"Mr. Cole," Chantal said, offering a slight, elegant nod. "May I sit down?"
Dallas gestured to the empty leather seat across from him. "Please."
He watched with a mix of curiosity and sharp appraisal as Clara gently guided Chantal into the booth before stepping back to stand beside Reid. Dallas signaled the waiter to bring a fresh espresso, silently noting the way Chantal sat—spine perfectly straight, an aura of undeniable grace surrounding her.
"Quite a coincidence, running into you here," Dallas said, his deep voice vibrating with a hint of amusement.
Chantal offered a small, razor-sharp smile. "It’s no coincidence at all. I came here specifically to find you."
Dallas raised a dark eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. The predatory instinct in him flared to life. "To find me? What for? I’m currently in the middle of a rather tedious string of blind dates."
Chantal nodded earnestly, her striking features composed. "I know. That’s exactly why I’m here."
A heavy, charged silence fell over the table. The waiter arrived, placing the espresso in front of Chantal. She reached out, her slender, manicured fingers tracing the rim of the cup before she took a slow, deliberate sip. She seemed entirely unbothered by the intense, scrutinizing stare of the billionaire across from her.
Dallas knew her reputation. She was the reclusive heiress, a woman who lived quietly on her family’s sprawling estate, known for her brilliance in pharmacology and her gentle, demure nature. She was supposed to be marrying his flashy, useless cousin, Kayden, tomorrow.
"Did you and Kayden have a lovers' quarrel?" Dallas asked, a cynical smirk playing on his lips.
"No," Chantal replied, setting her cup down with a soft clink. "I simply walked in on him and Hayleigh Ratcliff having sex in a hotel suite."
Dallas’s smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of genuine surprise.
Chantal didn't miss a beat. She calmly recounted the twisted plan she had overheard—how Hayleigh intended to wear the veil and take her place at the altar, and how they planned to forge a marriage certificate to keep Chantal trapped as a blind, useful pawn for the family's medical connections.
"If they are so desperately in love, I am more than happy to step aside," Chantal said, her voice as cool as ice. "I have absolutely no intention of wasting the rest of my life on a cheating, manipulative coward."
Dallas stared at her, reassessing the woman sitting before him. "I was under the impression you were madly in love with my cousin. The tragic, devoted fiancée."
"I believe in loving myself before I love anyone else," Chantal countered smoothly. "I demand absolute loyalty and undivided attention in a partnership. If a man cannot provide that, I have no use for him."
Dallas let out a low, dark chuckle, leaning back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Well, Miss Beaumont-Carlisle, I hate to break it to you, but I can’t promise you a fairy-tale romance either."
It was a well-known fact in New York high society that Dallas Cole had a complicated past. There were rampant rumors of a wild, passionate affair years ago, resulting in a young son whom Dallas fiercely protected from the media. It was the main reason the elite mothers of Manhattan hesitated to marry their daughters off to him, despite his billions.
"I don't need your romance, Dallas," Chantal said, her voice dropping to a sultry, confident register. She turned her face directly toward him, her sightless eyes seeming to pierce right through his defenses. "You need a wife to satisfy your grandfather's ultimatum and keep your seat as CEO. I am intelligent, fiercely independent, wealthy in my own right, and I come with the backing of the Beaumont-Carlisle pharmaceutical empire. Whoever marries me gains a massive tactical advantage. I am offering that advantage to you. Do you want it?"
Dallas was genuinely stunned. This was not the quiet, fragile woman he had heard about. She was a shark, swimming right into his waters and offering a blood pact.
"Furthermore," Chantal continued, her tone completely matter-of-fact, "I don't care about your past, and I have absolutely no issue playing stepmother to your son. We can live our own lives, secure our respective empires, and be the ultimate power couple on paper. We are a perfect strategic match."
Dallas’s stormy gray eyes darkened with intense interest. He tapped his long fingers against the mahogany table, his mind racing through the brilliant, flawless logic of her proposal. She had clearly listened to his previous disastrous date and knew exactly what buttons to push.
"What are your terms?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate rumble.
"Financial backing for my new research labs, unrestricted access to your private intelligence network, and the absolute destruction of Kayden's reputation," she listed without hesitation.
"Easily done," Dallas agreed. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Chantal said, leaning in slightly, the faint, intoxicating scent of her Tom Ford perfume drifting across the table. "I don't do sexless marriages. I expect a fully functional, physical relationship. Are you capable of handling that, Dallas?"
The sheer audacity of her demand hit him like a physical blow. The air between them instantly crackled with raw, electric tension. Dallas stared at her bold, beautiful face, his blood suddenly running hot.
He let out a slow, deep breath. "I’ll have Reid set up a comprehensive medical and background check for you immediately."
