Melanie stood outside the towering glass building with her hands clenched into fists. Westwood corp. The letters gleamed under the sunlight like they were mocking her, mocking the girl who had lost everything in a week. Her engagement. Her family. Her dignity.
And now, here she was, coming to the man she barely knew... Leonard Westwood.
She had walked past it twice already, too nervous to go in. Everything about the building screamed wealth, power, and precision. She looked down at herself... jeans, plain blouse, and the only pair of slippers she had left that weren't ruined by heartbreak. She didn't belong here.
A group of sharply dressed people walked by, barely glancing at her, but she still felt their judgment like needles against her skin. What am I doing here? she thought bitterly. Just days ago, she'd been choosing flowers for a wedding that never happened.
But she also had nowhere else to go.
Melanie inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and marched through the automatic doors before her fear could drag her back.
The lobby was sleek, all marble and polished chrome, with suited employees moving like they were on invisible rails. She walked up to the front desk, trying to look like she wasn't falling apart inside.
"I'm here to see Mr. Westwood," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.
The receptionist looked up, her expression polite but curious. "Do you have an appointment?"
Melanie hesitated, then held out the card. "He gave me this... and said I could find him here."
There was a brief pause as the woman picked up the phone and spoke quietly into it. Melanie's heart pounded with each passing second. Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe...
"You can take the elevator to the top floor," the woman said, gesturing to the far end of the lobby. "He's expecting you."
Expecting her?
Melanie walked toward the elevator with weak knees and butterflies rioting in her stomach. As she stepped in, the mirrored doors closed, catching a glimpse of her reflection.
She barely recognized the tired eyes staring back at her. Pale. Shaky. Determined... maybe.
You're just talking. Just settling terms, she told herself.
By the time the doors closed and the numbers began to rise, she felt like she might throw up.
When the doors opened, she was met with a wall of glass and a breathtaking view of the city. And there he was, already standing, facing the large window behind his desk. He didn't turn.
"I knew you'd come."
His voice was cold, detached, yet calm... like he'd been expecting her all along. Melanie took a step in, unsure if her legs would carry her much farther.
"I'm not here because I agree with everything you said," she said quietly. "But I need a way out. I need... something."
He finally turned. His eyes landed on her like ice and fire at once, sharp, unreadable, but piercing.
"I'm offering you that. A new name. A new life. A clean break from the ones who destroyed you."
Melanie flinched slightly at the truth in his words.
"But there are rules," she said quickly. "This isn't going to be me playing house. I want my independence. I want to pursue my own career. I don't want to be your puppet."
Leonard didn't blink. "I'm not looking for a puppet, Melanie. I'm looking for a wife."
Her breath caught.
"I need someone who can stand beside me when needed. In return, I'll give you everything your name couldn't: protection, freedom, and power. But..." His gaze dropped to her hand. "You'll wear my ring. You'll live in my house. You'll be seen as my woman."
Melanie swallowed hard.
"And one more thing." He took a step forward, his voice suddenly more quiet, but no less firm. "We'll share the same room."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"That wasn't part of what you said before."
"It's now."
She frowned. "Why? This is a business arrangement."
Leonard's eyes didn't waver. "Because you're not some distant figure I pull out for events. You're my wife... contract or not. A wife doesn't sleep down the hall. Not mine."
Melanie's pulse pounded in her ears. Her mind raced... Was this part of his power play? Was he testing her? Her body stiffened, unsure whether to lash out or laugh. There was something disturbingly confident about him.
Melanie stared at him. She didn't know whether to slap him or walk out. But something stopped her. Not fear. Not desperation. Something deeper, something unsettling about the way he looked at her. Like he was testing her resolve.
"I want it in writing," she said finally.
"Done."
"I keep my last name."
"No."
She hesitated.
"Melanie Westwood has a ring to it," he said simply. "People will believe it more."
She hated how logical he sounded.
After a long silence, she straightened her back. "Two years. That's it. Then we walk away."
He nodded once."I know."
"And no real relationship. Just appearances."
He said nothing to that. Just walked over his desk, picked up a thick folder, and held it out to her.
"Sign it, and welcome to my hell," Mrs. Westwood.
Melanie stared at the papers, then at the man she'd known for less than forty-eight hours. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the pen. She hesitated for a heartbeat, just one. Then she scrawled her name, each letter carving away the last piece of her old life.
She signed.
And just like that... she welcomed herself to hell. His hell.