Signed. Sealed. Shackled

"Ahh, ouch… William, what the hell are you doing?" Skylar yelped, yanking her wrist free from his iron grip. Her back hit the cold wall with a thud as he closed the distance, eyes stormy with that calm-before-the-hurricane kind of rage.

“You really thought you could just waltz in and then ghost me again?” William’s voice was low, dangerous, each word laced with poison.

"I came here only because your grandma invited me," Skylar snapped back, brushing off her wrist. “No need to dig up the dead. That past is long buried.”

She attempted to sidestep him, but William slammed his palm next to her head, boxing her in.

"If you're already here, you might as well—"

"Don’t finish that sentence," Skylar cut him off, slapping her palm up, stopping him mid-sentence like a red signal light. “Whatever’s cooking in that overfed ego of yours, I want no part of it.”

Her voice held authority, the kind that echoed. “This is your grand palace, not a damn prison. You can't just throw your weight around and expect people to take it.”

She stepped back, adjusted her long silk gown with practiced grace, shot herself a quick glance in the ornate mirror—chin high, mask back on—then opened the bathroom door and walked out, leaving William behind, looking like someone just knocked the wind out of him.

The main hall of the grand Scott mansion was just as over-the-top as she remembered—dripping chandeliers, gilded furniture, and a suffocating air of judgment.

Skylar floated into the grand hall like she owned the place—a vision of calm, elegance, and defiance wrapped in silk. Her head was held high, spine straight, chin tilted with pride honed from years of living under a microscope.

“I’m sorry, Madam Scott. I took longer than expected,” she said softly, her voice smooth as velvet. She bowed respectfully to the elders, her eyes sweeping across the room with practiced grace.

The response was tepid at best.

William’s parents sat like marble statues, their disapproving expressions carved deep into their faces. His sisters were no better, looking at her like she was some stain they couldn’t scrub out of the family’s pristine reputation.

Only Madam Scott responded with warmth. Her smile stretched wide and genuine, eyes lighting up as if she were welcoming her own granddaughter home after a long absence.

“It’s alright, dear. A young lady of pedigree must never lose her poise,” Madam Scott said warmly, with a nod of approval. Her words were kind, but they carried weight—subtle, pointed, like a jab in silk gloves meant for the rest of the family.

“Huh. ‘Young lady of pedigree,’ she says...” Eva, William’s youngest sister, sneered. Her voice was soaked in sarcasm, and her eye roll could’ve drawn blood if looks could kill. “The whole city knows the Greens went belly up.”

The room tensed.

“Enough, Eva!” Madam Scott’s voice cracked through the air like a whip. Calm and grace be damned—her tone held authority that demanded silence. Even the chandelier above seemed to shiver.

Skylar’s fingers curled at her sides, nails digging into her palm. Here we go again, she thought grimly, swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat. Her heart twisted painfully, caught between humiliation and fury.

There was a time when the mention of the Green name commanded respect—when she was the apple of every elite eye, the envy of debutantes, the dream of eligible bachelors. But that world had crumbled like a sandcastle under the weight of scandal and debt.

Since then, she had become an easy target—no longer the belle of the ball but the subject of whispered mockery and cruel gossip. The vultures of high society had circled, and now, here they were, pecking at her pride like it was their birthright.

And fate, as if having a personal vendetta against her, had to throw him—William—back into the mix. The last person she wanted to see. The person who had already broken her once.

She had accepted Madam Scott’s invitation out of courtesy, not hope. She only wanted to offer gratitude, exchange pleasantries, and leave. Quickly, quietly, with dignity intact.

But clearly, the universe had other plans.

Because the peaceful, polite dinner she had imagined shattered like glass the moment Madam Scott set down her cutlery and said, in the gentlest tone possible:

“Skylar,” she began, folding her hands with a grace that belied the explosion about to come, “I would’ve spoken to your mother first, but given her condition, allow me to speak with you directly.”

