Chapter 5

Luke’s POV

Two sharp, demanding knocks rattled the heavy mahogany doors of my office suite.

"Enter," I called out, my baritone voice was cool and detached as I kept my eyes fixed on the multi-million-dollar acquisition files spread across my desk.

I didn't bother looking up; my time was far too expensive to waste on unexpected interruptions.

Then came the sound…. The crisp and deliberate click-clack of redbottomed designer heels struck the polished marble floor in a slow pitch.

Immediately the doors slammed shut, I slowly lifted my eyes. Standing in the center of my private office was none other than THE Shantelle González.

The media circus surrounding her dramatic, public fall from grace had been dominating every major tabloid across Spain for the last twelve hours. The disgraced heiress who was stripped of her position, whose fiancé left her for her stepsister.

Yet, here she stood. She wore a sharp, impeccably tailored black trousersuit that clung to every curve of her body, her shoulders remained neutral, her chin tilted high in pure, unadulterated defiance.

Yes she was on the Plus-Size but there was no trace of defeat in her posture. Only a cold, smoldering fire burning in her eyes.

A slow, deliberate smirk appeared on my lips as I tossed my fountain pen onto the desk, closed my laptop and leaned back into my leather chair.

"Well, well," I purred, my voice dripping with dark amusement and sarcasm. "If it isn't the disgraced heiress. Did you lose your way to my office, Miss González?"

“You've been here for less than five minutes, and you've already lied to my receptionist!.”

Shantelle didn't flinch. She took three long, calculated strides forward, the silk fabric of her blouse rustling softly with each step. Her chest rose and fell in controlled, rhythmic breaths.

She planted both palms flat against the dark wood of my desk, leaning over the surface until her deep brown eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that caught me off guard.

Her sleek black designer bag rested inches from my closed laptop.

"I didn't come here for your pity, Mr. Sanchez," she said, her voice dropping into a soft, dangerous tone.

"Then what are you doing in my building?"

"I came to offer you a deal…."

My smirk immediately disappeared under a surge of genuine curiosity. I folded my hands over my chest.

"I'm listening!..."

"One year," she said, raising a finger with deliberate precision.

My dark eyebrows pulled together. "One year of what?"

"Marriage."

A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the grand office.

For three seconds, I stared at her, wondering if the trauma of her father's betrayal had finally shattered her mind.

Then, a low, dark laugh escaped my throat, devoid of warmth, but loaded with ruthless sarcasm.

"You walked past my security guards and my executive secretary just to ask me to marry you, Shantelle?"

"Yes."

"And why on earth would I entertain such a ridiculous proposal?"

"Because you hate my father, Mr Sanchez," she replied instantly. My amusement vanished, replaced by an icy, razor-sharp focus.

I sat up straight, my eyes narrowing. "Be very careful where you step, Shantelle."

"I know about the Valencia seaport acquisition," she pushed on, leaning closer, her dark eyes flashing with so much knowledge.

"I know Sanchez Consortium has been trying to snatch the deep-water permits away from González Holdings for eighteen months. You have hit a brick wall because Rivera has the local councilor in his pocket."

My pulse hammered intensely. She wasn't just talking rashly, she was actually knowledgeable about her father's businesses.

"And?" I groaned, rising smoothly from my chair. I walked around the heavy mahogany desk, my fingers lightly trailing over the polished edge while my gaze remained locked onto her.

I stopped directly in front of her, leaning back against the front of the desk, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You're offering to betray your own blood?."

"They ceased to be my family the moment my father traded my worth for some garbage he had with his mistress," she spat, her tone carrying a terrifying coldness.

I immediately had deep respect for the woman standing before me. But I buried it deep under my practiced mask.

"And what is your price for playing a traitor?" I asked smoothly.

"My revenge."

I studied her face, taking in the absolute lack of hesitation in her expression.

"You want me to tear down your father's empire?”

"No," she corrected softly, a dark, wicked smile slowly spreading across her lips. A smile so stunning and lethal it looked almost unnatural on her soft cheeks.

"I want you to help me take back what is rightfully mine. And then... we burn his legacy to the ground together."

My gaze shifted down, leaving her eyes to sweep over her jawline. There, half-hidden under a thick layer of carefully applied foundation, was a faint, purple mark along the soft skin near her ear.

