Chapter 6: "Don't Hurt Yourself"

Ilone's POV

Gideon glanced toward the door, then slowly lowered the hand he'd raised.

"Ilone, don't be naive. Do you really think the Voss family will stand up for you? Without the Thorne name behind you, you're nothing but a pawn — one that can be discarded at any time." He ran his eyes over me again, that same contemptuous sweep from head to toe, and let his gaze settle on my face.

"Especially someone like you. You've never belonged at this table."

I fought to hold myself still, forcing myself to meet his stare.

"Tomorrow, Ophelia will go with you to Vela City to see Kyle. Don't forget to bring the investment portfolio."

He turned and walked toward the door. Mara shot me one last withering look before clicking after him on her stilettos. I stood in the shadow of the doorframe and watched as Gideon reached the entrance — and just like that, the sneer was gone, replaced by the polished, easy smile of a man accustomed to success. He extended his hand toward Ethan, who had opened the door.

"Mr. Ethan, good to see you. Please let Kyle know everything is arranged — Ilone will be in Vela City tomorrow. We were a little concerned about her health, so we've decided to have her sister accompany her."

Ethan didn't take the offered hand. He simply stepped to the side with quiet courtesy and glanced over at me. In that brief moment, I felt a flush of something close to shame. Then I heard him say, "Mr. Voss asked me to make sure Ms. Thorne is well looked after. You have nothing to worry about."

Gideon withdrew his suspended hand without missing a beat, gave his jacket hem a light pat, and walked out as though nothing had happened. The sound of the engine faded, and the old house settled back into silence.

---

The next morning, I stepped out of the house to find Ophelia already in the garden.

The early light fell across her shoulders, and a soft breeze lifted her hair. Standing there, she looked exactly like the princess everyone had always imagined her to be — and I couldn't pretend otherwise. When she saw me, she smiled, warm and unhurried. "Good morning, sis. I booked us on the noon flight. Do you still need help packing anything?"

I looked at her and found I didn't know how to say no. In this house, she was one of the few people who had ever been genuinely kind to me. "Thank you," I said quietly. "I don't have anything left to pack."

She gave me a bright smile. "Then let's head out early."

---

Four hours later — Vela City. Voss Sterling Estate Headquarters.

Ethan led Ophelia and me through the main lobby, a vast open space with ceilings that soared more than thirty feet overhead. The black terrazzo floor reflected the abstract metal chandeliers above, and every employee moving through the space wore tailored suits and walked with the same brisk, contained energy.

Even so, Ophelia's looks drew every eye in the room, and the whispers followed close behind.

"Is that the new model who just blew up online? Her proportions are insane."

"They're taking the private executive elevator straight to the top. Has to be for the CEO."

"Well, there goes my last hope. But wait — who's the other one?"

"Standing next to her, she looks like a walking obstacle. How does she have the nerve?"

"Honestly, she really is kind of…"

The rest was swallowed by the elevator doors as they slid shut.

I dropped my gaze and breathed slowly, trying to ease the dense, stinging ache in my chest.

"Ms. Thorne." Ethan's voice was quiet. "Mr. Voss is already waiting for you."

The office door was open.

The first thing I saw was the view — an entire city laid out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. One full wall was lined with bookshelves holding finance texts, art pieces, and a few objects that looked like they'd been in the family for generations.

There was nothing here designed to show off wealth, and yet every single thing in this room reminded me that this man and I did not come from the same world.

When Kyle saw me walk in, he set down his Montblanc pen, rose from his chair, and came around the desk directly toward me — not sparing a glance at Ophelia, who had taken considerable care with her appearance. "How was the trip? You look better than you did yesterday."

I nodded and shifted my eyes away from the steadiness of his gaze.

Ophelia stepped forward, extending her hand with practiced grace. "Mr. Voss, it's been a while. Our parents were worried about my sister, so they asked me to come along."

Kyle didn't take her hand. He gave a polite nod. "Miss Ophelia. Thank you for accompanying Ilone."

Ophelia pressed her lips together, then lightly touched my elbow. "Ilone," she said, her voice gentle, "the documents Dad asked you to bring — they're in your bag, aren't they? Mr. Voss has a full schedule. Now would be a good time to hand them over."

I stood with my head down, both hands pressed tight against the sides of my bag.

Kyle looked at me. "Ilone?"

I still didn't move. Because I knew: the moment I handed over those documents, I was agreeing to my father's terms. I was letting my marriage become a transaction.

Kyle held my gaze for a few seconds. Then something shifted in his expression, and I could tell he understood.

"Miss Ophelia, you've had a long journey," he said. "Ethan, please arrange a car to take Miss Ophelia to the Peninsula Villa Hotel — the penthouse suite."

The smile on Ophelia's face faltered for just a moment before she recovered. "Kyle, I actually—"

"Ilone and I have a private matter to discuss. It wouldn't be appropriate to have anyone else present."

Ophelia bit her lip, then composed herself into the gracious smile of a well-bred young woman. She thanked Kyle, turned, and followed Ethan out of the room. The door closed. The office went quiet.

Kyle didn't ask why. He didn't press about the documents. He simply walked back to his desk, slipped off his tailored jacket, draped it over the back of his chair, and sat down. This man — so clearly at home in a world I had no part of — made it impossible to forget the distance between us. It wasn't just height. It was two entirely different lives.