The room leaned in, breath held.

“I would like to propose your marriage to William.”

It wasn’t just a statement—it was a thunderclap. One that silenced the room, stopped hearts, and made Skylar feel like the floor had just vanished beneath her.

Her spoon froze halfway to her lips. The color drained from her face.

No one moved. Not even William.

The bomb had dropped—and Skylar was the one it landed on.

The fork slipped from Skylar’s fingers with a soft clink against the porcelain. The air turned thick as molasses.

“I’m sorry, Madam Scott,” she said, rising to her feet. “There’s nothing between us. There never will be.”

William’s chair scraped back as he stood, fury dancing in his eyes. “How dare you reject me?” he hissed. “Do you even know who you're talking to?”

Unbothered, Skylar bowed respectfully to Madam Scott. “Thank you for the dinner. I have urgent matters to attend to.” And without another glance, she made her exit.

But she hadn’t taken five steps out into the yard before William stormed after her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around and pinning her against the wrought-iron gate.

“You think you’re too good for me now?” he growled, inches from her face. “I didn’t even want this marriage, but you are rejecting me? That’s rich.”

“Why not?” she shot back. “Have you forgotten those three years I ran after you like some lovesick fool? You toyed with me, rejected me like I was nothing. Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh, so this is payback?” he sneered, that smug smile curling at his lips like poison ivy.

She shoved him. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Yeah, like drowning in debt? Your mom's hospital bills? Your brother’s fees?” William’s voice dropped to a cruel whisper. “Marry me, and all your problems disappear. Simple.”

“In your dreams.”

“You wanted this once,” he said, yanking her closer. “You wanted to be Mrs. William Scott. You dreamt of this mansion, the parties, the status.”

“That was when I was a starry-eyed idiot,” she spat.

“Well then,” he said coldly, “let’s make a deal—contract marriage. No love, no strings. Just benefits.”

Skylar’s breath caught. Is this man for real?

“You’ve lost your damn mind,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m not signing anything.”

“Oh, you will,” William said, the voice dipped in the menace. “Because your family doesn’t have the luxury to say no. So go ahead—name your price.”

Skylar stared at him, heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She could feel the rage bubbling beneath her calm surface. How dare he? After everything he had done—every heartbreak, every moment she spent trying to mend herself—he now stood in front of her, acting like he was the one wronged.

He had cornered her again—literally and emotionally. The William she once knew, the man she had once loved with all her heart, was long gone. What stood before her now was a cold, arrogant heir who thought money could buy anything—even her.

Fine, she thought bitterly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the emotion from spilling over. If he wants to put a price on me, I’ll make sure he pays for every damn penny.

Her eyes, which moments ago had burned with fury, suddenly softened. She let her shoulders drop, exhaled slowly, and gave him a look that could melt ice. A mask—carefully crafted, years in the making—slid effortlessly over her real emotions.

“Alright,” she whispered, stepping closer, the scent of jasmine from her hair brushing his face. Her fingers rose, feather-light, and traced a line down his chest. “Let’s sign your contract.”

William’s lips curled into that signature smug smirk—the one that always made her want to slap the self-satisfaction out of him. He thought she was surrendering. He thought he had won.

But deep inside, Skylar's mind was already racing.

You want a contract marriage? Fine. Let's play this game. But just remember—I know how to play dirty, too. You broke me once, William Scott. Now it’s your turn.

She stepped back with the elegance of a queen, brushing invisible dust off her gown like she'd just handled something beneath her.

“Make sure your lawyers don’t miss a clause,” she said, voice like silk hiding steel. “I don’t do loopholes.”

William raised an eyebrow, amused by her sudden switch. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be set for life.”

She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. You have no idea, William. I’ll be more than just set—I’ll be untouchable. And you? You’ll be the fool who signed his own ruin with his own damn pen.

The night air was cool, but it couldn't extinguish the fire that had ignited in her heart.

Game on.