The words echoed in the stunned silence between them. Marry me.
It wasn't a proposal. It was a sentence.
Evelyn’s first instinct was to laugh, a sharp, bitter sound. But she choked it down. Laughter was a luxury she couldn't afford. She stared at the man before her, the architect of her current hell, and saw not a suitor, but a master strategist. This wasn't about love or desire. It was about possession. Control. A punishment so exquisitely twisted it could only have come from a mind like his.
"You're insane," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.
"I'm a businessman," Alexander corrected her smoothly, leaning back in his seat. "This is a transaction. A merger, if you will. You are a valuable asset, Nyx. Your brand, your intellect… they are currently in distress. I am offering a bailout. My name, my protection, in exchange for yours."
"You mean in exchange for my freedom," she shot back, her voice regaining its steel.
"Details," he waved a dismissive hand. "Think of it, Hélène. Or should I say, Evelyn?"
Her blood ran cold. He hadn't just suspected. He knew. He had simply been waiting for the perfect moment to reveal his hand. The game was over. He had won.
No. Not yet.
She took a deep breath, her mind, her greatest weapon, kicking into overdrive. If he was going to cage her, she would negotiate the terms of her own imprisonment. She would find a way to turn his cage into her fortress.
"If I agree to this… farce," she began, her voice cold and precise, "there will be conditions."
Alexander’s eyes gleamed. He had been waiting for this. The fight. "I'm listening."
"First," she said, "This will be a contract, not a marriage. A business arrangement for a period of one year. After which, we part ways, no strings attached."
"Acceptable," he nodded.
"Second, my children will remain out of the public eye. Their lives are not part of this negotiation. They will live with me, but their privacy will be absolute. No press, no public events. You will not refer to yourself as their father. You will be Mr. Sterling."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. This was an unexpected move. "Go on."
"Third, you will put one billion dollars into a trust fund under my name, accessible only by me. Consider it… a non-compete clause. Insurance. A golden parachute for when this arrangement is terminated." She needed capital. A war chest for the battle to come.
For the first time, Alexander looked genuinely surprised, then impressed. She wasn't just negotiating for her freedom; she was negotiating for power. She wasn't a victim; she was a rival queen demanding tribute.
"Done," he said, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. This was far more interesting than he had imagined. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Evelyn said, her eyes like chips of ice. "The final condition. During this year, you will not touch me. This marriage will exist on paper and in public only. In private, we are strangers."
The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, hard look. He studied her, his gaze intense, searching. He was a man who always took what he wanted. To have her so close, to own her on paper, yet be denied the one thing he remembered with such infuriating clarity… it was a challenge she had thrown at his feet. A test of his control.
"Very well, Evelyn," he said, the name a deliberate, possessive brand on the air between them. "You have your terms."
The contract was drawn up by their lawyers within twenty-four hours. It was less a marriage license and more a corporate acquisition document, cold, precise, and binding. They signed it in his office, the silence broken only by the scratch of their pens.
As she signed 'Hélène Dubois' for the last time, she felt a profound sense of dread, but also a flicker of dark, defiant power. He thought he was caging a songbird. He had no idea he had just invited a serpent into his own nest.
He took the pen from her fingers, his touch lingering for a fraction of a second too long.
"Welcome to my world, Evelyn," he murmured, his voice a low, proprietary growl. "The locks have just been changed."