The morning sun cast soft rays through the suite's expansive windows. Elena sat curled on the couch, her eyes fixed blankly on the untouched breakfast tray Alexander had asked his assistant to bring. Her mind was elsewhere—still stuck on the memory of her father's blood, the dull thud of him hitting the floor, and the brutal sound of those men's laughter as they dragged her away.
She hadn't spoken much since after their confrontation. Not to Alexander. Not to anyone. She had cried when she was alone in the bathroom, but when she stepped back out, her face had returned to stone.
Alexander had stayed in the suite, his presence quiet yet commanding. He hadn't asked questions, hadn't offered apologies or reassurances. He simply made calls, sent emails, and controlled everything from his laptop as if her presence didn't alter his world in the slightest.
Then the call came.
Alexander answered it on speaker, his tone clipped. "Yes?"
Jared's voice filtered through. "He's at the hospital. Safe. Stabilized. The clinic handed him over quietly, no attention. He's asleep, but the doctors said his condition is good."
Alexander looked up at Elena. She stood instantly.
"We're going," he told her.
She didn't argue.
—
The ride to the private hospital was silent. Elena sat stiffly beside Alexander in the back of the sleek black car, her fingers locked tightly around the hem of her sweater. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She had imagined a dozen worst-case scenarios, and while her father being alive was a relief, she wouldn't believe it fully until she saw him with her own eyes.
They were escorted discreetly through a side entrance. A nurse led them down a quiet corridor and into a private room. The space was clean and simple, painted in soft whites and muted grays. The curtains were drawn back, letting warm light fall over the bed.
And there he was.
Her father.
He lay still, his head wrapped in gauze, his face pale but peaceful. A steady beep from the monitor next to him was the only sound in the room.
Elena rushed to his side, tears welling in her eyes.
"Dad…" she whispered, her voice breaking as she sank into the chair beside his bed.
Her hand reached out, trembling, and brushed gently through his graying hair. It was coarse and slightly matted, but it was familiar. Real. He was alive.
She buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing quietly.
Alexander stood silently in the background, watching her. After a few moments, he turned to the nurse. "Send the doctor in."
A few minutes later, a man in a white coat stepped in, flipping through a tablet. He approached Elena quietly, clearing his throat.
"He's going to be okay," the doctor said. "The wound was deep, but clean. We've patched it up. He's resting now. The full-body checkup is still ongoing. Once we have all the results, we'll let you know if there are any lingering issues."
Elena wiped her tears and nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."
"I'll give you some time," he said with a small smile and stepped out.
When she turned to look back at her father, Alexander was already gone.
She didn't realize how long she sat there—watching his chest rise and fall, stroking his hair like she used to when she was little, when he would fall asleep on the couch after long shifts and she'd sneak out of bed to be close to him.
Eventually, her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since the night before.
"I'll be right back, Dad," she whispered and kissed his hand gently. She slipped out of the room and made her way down to the hospital cafeteria.
The halls were quiet, the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. She picked up a small fruit basket, two sandwiches, a bottle of water, and juice. Something light, easy. Her mind was still sluggish with emotion, but her instincts had kicked in—be ready in case he wakes up hungry.
When she returned to the room, she opened the door with her elbow, balancing the food in her arms.
And then she saw it.
There, placed neatly on the chair she had just been sitting in, was a familiar brown folder, her phone and bag.
Her stomach turned.
No.
Slowly, she walked over and set the food on the table. Her hands reached for the file, her fingers brushing over the embossed gold initials: A.K. Corp.
The contract.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She opened the file.
Her name, Elena Moretti, printed in bold black letters, along with the title: Marriage Contract Agreement – Confidential.
Her eyes flew over the first few lines, her heart thudding faster with each word.
The undersigned hereby agrees to enter a legally binding marital union with Alexander Knight, for a term of one year, with stipulations outlined as follows: the restoration of Carter Industries, and non-disclosure of this arrangement...
The same document he'd handed her at his office.
But why was it here? Why now?
Her fingers clenched the pages.
Had he brought it here, quietly, without saying a word? Did he think her father's suffering would push her to sign? Was this some twisted form of leverage?
The door opened again.
Alexander walked in, cool and composed, his coat draped over his arm. He glanced at the contract in her hands, then at her expression.
"You left it here on purpose," she said, her voice low.
"I did," he replied without hesitation.
"No shame at all," she snapped, rising to her feet. "You really think I'll sign this just because I'm desperate and my father's in a hospital bed?"
"I think you'll sign it because it's the smartest move you can make."
Her fingers trembled around the file. "This is low. Even for you."
Alexander stepped forward slowly, his gaze sharp. "What's low is letting your pride dictate your future. That contract is your solution, not your prison."
She glared at him, fury bubbling up. "You're using everything I love against me."
"No," he said, tone cool as steel. "I'm offering you protection, resources, and a chance to fix what your father lost. If you choose to see it as manipulation, that's on you."
"You destroyed us."
"And now I'm the one offering to rebuild what's left."
Her breathing was shallow, her emotions on the edge. "Why me?"
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned her face, studying her as if weighing the worth of every emotion she displayed.
Then finally, he said, "Because you're useful. And I don't believe in letting useful things waste away."
Her heart twisted at the bluntness of it.
"Is that what I am to you? Useful?"
Alexander's lips twitched, almost like a smile, but it was too cold to reach his eyes.
"For now."
She looked down at the contract again. The lines blurred as tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back.
If she signed it, her father would be safe. Their name would be restored. Her life—though manipulated—might finally stabilize.
But what would she lose?
Her pride?
Her soul?
She clutched the file to her chest and turned away from him, staring at her unconscious father.
"I'm not signing anything," she whispered. "Not yet."
Alexander nodded once and walked toward the door.
"I'll give you time," he said. "But not forever."
And then he was gone.