Page 10 of His By Contract
Next to the folder lay a cream-colored card, the paper thick and textured beneath Georgia’s fingers. The message blazed in perfect calligraphy:
Dinner. Eight o’clock. Be dressed accordingly.
A black box waited beside it, tied with a silk ribbon that slipped free at her touch. The dress inside whispered luxury, yards of midnight blue silk that would fall to her ankles, cut to emphasize submission rather than strength. She ran her fingers across the fabric, wondering how something so beautiful could feel so much like a cage.
Georgia’s throat tightened. Every stitch screamed Adrian’s influence, his need to remake her into something that belonged in his world. The dress wasn’t a gift; it was a collar, beautiful and binding. She could almost feel it tightening around her neck just looking at it.
Georgia shoved the midnight silk back into its box. She found her red dress in her duffel bag, the one she’d designed for herself last spring. The fabric hugged her curves without apology, its neckline dipping just low enough to make conservative society women clutch their pearls. Not submission. Defiance. The familiar texture felt like armor, a small piece of her real self she could still cling to.
She pulled it on, letting the familiar cotton blend embrace her like armor. The hem hit above her knees, and she paired itwith black heels that clicked against marble, announcing her presence before she entered a room. Each step toward the dining room felt like a small battle won, even as anxiety coiled in her stomach.
The dining room stretched before her, a cathedral to wealth and power. Dark wood paneling absorbed what little light filtered through towering windows. Crystal glasses caught and fractured the dim glow from recessed lighting, creating shadows that danced across a table long enough to seat twenty. The vastness made her feel impossibly small, yet she squared her shoulders against the sensation.
Adrian lounged at the head of the table, his casual pose a stark contrast to how his very being seemed to command the space around him. His eyes tracked her approach while his fingers traced the rim of a wineglass in slow, deliberate circles. The crisp lines of his black suit cut through the shadows like a blade, his dark hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. Georgia’s heart stuttered at the sight of him, not from attraction, she told herself firmly, but from the raw power he exuded without effort. His expression remained carefully neutral, though the slight tightening at the corners of his mouth suggested he’d noted her momentary hesitation.
Georgia’s heels echoed as she crossed the threshold. She felt his attention shift, cataloging every detail of her appearance. The red dress. Her bare legs. The lipstick that matched the fabric’s bold hue. His gaze felt like a physical touch, assessing and calculating. She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest.
A charged stillness settled between them, the kind that prickled against skin and dared one of them to speak. His gaze traveled slowly from her feet to her face, each second of silence building pressure in her chest. She forced herself to breathe, to keep herchin high despite the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on her shoulders. Her defiance felt fragile, but necessary, the last piece of herself she could protect.
Adrian didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched her with those eyes that gave nothing away. His silence filled the room like ice water, making each breath harder than the last. His stillness felt more dangerous than any immediate reaction, like a predator choosing the perfect moment to strike. She’d expected anger, perhaps even shouting, but this calm assessment terrified her more.
Georgia’s pulse thundered in her ears as she stood beneath his unrelenting stare. The red dress felt like a declaration of war now, one she wasn’t sure she could win. Doubt crept through her veins, but she refused to let it show on her face.
“Sit.” His voice cut through the silence, soft yet brooking no argument.
Georgia’s legs carried her to the chair he indicated, two seats down from his position. The distance felt deliberate, another form of control. She slid into the chair, trying to appear more composed than she felt as her heartbeat pounded in her throat.
“Page twelve, section four of your contract.” Adrian lifted his wineglass, taking a slow sip. “Can you recite it?”
“No.” The word came out barely above a whisper. A cold realization washed through her. She should have read every line of that contract, not just skimmed it in her desperate state.
“Then allow me to inform you.” Adrian set down his glass. “The contract explicitly states that failure to comply with appearance requirements will result in immediate correction. You were provided appropriate attire for this evening.”
Georgia’s fingers dug into her thighs beneath the table. The midnight blue dress laid waiting in its box upstairs, taunting her with every passing second. She could feel its weight pressing down on her conscience, a silent judgment of her pointless defiance. Regret mingled with stubborn pride. She couldn’t bring herself to apologize, even as her confidence wavered.
“Stand up.”
Her body obeyed before her mind could process the command. Adrian’s chair scraped against the floor as he rose, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. Each step toward her echoed like a countdown. Her muscles tensed with the instinct to flee, but she remained rooted to the spot.
He stopped inches away, so close she could smell his cologne, something expensive and sharp, like winter air. His hand caught her chin, lifting her face up with a touch that spoke of restrained power. The contact sent an unwelcome shock through her system, his fingers warm against her skin. His jaw was set, face a mask of controlled composure, but the slight narrowing of his gaze revealed his focus had sharpened, like a predator assessing its prey.
Georgia’s pulse raced beneath Adrian’s touch. His eyes searched her face, taking in every flicker of defiance she couldn’t quite hide. The silence between them vibrated with warning, like a wire drawn too tight. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t bear to show that weakness, even as her knees threatened to buckle.
Adrian’s fingers slipped from her chin as he moved away. His gaze remained fixed on her face, his expression a study in composure. Not a flicker of anger or surprise disturbed his features. The corners of his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, as if her defiance was merely an expectedinconvenience, something he’d calculated long before she’d even considered rebellion. That controlled dismissal cut deeper than any harsh words could have, leaving Georgia feeling like a wayward child who’d failed to even register as a proper threat.
“The contract you signed is quite specific about consequences.” Adrian’s voice carried through the dining room, smooth as silk wrapped around steel. “Page twelve, section four details the Domestic Discipline clause. Would you like me to refresh your memory?”
Georgia’s blood turned to ice. The contract. She had skimmed it in the hospital, desperate and distracted by thoughts of her mother. The words ‘discipline’ and ‘consequences’ had registered, but she’d dismissed them as standard legal jargon. Now those words took on terrifying new meaning as they echoed in her mind.
“I…” Her voice failed as realization dawned. She’d signed away more than her freedom. She’d given him the right to correct her behavior however he saw fit. Horror crept through her veins as the full implications settled in her mind.
Adrian’s calm demeanor suddenly felt suffocating. The room spun slightly as her stomach plummeted, the magnitude of her oversight crashing over her. She hadn’t just agreed to be his wife; she’d handed him complete control over every aspect of her life, including how she’d be punished for disobedience. The thought made her dizzy with panic.
The red dress that had felt like armor moments ago now clung to her skin like a target. Her throat closed up as Adrian stood there, patient and unruffled, waiting for her response. She searched desperately for words, for some way to negotiate, but found nothing.
Georgia’s heart slammed against her ribs as Adrian’s words sank in. Correction. The clinical term made her skin crawl. Images flashed through her mind of what that might entail, each possibility more humiliating than the last.
“No.” She backed away from him, her heels catching on the marble floor. “This isn’t what I agreed to.” Even as the words left her mouth, doubt crept in. Had she actually read those pages? Had she been so focused on saving her mother that she’d overlooked something so fundamental?