I didn't want the Thornes using my name to entangle him. And I didn't want to wake up one day and find that I'd gotten used to leaning on his wealth and position.

I took a breath. "Kyle — if we're really going to get married, I think we should talk first."

He didn't smile at me like I was being cute, and he didn't look down at me from some position of authority. He just looked at me and said, quietly, "Okay."

I pulled my sketchbook and pen from my bag and tried to put myself in the same headspace I used when negotiating contracts with suppliers.

"First: the duration of the marriage." I wrote it down. One year.

Kyle raised his eyes slightly. "Why one year?"

I tightened my grip on the pen. "Long enough that your grandfather won't feel like we're treating his grandmother's dying wish as a joke. And short enough"— I paused —"not to take up too much of your real life."

The words were barely out before I realized what I'd actually said: You'll meet someone better. Don't waste your time on me. Kyle didn't answer right away. He just watched me, and the steadiness in his eyes made me uncomfortable.

"Keep going," he said.

I looked back down at the page.

"Second: financial independence. All assets owned before the marriage, and all personal income earned during it, remain the sole property of each individual. Third: no interference in each other's careers. My studio stays mine. You don't need to invest in it, and you don't need to send clients my way."

I snuck a glance at Kyle. He showed no sign of displeasure — he was simply listening. That steadied me.

"Fourth: the Thorne family may not use this marriage to seek any commercial benefit from the Voss family. If my father approaches you again—"

"Hold on. Let me revise that one." Kyle cut in.

"You disagree?"

He reached over and took the pen from my hand — naturally, as if we'd done this a hundred times before. He drew a line beneath what I'd written. "It's not just the Thorne family," he said, and wrote: Neither family, nor any other party, may use the marriage to coerce either party into any commercial arrangement.

His pen paused. "That includes my family. Neither side gets to use this to force the other into a deal."

I stared at what he'd written.

He held the pen back out to me. "An agreement should protect both people. Not just protect you from your family."

My fingers closed around the pen and felt the warmth still in it from his hand. My heart did something odd and unsteady. I dropped my gaze quickly.

"Thank you." It came out barely above a whisper.

The fifth clause was the hardest. My face was already getting warm.

"Also…" I stopped for a long moment.

"If it's uncomfortable, you don't have to say it," Kyle said.

"No." I shook my head. "It's part of the agreement."

I took a breath and wrote: Except when maintaining appearances in front of family or in public, neither party is obligated to fulfill the duties of a true marriage. My ears were burning by then, but I wasn't finished. I added, keeping my voice low: "Including physical intimacy."

I stared at the tip of the pen and absolutely did not look up.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. Then I heard a low, quiet laugh.

"Ms. Ilone." Kyle's voice had dropped a register. "Rest assured — I've always respected my partner's wishes in that regard."

My face went even hotter. "I — that's not what I meant, I just—"

"I know." He cut me off, his tone easy. "You're protecting yourself."

I went quiet, because he was right.

I wrote the next clause: If either party meets someone they have genuine feelings for during the year, either party may terminate the agreement early, without conditions.

Kyle didn't hesitate. "Agreed."

I held the pen. There was one more.

I sat with it for a long moment, then wrote it anyway.

Neither party may fall in love with the other.

Kyle looked at that line for a long time without speaking. When I finally couldn't stand it and looked up, I found him already watching me.

"You think that clause is necessary?"

My fingers tightened slightly around the pen. "Yes," I said. "It'll make things easier to end after a year. Because…" I paused. "We come from two different worlds."

Kyle was silent for so long I thought he wasn't going to respond. Then he reached over and took the pen, and added one final line at the bottom of the page.

I leaned in to read it.

Neither party may demean or humiliate the other.

I blinked. "That clause…" A small laugh escaped me. "Are we really going to fight badly enough to need that?"

Kyle looked at me. He didn't laugh.

He kept writing.

Including oneself.

My smile faded.

"Ilone," he said quietly. "No more calling yourself fat and ugly."

For a moment, I forgot to breathe — because this was the first time anyone had ever said it to me that plainly: stop hurting yourself.

Then the phone rang, cutting through the stillness of the office. Kyle picked it up. When he saw the name on the screen, something in his expression shifted — the first trace of resignation I'd seen from him.

"Grandfather."

The voice on the other end was strong and carrying, and even through the phone I could feel the force behind it. "Kyle. I hear Ilone is in Vela City?"

Kyle glanced at me. "Yes."

"Bring her back today."

"Grandfather—"

"If you don't bring Ilone home today," the old man said, with a cold edge, "don't bother coming back yourself."

Kyle pressed two fingers to his temple. "Understood. I'll bring her today." The line went dead the moment the old man had what he wanted.

I looked at Kyle. "Today? I'm not—" I wanted to say I wasn't ready. But Kyle was already on his feet, picking up his jacket.

"There's something we need to do first, before we head back."

I shook my head quickly. "I can wait here while you—"

"You have to come." He looked at me, and there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

"Why?"

He turned his attention to his cuffs, straightening them. "Because I can't do it alone."

"Do what?"

He looked at me. After a beat, he said it simply: "File the marriage registration."

My mind went completely blank.

Kyle watched me standing there, frozen, and the corner of his mouth curved just slightly. "Ilone — the first step of a marriage requires two people."