Clementine traced the lines of her latest blueprint, ignoring the insistent buzzing of her phone. Another call from Mr. Abernathy, no doubt. The old man had been relentless since Grandfather's passing. Her studio, usually a sanctuary of quiet creation, felt invaded by the ghost of impending doom. She loved the firm, loved the legacy, but the strings attached to its inheritance felt like a gilded cage.
Finally, she picked up. "Abernathy. What fresh hell awaits?" Her voice, usually soft, held an edge of weary sarcasm.
"Miss Vance! The situation is dire. Sterling Innovations. They're circling like vultures. And the will… the will is quite explicit." His voice crackled with urgency.
Clementine sighed, running a hand through her unruly auburn curls. "The marriage clause. Yes, I'm aware. Utterly ridiculous."
"Not ridiculous, Miss Vance! Necessary! Rhys Sterling is a force. A titan. He's the only one who can save the firm. And he insists on meeting. Now."
"Insists, does he?" Clementine muttered, a spark of defiance igniting in her eyes. "Fine. Tell the 'titan' I'll be there. But he better bring his A game. I don't negotiate with corporate bullies."
The Sterling Innovations boardroom was everything Clementine despised: sterile, imposing, reeking of money and ambition. Rhys Sterling sat at the head of the polished obsidian table, a man carved from granite and tailored suits. His eyes, the color of a winter storm, assessed her with an unnerving intensity. No warmth. No pretense. Just a cold, calculating gaze that made her skin prickle.
"Miss Vance," he began, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that filled the room. "Let's not waste time. Your firm is failing. My company needs your grandfather's expertise for the City Spire project. The will dictates a merger. The merger dictates a marriage. A temporary arrangement. One year. No emotional entanglements. Strictly business. Do you understand?"
Clementine met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "I understand the terms, Mr. Sterling. I also understand that I'm not some commodity to be traded. My grandfather's legacy is more than just blueprints. It's art. It's passion. Something I doubt you comprehend."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Passion doesn't pay the bills, Miss Vance. And sentimentality won't save your firm from bankruptcy. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get the capital. I get the talent. We both get what we want."
"And what if I refuse?" Clementine challenged, leaning forward. "What if I walk away and let the firm crumble? What then, Mr. Sterling? Will your precious City Spire fall without my grandfather's 'talent'?"
Rhys's lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "Then you lose everything. And I find another architect. Perhaps one less… dramatic."
Clementine's temper flared. "Dramatic? I'm passionate! You wouldn't know passion if it hit you with a wrecking ball!"
"Perhaps not," he conceded, his gaze unwavering. "But I know profit. And efficiency. And right now, Miss Vance, you're neither."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken animosity. Clementine wanted to scream, to throw something, anything, to shatter his infuriating composure. But she couldn't. Her grandfather's firm. The faces of the loyal employees who depended on it. She took a deep, shaky breath. "Fine," she said, the word a bitter pill. "One year. Strictly business. And don't expect me to play the doting wife."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Rhys replied, his eyes still fixed on hers. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a city to build. And a wedding to plan."
The public announcement was a media frenzy. Clementine, dressed in a borrowed designer gown, stood beside Rhys, her hand tucked stiffly into the crook of his arm. Flashes popped like a thousand tiny explosions. Reporters shouted questions, their voices a cacophony of speculation. "Is it love, Mr. Sterling?" "A merger of hearts, Miss Vance?"
Rhys, ever the stoic, offered a practiced, almost imperceptible nod. "A strong partnership," he stated, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "We look forward to a successful future."
Clementine forced a smile, her jaw aching. "Indeed," she echoed, the word tasting like ash. She felt his arm tense beneath her touch. He was as uncomfortable as she was, perhaps even more so. A strange, fleeting thought crossed her mind: maybe he wasn't entirely made of stone after all.
The wedding was a blur of opulence and pretense. The vows, recited with practiced ease, felt like lines from a play. That night, in the sprawling penthouse, the silence was deafening. Kaelen stood by the floor to ceiling windows, looking out at the glittering city lights. Rhys was in the adjoining room, presumably working. Always working. She wondered if he ever stopped. If he ever just… existed.
She heard the soft click of a door. Rhys entered the living area, his tie loosened, his jacket off. He looked less like a CEO and more like a man, albeit a very tired one. He poured himself a drink, then gestured to the sprawling city below. "Quite a view," he said, his voice softer than she'd expected.
Clementine turned, surprised by his presence. "It is. Though I prefer the chaos of a blank canvas."
He took a sip of his drink. "Chaos can be… productive. In the right hands." He paused, then looked at her, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "This arrangement. It's not ideal for either of us. But it's necessary. For now."
"For now," Kaelen repeated, the words hanging in the air. The contract. A year. A lifetime. She didn't know which it would be. But as she looked at the formidable man across the room, a strange, unsettling thought took root.
Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be as simple as a business deal. Maybe, just maybe, the architect and the iron hand wer
e about to build something entirely unexpected.