A suffocating silence descended upon the hospital room. The only sound was the rhythmic, mechanical beep of the heart monitor next to the bed.
Elsie's eyes darted between the damning evidence on the laptop screen and the cold, god-like perfection of Arthur's face.
She remembered the way Kelvin had looked at her with pure disgust. She remembered the sheer terror of being locked in that dark room, waiting to be sold to a monster.
If this man hadn't crashed through the gates, her life would already be over.
Elsie took a deep breath, her lungs expanding against her bruised ribs. She gripped the white hospital sheets so tightly her knuckles turned translucent. The fear in her eyes hardened into steel.
"I accept your terms, Mr. Michael," she said, her voice quiet but completely steady.
A flash of dark approval ignited in Arthur's eyes. He gave a single, curt nod and turned toward the door, snapping his fingers.
The door swung open instantly. Three men in immaculate, dark grey suits marched in, carrying thick leather briefcases. They moved with the synchronized precision of an execution squad.
The lead attorney pulled a massive, fifty-page document from his briefcase and offered it to Elsie with both hands.
"The prenuptial agreement, Miss Phillips."
Arthur sat back down in his chair. He casually adjusted the cuff of his shirt, his fingers brushing against his Patek Philippe watch. "Read it carefully. I have time."
Elsie opened the heavy folder. The legal jargon was brutal and absolute.
During the marriage, she was required to play the role of a devoted wife at all public functions. Their finances would remain entirely separate. In the event of a divorce, she waived all rights to the Michael family estate.
However, the addendum clearly stated that Arthur would inject five hundred million dollars into the Phillips Group and provide the legal team necessary to bury Fenton.
She flipped to the final page. Her eyes locked onto Clause 17.
The female party must fulfill the basic obligations of a spouse, including but not limited to cohabitation and necessary intimate contact.
The words blurred. A violent wave of nausea hit Elsie's stomach.
Instantly, the video flashed in her mind. The heavy weight of a man pinning her down. The feeling of being completely helpless.
Her face drained of all color. Her hand shook as she pointed at the paper. "What exactly does 'necessary intimate contact' mean?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Arthur's sharp eyes caught the sudden, visceral panic taking over her body. A microscopic frown pulled at his brow.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His face was inches from hers.
"It means," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in her chest, "everything a legal husband and wife do."
Elsie flinched. She physically recoiled, pressing her back hard against the pillows, her body screaming at her to run.
Arthur watched her shrink away from him. A flash of dark frustration-and something that looked dangerously like guilt-crossed his features.
He pulled back, his face returning to an emotionless mask.
"But I don't make a habit of forcing women," he added coldly. "I will give you time to adjust."
The tension in Elsie's chest snapped. The promise of time was the only lifeline she needed.
She knew she had no leverage. She picked up the heavy Montblanc pen the lawyer offered and pressed the nib to the paper. She signed her name on the dotted line.
Arthur watched her signature form. A dark, possessive gleam flared in his eyes. He took the pen from her and slashed his own aggressive signature next to hers.
The lawyers swiftly gathered the documents, stamped them with a notary seal, and bowed. "Congratulations, Mrs. Michael." They filed out of the room.
Arthur stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "You have four hours to rest."
He looked down at her, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "In four hours, my styling team will be here. At three o'clock, I will meet you at City Hall."
Elsie's breath hitched. "Today?"
Arthur walked to the door. He paused, looking back at her over his shoulder.
"The Michael family does not waste time," he said flatly. "Get used to it."
The door clicked shut. Elsie stared at the empty room, the reality of what she had just done sinking like a stone in her stomach. She had just sold her soul to the devil.
