Chapter 3 Marriage Proposal

The silence in the penthouse stretched, thick and suffocating, a stark contrast to the boisterous celebration that had preceded it mere moments before. Sebastian Thorne, accustomed to controlling every aspect of his life, felt a tremor of unease he couldn't quite explain. The diamond earring, a small, almost insignificant gift, lay on the polished ebony table, a silent accusation reflecting the city lights. It was a stark reminder of the casual cruelty of his wager, the breathtaking arrogance that had led him to bet Scarlett, his quiet, capable secretary, as if she were a mere trinket. He watched her leave, her back ramrod straight, her gait betraying none of the turmoil he knew must be raging within her. The declaration of war, whispered yet potent, echoed in his ears, a chilling prelude to the battle he knew was about to commence. The champagne, once a symbol of victory, now tasted like bitter ashes. His triumph felt hollow, the opulent surroundings suddenly suffocating, the gilded cage of his success beginning to feel like a prison. He needed to act, and fast. He couldn't let her walk away, not like this. The thought of losing Scarlett, not just as his secretary, but as the unseen force who had quietly orchestrated so much of his success, was a terrifying prospect. He had underestimated her, profoundly underestimated her strength, her resilience, her capacity for both fierce loyalty and devastating revenge. He'd mistaken her quiet competence for weakness, her calm demeanor for submission. He had won the bet, yes, but he'd lost something far more valuable. He had lost her respect, her trust, and potentially, her love. And that loss, he realized with a sickening certainty, was a loss that would take far more than money to repair. He had to find a way to mend the chasm he had created, to bridge the gulf between his impulsive arrogance and her quiet dignity. He had to make amends, not just for his actions, but for his callous disregard for her feelings. He strode across the room, his usual confident swagger replaced by a sense of frantic urgency. He reached her at the door, his hand instinctively reaching out to stop her, but hesitated, unsure of how she would react. He’d never seen her angry before, never witnessed the simmering fury that had finally erupted tonight. Her controlled rage was more terrifying than any outburst would have been. "Scarlett," he began, his voice rougher than he intended, his words catching in his throat. He saw her shoulders stiffen slightly, but she didn't turn. "Wait." She paused, her hand still on the door handle, but didn't look back. The silence hung heavy between them, filled only with the muted sounds of the city beyond. He could feel the intensity of her gaze, even without seeing it. He knew he had to tread carefully, to choose his words with precision, to acknowledge the depth of his transgression. He had to offer her something real, something beyond a hollow apology. He cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts. "I know I was wrong. Terribly, unforgivably wrong. The bet…it was stupid, reckless, and utterly insensitive. I never should have done it." He paused, searching for the right words, for a way to convey the remorse that gnawed at him. "I...I underestimated you, Scarlett. I underestimated everything about you. Your strength, your competence, your…your worth." He watched her closely, searching for some sign, some crack in her composure. The way she stood, so poised and composed, was both infuriating and mesmerizing. The very control she exhibited only served to underline the depth of her anger. He had to offer her something tangible, something that might bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap between them. Taking a deep breath, he continued, his voice low and sincere. "I propose a contract marriage." The words hung in the air, unexpected, audacious, even desperate. He saw a flicker of surprise in her profile, but still, she didn't turn. It was a gamble, a high-stakes wager even more audacious than the one he’d just lost. He knew it was a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, to buy back her trust, her respect, her potential love. But it was the only idea he could come up with in the face of the devastation he had wrought. "A contract," he continued, "that outlines specific terms, obligations, and expectations. A way for us to navigate this…this mess…in a way that respects your dignity and protects your future. I'll compensate you generously, and in return, you’ll be my wife, in name only, for a set period. It's not a real marriage, not in the traditional sense. But it would give you the security, the freedom, and the financial independence you deserve after...well, after what I've done." He watched her, his heart pounding, his throat tight with anticipation. He’d never felt such a mixture of hope and dread. This was his only shot. The words felt raw, clumsy, even insulting in retrospect, but the words were genuine. They were an attempt to atone for his past mistakes, to offer something real in the wake of such reckless behavior. This wasn't about winning back his bet; it was about winning back her trust, her respect, her heart. The silence stretched, a taut, agonizing thing, before she finally turned, her gaze cool and assessing, her expression unreadable. The city lights reflected in her wide, dark eyes, giving them an almost ethereal quality. He held his breath, waiting, the weight of his impulsive actions and the audacity of his proposition pressing down on him like a physical burden. The fate of his future, his empire, and his heart hung in the balance, dependent on her silent consideration. The war she had declared, the battle he was so unprepared to face, had just reached a new, precarious turning point. The contract marriage proposal was not a victory, but a plea for mercy, for a chance at redemption. And it remained to be seen whether his desperate gambit would be met with scorn or with a surprising acceptance. The silence, heavy with unspoken emotions, stretched on.