.
"This marriage will be purely contractual," Zachary said, his tone brisk. "You don't have to do anything. Just live on your own. Don't expect love, and don't fall in love. Don't act like a wife. Don't care whether your husband is home or not. If he is, don't go near him."
"In other words," he added, "you'll be like a tenant squatting with the owner of the house. Mind your own business, and you'll be granted anything you want. Just name it."
Celestelle exhaled slowly. Wasn't this perfect?
No expectations, no obligations. Strangers under one roof, with no emotional strings. Just the way she wanted it.
"I'll do it," she said without hesitation.
Zachary arched an eyebrow at her quick agreement. Her readiness confirmed what he'd already guessed—she was desperate. Lonely. Easy to seal a deal with. And that worked perfectly in his favor. She wouldn't disturb Lucien or try to act like a doting wife.
But before he could finalize it, Celestelle spoke up. "I have a condition too."
Zachary narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "I'm listening."
"This marriage will last only one year," she said clearly. "And you shouldn't expect anything from my body—whether you're drunk or sober."
Zachary looked at her for a long moment. He wasn't sure why Lucien had suddenly asked for a wife, or if it was meant to last. Knowing Lucien's character, he doubted it would. Probably a passing phase. If it ever turned into something more, the terms could be renegotiated. Nodding, he finally said, "Rest assured, I'll see to it."
Celestelle smiled, her expression soft with restrained excitement. This was it.
Zachary couldn't help but study her face for a moment. Was she really that happy to get married? What woman would be thrilled about a contract marriage like this? Or maybe that was her preference—as long as she gained the power she needed. Either way, it wasn't his business.
He dialed a number.
"Mr. Vale, I've found a wife for you. Do you want to meet her at the marriage office, or should I get her to sign first and bring it to you for your signature?" Zachary asked.
"Do the latter," came the curt reply. Then the line went dead.
Zachary cursed under his breath.
"Toni, adjust the contract and add the draft I just sent you. Check your phone. Bring it to me in ten minutes," Zachary snapped into the phone. A groan of complaint followed before a beep ended the call.
Settling back in his chair, Zachary glanced at Celestelle, who was calmly sipping a cup of warm water.
He found himself wondering again. Why did such a young girl—who clearly had potential and a future ahead—need power and a name so badly that she was willing to tie herself down through marriage?
But it wasn't his problem. Once the certificate was signed, their lives would go separate ways. If luck had its way, they might never even cross paths again.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Why warm water? Not coffee or soy milk?"
Celestelle blinked. Was she supposed to tell him that she didn't know what those things even tasted like? That these modern things were still foreign to her?
Instead, she smiled lightly, trying not to betray her confusion.
She looked straight at him, holding his gaze calmly.
Zachary stared back, drawn in. There was something in her eyes—too deep, too complex. He couldn't quite read her. Like a tangled web of emotions and shadows that dared him to try and unravel them.