Arabella's heart raced in her chest. The room's air seemed chillier. A lock clicked within her; the burden of the choice she had just made fell upon her like a goods train.
She had no option, though. Going back was impossible for her.
The contract was signed, and her life changed for all time.
Arabella's fingers were still shaking, and a shiver ran through her just as she completed signing the last line. She had not anticipated the mansion's frigid, lifeless environment to be like this.
She had thought of something great, sure, but nothing like this. It was like she had entered a whole other planet where warmth didn't exist, and everything was planned, organized, and flawless.
Standing at the entrance, a bodyguard signalled for her to follow, his gaze fixed on her. Arabella stood, the silence so thick it was oppressive. In the faint light, she looked at Grant, still seated there, as still as a shadow.
He didn't have to follow her with his eyes. She was already in his universe now.
The home was massive, vast, and full of dark wood, glass, and frigid marble. Every chamber appeared to bear the weight of authority and money, yet there was no warmth in it. No house. Simply a vacant show of riches.
They came to a big ballroom scheduled for the engagement celebration. All neatly dressed, people were bustling about, yet it felt like a show, just a polished, sterile presentation.
Photographers clicked away, their cameras blazing like strobe lights cutting through the drab environment.
The guests' grins were far too beautiful, too rehearsed. Arabella was all too conscious of the gazes on her as she walked in.
Without warning, she was thrown into this universe. No preface. No time to get ready.
Stepping inside the room, her eyes met Vivienne's, a familiar face from the past. Though Vivienne's eyes were wide with surprise, the slightest glimmer of something more profound, perhaps worry, caused Arabella's stomach to turn.
Her heels tapping on the marble floor, the elderly woman gracefully sliced through the throng.
"Arabella," Vivienne said, her grin kind but tinged with an implicit caution. She leaned in closer, speaking in a voice low enough that only Arabella could hear. "Something is wrong. Take care."
Arabella blinked, not knowing what Vivienne meant. The woman's glance flicked over her shoulder, and Arabella sensed the slightest discomfort for a moment.
Vivienne vanished into the throng before she could say anything. Still with her heart racing, Arabella stood there as though the warning had not completely gotten to her.
The photographer's camera flashed again, the snap too quick and sharp.
Arabella felt it, the unexpected pressure in her chest tightening. Looking around the room, she spotted Grant near the grand staircase, conversing with someone under his usual calm, distant attitude. For a brief second, his eyes met hers, yet behind them lay something icy.
Suddenly conscious of how much out of place she felt, Arabella turned back to the throng, and the tension in the air changed. She was in his world now; no amount of gold or riches could make it seem like home.
Arabella had just acclimated to the frigid party environment when the door opened, and a piercing, frigid laugh echoed across the room. Startled, she looked up as a tall woman with platinum blonde hair that appeared to shine under the low lighting strode in.
Moving with a predatory grace, her eyes instantly fixed on Grant's across the distance.
Scarlett Caldwell, Grant's ex-girlfriend. The lady with whom he had history, a past Arabella had only heard whispers of.
Scarlett seems to upset everything.
The room's murmuring quieted; the air grew tense with unsaid knowledge. Scarlett approached Arabella with a smile on her lips that didn't reach her eyes, and Arabella's pulse raced.
Scarlett purred, her voice soft but sharp enough to make Arabella shudder,
"You must be the new addition. Grant's latest tiny endeavour. How charming."
Arabella stood her ground and tensed. Though she had no desire to play games, Scarlett's look, which was icy and analytical, made Arabella uncomfortable.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm not here to create problems," Scarlett answered, grinning more broadly. "Just making sure you know where you stand. You will never truly be his, you know. Not as I was."
Arabella tensed, her head spinning. The warning was obvious. Arabella felt queasy. Scarlett's remarks were like daggers directed directly at her. Her tone included more than simply envy; it was something more profound.
Perhaps a sense of ownership.
Scarlett looked away, her gaze fixed on Grant before Arabella could answer. The grin was gone; something more hazardous took its place.
Though Arabella's gaze followed Scarlett's as she approached him, it was obvious she had sown a seed of uncertainty, and Arabella could feel it flower inside her.
Arabella's heart raced like a drum pounding in her ears. The air around her felt heavy and oppressive, as if the walls of the ballroom were closing in, and yet, somehow, she was vividly aware of every moment, every breath.
Surrounded by a throng of photographers flashing like continuous lightning, Grant stood beside her, burning the picture of this time into eternity. It should have been a straightforward formality, another public kiss to finalize the agreement.
No affection. No feeling. Simply a transaction. At least, it was what the contract had guaranteed.
Grant's large form hovering over her as he approached closer made the space between them more charged. His strong jawline and the dark, nearly black eyes that danced with something unreadable sent a shiver of anxiety down her back.
Arabella could feel his presence like a magnetic pull, an unrelenting power that gripped her.
So quietly that she almost missed it above the room's din, he said, "You're going to be fine." The tone, however, was clear-cut. Authoritative.
Arabella looked at him, her lips tightly squeezed together. She was aware she wasn't good. This seemed wrong in every way. She had signed a contract, but this kiss was way more than only a contract condition.
The unexpected explosion of something too complicated for language made her feel it in her chest.
The photographer's voice cut across the room with strong, forceful directions. "Look at each other. Grin. Kiss."
Grant's fingers located the small side of her back and drew her towards him as the click of a camera boomed, deafening.
Then his lips touched hers.
Arabella stopped moving. It was quick, forceful, an overpowering force that set off something deep inside her; it wasn't soft or hesitant as a first kiss should be. The kiss was electrifying.
Her skin prickled, her whole body reacting to it, the world around her vanishing as her senses focused on him. Though his lips were firm and authoritative, something in the tension of his hold and how he held her told her this wasn't only a kiss. It was a declaration.
The room vanished. All Arabella could sense was the odd pull between them as the cameras snapped around them, their lenses focused on the ideal picture of the contract they had just sealed.
His body crushed against hers, his warmth seeping through her dress, the subtle aroma of his cologne, deep, woody, intense, mingling with the slight taste of champagne on his lips.
The moment seemed to stretch as if time had melted, and for just a fraction of a second, Arabella believed she could drown in it.
Grant then drew back exactly as fast as it started. The room flashed back into focus, the camera lights blinding her; the guest whispers rising like a tsunami. Arabella, however, was dizzy. The kiss was supposed to be for show, but the spark and connection were unmistakable.
Grant's dark, impenetrable gaze fixed on hers. His expression remained as chilly and distant as it had been when they first met. But in his gaze, there was something raw, something she could not exactly identify.
He slightly tilted his head as though the universe around them did not exist.
"Arabella, this is what you signed up for," his voice was low, silky smooth, yet tinged with something sharp that made her stomach clench.