Author: [writers hub]
The words echoed in the vast, silent penthouse, each syllable a hammer blow against Zara's eardrums. You will become my wife. It was not a question. It was a command, delivered with the absolute authority of a man who dealt in lives and empires, not mere proposals. Her entire body froze, the last vestiges of strength draining from her legs. She couldn't breathe.
"Your... your wife?" she finally managed to choke out, the sound a pathetic squeak. The absurdity of it was breathtaking, terrifying. Her, Zara Jones, an independent designer struggling to keep her small studio afloat, married to Ragnar Botermet, the legendary CEO and whispered king of Korea's underworld? It was a nightmare, a cruel joke played by fate.
Ragnar watched her, his expression unreadable, a predatory glint in his dark eyes that belied his calm demeanor. "A contract of marriage, Miss Jones," he clarified, his voice still devoid of warmth. "A legally binding agreement that will resolve your... unfortunate predicament." He gestured vaguely at the shattered prototype on the floor, then at her trembling hands. "The alternative, I assure you, is far less palatable. Your family's studio would be liquidated, your reputation publicly shredded, and your family potentially facing charges of corporate espionage. A very public, very painful downfall."
The stark reality of his words hit her harder than any physical blow. He wasn't offering a choice; he was presenting an ultimatum, a gilded cage instead of a public execution. Her family. Her mother's frantic message replayed in her mind. Her younger sister, Hana, still in university, dreaming of her own future. She couldn't let them be ruined because of her. She closed her eyes, fighting back the fresh wave of tears. "And what... what would this 'contract' entail?"
"Simple," Ragnar continued, already moving towards a sleek, minimalist desk in the corner of the room. He activated a hidden panel, and a holographic screen shimmered to life, displaying complex legal documents. "You will live in my residence. You will fulfill the role of my wife in public appearances. You will remain silent about our true arrangement and my affairs. In return, your family's studio will be stabilized with a substantial investment—an advance against your 'dowry,' if you will—and all charges and public scrutiny against you will vanish."
Zara's head spun. A dowry? This wasn't a marriage; it was a transaction, a cold, calculated acquisition. "And... for how long?" she whispered, daring to hope for a temporary escape.
He turned, his gaze sharp enough to cut. "Until I decide otherwise. Or until you prove utterly useless." A chilling pause. "Or dead."
A gasp escaped her lips. The last word, delivered so casually, sent a fresh wave of terror through her. He wasn't just a ruthless CEO; he was the king of the underworld. Death was a very real currency in his world.
Before she could process the weight of his chilling statement, a soft chime echoed through the penthouse. A smartly dressed man with sharp eyes and an impeccably tailored suit entered, carrying a slender briefcase. This was Director Ahn, Ragnar's chief legal counsel, his face betraying no emotion. He nodded respectfully to Ragnar, then his gaze, briefly, swept over Zara, assessing her with a practiced, cold detachment.
"The documents are ready, Chairman," Director Ahn stated, his voice smooth and professional. He placed the briefcase on the desk, opening it to reveal a thick stack of papers. "The pre-nuptial agreement, the corporate investment clauses for Ms. Jones's studio, and the public statement to be released at dawn."
Dawn. It was already planned. She was already caught in his web, a spider's silken thread around her throat. Zara's eyes darted between Ragnar's unyielding face and the stack of papers that would seal her fate. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The desperate plea from her mother, the image of Hana's hopeful face... she had no choice. She was trapped.
"Sign it, Miss Jones," Ragnar commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, indicating his patience was wearing thin. He pushed a pen across the table. "Or face the consequences."
Zara felt a raw, defiant scream build in her throat, but it died before it could escape. She hated him. She hated the situation. But she would not be broken. Not yet. Her gaze met his, a flicker of something defiant shining in her tear-filled eyes. She would sign. But she would never, ever yield her spirit to him.
As her hand, still trembling, reached for the pen, a subtle vibration from Ragnar's coat pocket went unnoticed by Zara, but not by Ragnar. His lips, usually set in a hard line, tightened almost imperceptibly. Down in the bustling streets of Gangnam, a black sedan, subtly tinted, parked illegally across from Botermet Tower. Inside, a man with a cold, calculating smile, his phone pressed to his ear, murmured, "It's done. The pawn is in place. Phase one complete, Bondi."