The Contract Scheme

I wake up with a start, and instantly as if the universe wants me unhappy, wants me to know that my life would soon be over, the same suffocating dread that had wrapped itself around me the night before comes crashing down on me again like a wave. I lay still for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling, hoping helplessly that I could shake it off. No such luck. Instead, I feel hollow.

I have a business meeting today. Another company looking to score a deal with us. Normally, I'd welcome this. Thrive on it, even. But this morning, with this gnawing hollowness in my chest? It feels like I'm dragging a dead weight.

Still, business is business. I'm going to do my best. I sigh heavily, rolling off the bed. I make my way to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is in disarray and there's dried drool on my cheek. A hot shower might melt this dread off my skin at least, I hope.

The bathroom is a sleek display of modern opulence marble floors, floor-length mirror, glass walk-in shower. I stand under the steaming water, letting it beat against my skin as if it could wash away my worries, warming me up to positive hope.

Once I step out, I choose my outfit with care. A custom-tailored cream pantsuit from Elie Saab, its fabric whisper-soft yet commanding in presence. The blazer cinches perfectly at my waist, paired with a matching tailored pencil skirt. A Cartier diamond necklace nestles elegantly against my collarbone, and pearl drop earrings added the right touch of understated class. I also chose a pair of Louboutin heels but decided I'd put on sandals first. I could put on my heels when I get to work.

Hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, lip stick with blush powder on, and I look gorgeous, even with the simplicity of my makeup. I look every inch the heiress and business mogul-in-the-making. The image is perfect. If only I felt half as strong as I looked. If only I were the heiress.

Breakfast's a quiet affair, a single croissant, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I don't trust my stomach for anything heavier.

By the time I step out to the driveway, my Bentley is waiting already, glistening under the morning sun. The keys dangling in my fingers. I open the driver's seat then pause. No. I'm not driving today. Not with the way I'm feeling.

"Jason," I called out.

Jason, one of our drivers ,a loyal, efficient man in his late thirties, appears almost instantly. He gives me a polite nod as I toss him the keys.

"You're up today."

"Of course, ma'am."

Sliding into the backseat, I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, letting the city's morning hum lull me into a state of distant observation as we drive past. People bustling, birds singing, walking children, honking cars, life happening all around me.

Then a sudden jolt.

My body lunges forward before the seatbelt yanks me back. My heart thuds.

I blink, straightening. "What the hell"

Jason mutters a curse, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of the car.

Confused, I peer through the windshield. Parked sideways right in front of us, a sleek black McLaren, dangerously angled as though its driver had just screeched into position.

A one-way street.

I shook my head with a sigh. Wonderful. Just wonderful. The exact kind of hassle I didn't need this dreadful, early morning.

Jason could handle this. That's what he was here for.

But as I leaned back, preparing to close my eyes, movement caught my attention.

Jason...is in the air.

My jaw drops.

I blink again. Am I hallucinating? Has Jason discovered a hidden talent for levitation? Is this some bizarre, stress-induced daydream?

No. it's not.

A man tall, broad-shouldered, practically radiating fury, had Jason by the collar, hoisting him off the ground. His other hand clenched into a fist, his eyes burning with a ferocity I'd never seen.

What in the hell?

I throw the door open and jump out, my sandals squeaking sharply on the pavement. A strange mix of anger and frustration flooded me.

"Hey! You put him down. At once."

The man didn't even flinch.

"Ma'am..." Jason croaked, dangling helplessly.

"I said, put him down," I repeat, my voice low and steely.

With a grunt, the man drops him and Jason stumbles backward, gasping, his hands clutching at his shirt.

I fold my arms, glaring. "What happened, Jason?"

Jason's voice shook.

"He appeared out of nowhere. He was driving against traffic, a one-way street. I saw him at the last second. If I hadn't hit the brakes, we'd all be in the hospital. And instead of apologizing... he decided to assault me."

"That's because you spoke to me disrespectfully," the man thundered, his voice booming.

Jason shook his head.

"I didn't! I only told him what he did was wrong." His words quivered.

I place a calming hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Go back in the car. I'll handle this."

He opens his mouth to protest, but I silence him with a look.

Jason turns, casting a wary glance at the man before retreating to the Bentley.

Now, it's just me and Mr. Anger Issues. Mr Anger Issues?. Where did that come from?.

He turns his gaze on me, folding his arms across his chest.

"What? Are you expecting an apology?"

I give a cool smile.

"Of course not. I know your type."

His brow quirks. "Oh really? And what type is that?"

I fold my arms too "The kind that thinks breaking the law and endangering lives is a casual pastime. And doesn't care who they hurt along the way."

He smirks, a slow, disdainful twist of his lips.

"I know it's illegal. I just don't care. About it..., about you or what you think. Nothing's going to happen. Now, if you'll excuse me, why don't you scurry off to whatever little errand it is you're running?"

I stare at him, eyes narrowed, pouring every ounce of fury into my glare. I could have sworn for a fraction of a second his stance shifted. But he quickly masked it with a raised brow.

"Run along now," he says with a mocking grin.

I exhale slowly, tamping down my temper. I could have caused a scene right here and now. But I'm sure people are watching, and I don't want to attract a bad tag, especially for the sake of the company

"Unbelievable." I spin around and march back to the car.

Jason didn't say a word as he drove and the city rolls by in a blur.

At the office, Courtney greets me with her usual bright smile.

"Good morning, Miss. Rachel."

"Good morning Courtney, how are you?"

"I'm fine thank you."

"What's my schedule today"

"You have a meeting with Arclight Corporation at 4:30 pm. Because of the distance, we'd have to leave by 3:30 maximum"

Arclight. One of the biggest players in the industry. Even bigger than us. Slightly. I nodded.

"Get the executive team ready. Make sure Desmond's on board."

"Yes, ma'am."

I immerse myself in back-to-back reports, calls, and project briefs. Anything to shake off the lingering encounter.

As soon as it's 3:30, I head to Arclight with Courtney, Desmond, and the rest of the team. Arclight's headquarters is a gleaming skyscraper all glass and steel, towering confidently over the city.

We were ushered inside by a polished receptionist.

"Mr. Westwood will be with you shortly," she says with a warm smile.

I smile back. For the first time today, I feel hopeful. This could actually be good for us. I'm going to push Dad's utter madness out of my head for this.

We were led into a stunning conference room, mahogany table, plush leather chairs, and a panoramic city view. I took the head seat, adjusting my blazer.

A soft knock.

The door opens...

And in walks Mr. Anger Issues himself.

My heart lurches.

Gone was the street brawler look. He now wore a sharp black tailored suit, dark hair styled with precision, confidence oozing from every pore.

"Good afternoon," he greets, scanning the room before his eyes land, unwavering, on me. "I'm Damian Westwood. CEO of Arclight."

I barely managed to keep my expression neutral.

Of course.

I force a professional smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Westwood."

His smirk deepens , like he knows exactly who I am.

"Likewise... Miss?"

"Hartley"

His eyes flicker, recognition flashing behind them.

"Right. Well, shall we begin?"

I nod, folding my hands together.

Oh, this is going to be so interesting.

I'm not sure whether I wanted to strangle him or laugh.

But one thing is certain.

This meeting is about to get very, very personal, interesting even. I'm going to make him so uncomfortable. Make him doubt himself. Pour out my despair into this meeting.

Okay Hartley Holdings, let's make a clown of Damian Westwood.