Romance · 28 chapters · by Royendgel Silberie · in english
“Clause four,” Dominic Cole says, sliding the contract across the bar's cracked emerald marble. “Marriage. Ninety days. Or the board sells your…
Chapter 1: Clause Four
“Clause four,” Dominic Cole says, sliding the contract across the bar's cracked emerald marble. “Marriage. Ninety days. Or the board sells your grandmother's hotel out from under you.” You have hated this man for a year — six offers, six refusals. The thin white scar through his left eyebrow catches the chandelier light. He never raises his voice; that is the terrifying part. “Why would you marry me?” you ask. “Because I need it too.” He will not say why.
What happens next? I tear the contract in half. · I ask what he gets out of this. · I pour two whiskeys and start negotiating terms.
Chapter 2: Twelve Copies
You rip the pages down the middle. Dominic doesn't blink — he sets a second copy on the marble, already signed. “I brought twelve.” Your phone buzzes: Hargrove, your grandmother's lawyer, voice oiled and urgent. “Miss Ashford, before you do anything rash — there is a sealed letter. Eloise left it with the will. It opens only after a marriage certificate is filed. Her rules, not mine.” Across the bar, Dominic watches you like he already knew.
What happens next? I demand Hargrove read me the letter tonight. · I ask Dominic what he knows about the letter. · I pocket his contract and walk out to think.
Chapter 3: SELL
Morning. The Meridian's kitchen should smell of butter and yeast. Instead it reeks of gas. You lunge for the range — every burner valve stands open, pilot lights dead. Priya, your sous-chef, hauls the tall windows wide, coughing. “Lena, valves don't slip. Someone turned them.” On the pass sits a tourist postcard of the hotel, one word inked across its painted sky: SELL. Behind you, the service door clicks softly shut.
What happens next? I chase whoever is behind that door. · I photograph everything and call Dominic. · I say nothing and quietly pull the staff roster.
Chapter 4: Cologne and Brass
You shoulder through the service door into the linen corridor — empty, but cologne hangs in the air, expensive and familiar. On the floor: a brass key fob stamped 12. The boardroom level. Nobody on kitchen staff carries those. When you come back, Dominic is standing in your ruined kitchen, coat over his arm, reading the postcard without touching it. “Gas now. Worse later,” he says quietly. “My offer expires at midnight, Lena. Decide.”
What happens next? I pocket the fob and sign on my terms. · I demand he double the hotel's security first. · I sign, but I keep the fob my secret.
Chapter 5: Thirty-Five
You sign in Dominic's glass office — your amendments inked in the margins: the kitchen stays yours, nothing sold, separate rooms. He initials each without argument, which unsettles you more than a fight would. That night his mother, Vivienne, hosts the engagement dinner, all silver and frost. Over dessert she leans close, quiet as a knife between ribs. “You think my son wants you? Ask him what happens the day he turns thirty-five.”
What happens next? I ask him right there at the table. · I smile sweetly and file it away for later. · I excuse myself and set Priya digging tonight.
Chapter 6: Not Here
“What happens at thirty-five, Dominic?” The table goes glacial. His knuckles whiten on the stem of his glass — the only tell he owns. “Not here.” Vivienne dabs her mouth, satisfied as a fed cat. The drive home is silence you could cut. At dawn, fists hammer the lobby doors: three city health inspectors waving an anonymous complaint — rats, gas leaks, falsified logs. Priya whispers, “Lena, they can shut us down today.”
What happens next? I stall the inspectors while Priya scrubs the kitchen. · I call Dominic — time we fought as a team. · I film everything as proof of harassment.
Chapter 7: The Cream Envelope
The inspection is a setup — but Dominic arrives with the city file under his arm and dismantles the complaint in nine minutes, voice never once rising. Afterward, alone in the lobby, Vivienne finds you. A cream envelope, your name in fountain pen. Inside: a cashier's check for five hundred thousand dollars. “Annul it. Vanish. Bake somewhere warm.” Her eyes are his eyes, minus the warmth you're no longer sure you imagined.
What happens next? I tear her check in half, slowly. · I keep the check — leverage cuts both ways. · I show Dominic his mother's check tonight.
Chapter 8: Not For Sale
You tear the check twice and let the pieces drift into her lap. “The Meridian isn't for sale. Neither am I.” Something flickers in Vivienne's eyes — recalculation. That night you find Dominic on the rooftop with a bottle and an old photograph: the Meridian ballroom, 1974 — your grandmother Eloise laughing in the arms of a man with Dominic's exact scar-split brow. “Arthur Cole. My grandfather,” he says. “They were engaged. Once.”
What happens next? I ask who broke the engagement, and why. · I ask about his scar instead. · I say nothing and watch the city with him.
Chapter 9: Between Floors
The blackout hits at 2 a.m. You and Dominic take the service elevator toward the breaker room — and it slams to a halt between floors. The override is locked out from above. His shoulder against yours in the dark; his breathing even, yours not. “Lena.” Quiet as always. You turn toward his voice. The kiss almost happens — then the cables shriek, the car drops a full foot, and somewhere above, footsteps walk away.
What happens next? I climb through the hatch and get us out. · I grip his hand and keep us both calm. · I shout upward that I know their name.
Chapter 10: Room 40
Three mornings later: City Hall, Room 40. Priya holds your flowers; Hargrove holds the sealed letter, ready for filing. Dominic's vows are two words; yours shake anyway. The clerk slides the license across; your pen touches paper. Then the doors bang open. A woman in a red coat, beautiful and breathless, mascara ruined. “Stop. You can't sign that.” She looks straight at you, not him. “Dominic Cole is already married — to me.”
What happens next? I step between them and demand proof. · I drop the pen and walk out. · I watch Dominic's face — his eyes will tell me.
