Amira spent the night staring at the ceiling of the lavish hotel room Jordan had arranged for her. Sleep was impossible.
Everything about this situation screamed wrong, yet walking away wasn't an option. Returning to her father meant facing a worse fate. At least with Jordan, she had a contract—rules, terms, and an eventual escape.
By morning, her decision was made.
When she stepped into Jordan's office again, he barely looked up from his paperwork. "I assume you've made up your mind."
She swallowed hard. "I'll do it."
Jordan finally lifted his gaze, studying her. "Good." He pushed a thick document across the desk. "Read it carefully before signing. It states everything—your responsibilities, my expectations, and what happens after our child is born."
Amira's hands trembled as she flipped through the pages. The contract was cold, clinical. It outlined her role, the payment she would receive, and the conditions of their arrangement. It even detailed what she was allowed to say in public and how she had to act around him.
Her chest tightened, but she picked up the pen.
"One more thing," Jordan said before she could sign. "If you try to break the contract before the child is born, you leave with nothing."
She met his gaze, searching for any hint of emotion. There was none.
With a deep breath, she signed her name.
Jordan took the document, glanced at it, and then stood. "Pack your things. We get married tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
It hit her then—this wasn't just a deal anymore. This was real.
And there was no turning back.