Freedom was expensive.
Cleora sat in the lobby of a mid-range hotel. Her credit cards had been declined an hour ago. Beatrice had unlocked the allowance, but Elena had used her existing power of attorney to file an emergency freeze, citing Cleora's "erratic behavior" and "financial incompetence." It was a tug-of-war, and Cleora was the rope.
She had fifty dollars in cash.
She walked to the law firm of Goldman & Associates. She needed to file for an emergency injunction against her father's estate to get her mother's money.
The receptionist looked at her pityingly. "I'm sorry, Miss Hart. The firm is undergoing a restructuring. We aren't taking new clients."
"I'm not a new client," Cleora said. "I'm a legacy client."
"The firm was acquired yesterday," the receptionist said. "By Pennington Holdings."
Cleora's stomach dropped.
The elevator doors pinged open. A phalanx of men in black suits walked out. In the center was a man wearing sunglasses, despite the indoor lighting. He moved with a limp that he tried to conceal, but Cleora saw it.
Clemente.
He stopped. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were still as dark as the ocean at night.
"The designer," he said.
"I need a lawyer," Cleora said, standing her ground.
"You need a miracle," Clemente corrected. He gestured to the conference room. "Inside."
Cleora followed him. The room was all glass and chrome. He sat at the head of the table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ruby ring. He spun it on the mahogany surface.
"You froze my accounts," Cleora realized. "It wasn't Elena. It was you."
"I leveraged your family's debt with their primary lender," Clemente said casually. "A single call suggesting a risk assessment of their internal power struggles was all it took to freeze your liquidity. You are effectively destitute, Cleora. You have enemies in your own home. You have a restraining order pending-yes, I know about that too."
"What do you want?"
"I need the voting rights attached to this ring," he said. "And the ones in your trust fund. My uncle is trying to push me out of my own company. The Hart family holds a swing block of Pennington shares from a merger in the 80s."
"So take the votes," she said.
"I can't. The trust stipulates the beneficiary must be married to exercise the rights."
He slid a folder across the table.
"I need a wife. You need protection, money, and a lawyer who isn't afraid of your grandmother."
Cleora opened the folder. It was a marriage contract. As she read the cold, transactional clauses, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She subtly placed a hand on her lower abdomen. In this timeline, her relationship with Trent had just ended. The nausea she'd felt on the cruise... it wasn't just a phantom echo of poison. It was real. She was pregnant. And this contract, this man, could either be a cage for her child or its ultimate protection.
"A merger," she said.
"An acquisition," he corrected.
Cleora picked up a pen. She looked at the terms. They were generous financially, but restrictive.
"I have conditions," she said.
Clemente raised an eyebrow. "You're in no position to negotiate."
"I want control of the Hart Group's design division when we crush them," she said. "And I want a prenup that guarantees not only my freedom after two years, but grants me sole, uncontested custody and financial oversight for any potential heirs, with no claim from the Pennington family."
Clemente leaned back. He winced slightly, his wound bothering him. Her demand was oddly specific, but in their world, planning for heirs was standard.
"Ambitious," he said. "Fine."
Cleora signed her name. The ink was dark and permanent.
Clemente stood up. He extended his hand.
"Welcome to Pennington Holdings, Mrs. Pennington."
He pulled her up. He didn't let go of her hand.
"Pack your things," he said. "You're moving into the penthouse tonight."