Concern clouded my mind before I could stop it. "Who did this to you?"

Shantelle swallowed hard, her throat working as her jaw tightened. "Rivera.."

A dark fury flared in the pit of my stomach.

Rivera González was always a useless bastard in the boardroom, but laying a hand on his own daughter crossed a line that turned my blood to ice.

Before I could process the unnecessary anger, I reached out my right hand and caught her chin, my long fingers gently tilting her face toward the natural light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I slowly examined the swelling, my thumb brushing the faint edge of the bruise with an unexpected tenderness of a feather.

Shantelle froze, her breath hitching softly in her throat as her dark eyes searched mine.

The contact lasted for only a second before I forced myself to pull back, dropping my hand to my side.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Shantelle," I warned, my voice dropping into a low whisper.

"I'm well aware."

"You're asking a man who has spent five years trying to destroy your father to put his name on your finger."

"I know."

"You'll live under my roof," I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until she had to tilt her head up to meet my gaze.

"You'll sleep in my estate. You'll be photographed at my side, attend my board meetings, and play the dutiful wife in front of every camera in Western Europe."

"I know."

I narrowed my eyes at her absolute lack of flinching. "And if you're a Trojan horse sent by Rivera? If you betray me?"

"Then you do to me what you do to every other enemy who crosses you," she replied without a single second of hesitation.

"You destroy me, Mr Sanchez."

A slow, genuine smile appeared on my lips. "Smart girl."

My father has always pressed me to get married and to have a grandchild. As an only child, he dreamt of me fathering up to 4 kids.

How ridiculous!. Well dad, you lucky bastard, you just got yourself a daughter in law…

I turned on my heel, walked back behind my desk, and unlocked the heavy bottom drawer.

I pulled out a sleek, thin black leather folder and tossed it across the desk. It landed with a heavy thud directly in front of her.

Shantelle picked it up, flipping it open. Her breath caught sharply in her throat.

Inside it were heaps of financial intelligence.

Swiss bank routing codes, shell company deeds, offshore asset transfers, and surveillance photographs detailing shady meetings in Madrid. Every single document bore Rivera González's forged corporate signature.

She looked up, her face pale with confusion. "Where did you get these?"

"I've been systematically tracking your father's private network for three years," I said calmly, leaning back against my chair.

She flipped to the final page, her eyes scanning a particular line. "What is this offshore account?. The volume of transfers doesn't match his corporate earnings."

"Your father has been hiding something dark under the surface of his textile business," I said, my voice dropping into a dark, solemn tone.

"Something far worse than corporate fraud. And that... is precisely what I need you to uncover from the inside."

Shantelle stared down at the documents, her sharp mind clearly connecting the dots. There were secrets buried deep in her family's past.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms against the cool mahogany chair, bringing our faces into alignment.

"You came into my office believing you were backing me into a corner with an offer," I murmured, sliding a single, heavy sheet of paper out from under my desk.

"You were wrong, Shantelle."

I pushed the document toward her.

Her eyes quickly scanned the bold, embossed header at the top of the page:

CONFIDENTIAL MARRIAGE AGREEMENT — TERM: DURATION OF ONE (1) YEAR.

Shantelle gasped softly, her head snapping up to look at me, her chest rising rapidly. "You... you already had this drafted?"

"I told you," I smirked, pushing a heavy, custom silver pen toward her hand. "I am always three steps ahead of everyone."

She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the pen without a moment's hesitation.

"Understand one thing before you mark that paper, Shantelle," I stopped her, my voice dropping into a harsh, possessive whisper that gave her no room for negotiation.

"Once you sign that document, you wear my ring. You become a Sanchez. And when the war gets bloody, you don't get to run back to safety."

Shantelle looked straight into my eyes, her hand steady as she uncapped the pen. "I stopped running the second I stepped out of those gates last night."

A dark, dangerous satisfaction bloomed inside my chest. She wasn't just bold; she was a storm waiting to be unleashed.

She pressed the nib of the pen to the parchment and signed her name with fluid, elegant strokes.

Shantelle González.

My eyes trailed over the fresh, wet ink on the contract. I reached out,

and pulled the signed parchment toward my side of the desk.

"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Sanchez," I purred, looking up into her dark, fierce eyes. "Our wedding is in three days.”