[POV Ariel]
The moment I stepped into Conference Room Three, I knew something was wrong.
Sloane was already there, arms folded across his chest, jaw tight, like he’d been dragged into a war room with no armor.
Ellen from legal sat at the head of the table, her laptop open, glasses perched low on her nose, and that carefully neutral expression lawyers always wore when they were about to detonate lives.
I took the seat opposite him, keeping my distance. The tension between us from earlier still clung to the air like static. We hadn’t spoken since our fight in his office, and I had no intention of being the one to break the silence.
Ellen cleared her throat. “Thank you both for coming. This meeting concerns the conditions outlined in Richard Wayne’s will.”
That snapped my attention. I straightened in my chair. “I thought he left the company to Mr. Wayne.”
Sloane shot me a sideways glance, lips thinning. “So did I.”
Ellen turned her laptop so we could both see.
“Mr. Wayne made amendments to his estate planning six months ago. These changes were filed confidentially and were meant to be disclosed only after his passing.”
“Cut to the point,” Sloane said. “What did he do?”
Ellen took a slow breath, then dropped the bomb.
“In order for Mr. Wayne’s estate and controlling shares of Wayne Publishing to pass to Mr. Sloane Wayne, he must legally marry Ms. Ari Winters within sixty days of his death and remain married to her for a minimum duration of one year.”
The room went still.
I blinked.
“I’m sorry—what?” I said, my voice flat.
“There’s a clause,” Ellen continued, unfazed. “If the marriage does not occur within the given time frame, or if it is terminated before one year is completed, the estate and company shares will revert to a family trust. Ms. Winters will be granted executive authority over the company’s operations until Mr. Wayne either complies or permanently forfeits his claim.”
Sloane laughed. A short, cold sound. “You’re joking.”
“I assure you, I’m not.”
He turned to me, eyes dark. “Did you know about this?”
The question hit like a slap. “Of course not!”
“You expect me to believe that?” he snapped. “He takes in a mystery woman from nowhere, makes her his golden girl, and conveniently rewrites his will to hand her the company unless I marry her? That’s not suspicious to you?”
I stood up, hands shaking. “You think I planned this?”
“You were in his office every day. Whispering in his ear. Feeding him bullshit about what he should keep, what he should kill—”
“I was doing my job,” I snapped. “The job your father hired me to do. You think I manipulated him into—what, forcing you into marriage? That’s insane.”
He pushed his chair back and stood too, towering over the table. “It’s convenient.”
“And it’s offensive,” I shot back. “You’ve known me for five minutes, and you’re already convinced I’m some gold-digging plant? You arrogant—”
“Don’t act like the victim,” he growled. “You got exactly what you wanted. Power. Control. Daddy’s approval, packaged and signed.”
That hit something deep.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. “Don’t talk to me about needing a father’s approval. You walked away from yours. I spent my entire life begging mine to see me.”
His jaw clenched. “You didn’t have to bury your mother and fiancée on the same day.”
“No,” I said, my voice suddenly quieter, sharper. “But I know what it feels like to be used. To be told who to be, who to marry, what I’m worth—based on what I can give someone else. And now? I’m a clause. A condition.”
We stared at each other across the table, both breathing too hard, both vibrating with the same storm.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I said finally.
“Neither did I.”
The silence between us was deafening.
Ellen cleared her throat softly. “The will’s terms are legally binding. If either of you refuses, the trust activates automatically.”
I sank slowly back into my chair.
Sloane was still standing, still glaring, but I could see the flicker of something else beneath the fury—confusion. Grief. Fear, maybe.
He looked lost. And angry about it.
He turned to Ellen. “Can it be challenged?”
“You can contest it, but that process could take months—years. In the meantime, the company enters a holding pattern with Ms. Winters acting as interim CEO. Publicly, it will appear unstable.”
I saw the calculation hit him all at once.
He’d lose everything. The company. The control. The image. All because his father thought he could strong-arm a marriage from the grave.
“This is a joke,” he muttered. “A sick joke.”
I didn’t disagree. But when he looked at me again, all I saw was blame. As if I’d written the will myself.
The elevator ride back to the executive floor was silent. Thick. Suffocating.
When the doors opened, we both stepped out, walking in opposite directions.
I made it to my office and closed the door behind me, leaning back against it with my eyes shut.
Marry Sloane Wayne?
Impossible. Unthinkable. Infuriating. And yet—my entire body still buzzed from our argument.
From the way his voice had cracked when he talked about his mother. From the fire in his eyes when he looked at me like I was the only one left to fight with.