Mr. Pembroke escorted Eloisa out of the grand living room and down a long, dark hallway. He opened a heavy mahogany door.
It was a study. The air inside smelled of old leather and expensive cigar smoke. The walls were lined with thousands of law books. It felt like a courtroom.
Hilbert and Eleonora were already inside. Standing next to a massive oak desk was a man in a sharp pinstripe suit. He held a thick stack of papers.
Eloisa stood near the door. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
"I am not marrying him," Eloisa said. Her voice shook, but she forced herself to look at Hilbert. "You cannot buy me."
Eleonora ignored her. She nodded at the man in the suit.
The lawyer stepped forward and placed the thick document on the desk. The cover page read: Prenuptial Agreement and Non-Disclosure Contract.
"Miss Williams," the lawyer said in a robotic, practiced tone. "This agreement is designed to protect the assets and interests of both you and the Wilkinson family."
Eloisa let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "My interests? My only interest is not being treated like a breeding mare for a political campaign."
Hilbert finally looked at her. A muscle ticked in his jaw. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of surprise crossed his gray eyes. He hadn't expected her to fight back.
Eleonora stepped forward. "Let us discuss the reality of your situation, Eloisa."
Eleonora picked up a thin manila folder from the desk. She opened it.
"Catherine Williams. Hotel maid. Eighteen dollars an hour," Eleonora read aloud. "Darren Williams. Former security guard. Unemployed due to a workplace injury. Worker's compensation claim denied."
Eloisa's breath caught in her throat. Her blood ran cold. They had investigated her family.
"Your parents are currently two hundred and eighty thousand dollars in debt on a mortgage they cannot afford," Eleonora continued, her voice merciless. "And you carry sixty thousand dollars in student loans."
Eloisa's lower lip began to tremble. She bit down on it hard. This was her family's deepest shame. The crushing weight of poverty that kept her parents awake every single night.
Eleonora closed the folder and tossed it onto the desk. "We can make all of that disappear."
The lawyer flipped the thick contract open to a page marked with a yellow sticky note. He pointed to a paragraph.
"Upon signing," the lawyer stated, "a personal trust fund of five million dollars will be established in your name. Upon the birth of the child, a fifty million dollar trust will be created for the infant, managed by the Wilkinson Family Foundation. As the child's mother, you will be a member of the beneficiary oversight committee and receive a substantial annual stipend for living expenses."
He flipped to the next page.
"Furthermore, the Wilkinson Foundation will immediately pay off your parents' mortgage in full. We will retain a top-tier legal team to sue your father's former employer for his unpaid compensation, and we will secure him a comfortable management position."
Every word the lawyer spoke was a bomb detonating in Eloisa's mind.
This wasn't a negotiation. It was a trap. They had found her exact weak point and driven a knife straight into it. She could walk away and protect her own pride. But if she did, she was condemning her parents to a lifetime of backbreaking labor and debt.
She looked at Hilbert. She searched his face for a single ounce of empathy.
Hilbert was staring out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked completely detached.
He turned his head and spoke to her. It was the first full sentence he had directed at her.
"This is a one-year public relations contract," Hilbert said. His voice was cold, precise, and entirely devoid of warmth. "After the election is over, and the child is born, we will file for a quiet divorce citing irreconcilable differences. You will walk away with your freedom, the money, and your family's security."
He spoke like a CEO explaining a corporate merger. He was buying a year of her life to save his poll numbers.
Eloisa stared at the contract. It was a transaction. A brutal, cold-blooded trade.
She slowly walked toward the desk. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely pick up the heavy gold pen the lawyer offered her.
She thought of her mother's cracked, bleeding hands from scrubbing floors. She thought of her father limping around their tiny apartment.
She took a sharp, painful breath. She flipped to the last page.
On the line above Eloisa Williams, she pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eleonora's lips curve into a satisfied smile.
The lawyer pulled the papers away and slid them into a leather briefcase.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Wilkinson," the lawyer said. "Now, please allow us to escort you both to City Hall."
