Page 59 of Bid For Me

Still groggy, I glance at the clock. 8:15 AM. Too early for a casual visit, too late for an emergency – or so I hope. The knocking comes again, sharper this time, and I groan, dragging myself out of bed and shrugging on my robe.

“Coming!” I call, stifling a yawn as I shuffle toward the door.

I peer through the peephole and see a courier standing there, holding a sleek black envelope. My stomach sinks. This can’t be good.

Unlocking the door, I crack it open just enough to speak. “Yes?”

“Delivery for you,” he says, his tone brisk. He hands over the envelope before turning and walking away without another word.

Closing the door behind me, I clutch the envelope, my heart pounding. I already know who sent it. The embossed logo ofSterling-Knight Enterprises on the corner confirms it, but I don’t need the branding to tell me. This has Seb written all over it.

I carry it to the kitchen table, dropping it like it’s something dangerous. For a moment, I just stare at it, the morning sunlight streaming through the window and glinting off its glossy surface.

Finally, I rip it open, my pulse quickening as I pull out the contents. Inside, there’s a single sheet of folded paper resting atop a thick contract.

The note is written in Seb’s sharp, slanted handwriting:

Elle,

Sign this and bring it with you. I’ll pick you up at 6.

Seb

That’s it. No explanation, no apology, no elaboration. Just the kind of clipped, no-nonsense instruction I should expect from a business arrangement.

My jaw tightens as I set the note aside and open the contract.

The words blur together at first, my eyes scanning over page after page of dense legalese. My head starts to ache as I try to focus, but the gist of it is clear: this isn’t just a marriage. It’s a business deal.

The terms are laid out in excruciating detail – what’s expected of me, of him, of us as a ‘couple’. Appearances we’re required to make, the timeline of our public engagement and eventual separation, the carefully crafted narrative we’re supposed to present to the world.

It’s all here, spelled out in cold, unfeeling language.

I swallow hard, my chest tightening as I flip through the pages. There’s nothing romantic about this. Nothing that speaks to the connection I’ve felt with Seb in those rare, unguarded moments. There’s not even a hint of truth in it. Nothing about how he proposed in our fabricated ‘love’ story that even resembles reality.

This is all for show. All about his father, his inheritance, his empire.

Not us. Not me.

I should have known. Of course, I knew. But seeing it here in black and white feels like a knife twisting in my chest.

By the time I reach the signature page, my hands are trembling.

I grab a pen from the counter, hesitating as I stare at the blank line where my name is supposed to go.

If I sign this, I’m agreeing to play my part. To be the perfect fiancée, the perfect wife, to fool Seb’s father into believing this sham of a relationship is real. And worse, I’m agreeing to put my own feelings on a shelf. To bury whatever this thing between us might have been before it could even begin.

And in exchange, I’ll get fucked. Once.

There’s nothing in here about ‘For Me’ or us attending the club. Nothing about extramarital…experimentation. Just a year of beinghis.Without him ever really beingmine.

But what choice do I have?

I think about Seb’s father, the man I’ve heard about but never met. I think about Seb, who’s counting on me to pull this off. And I think about myself – the girl who promised she’d never let anyone control her life, yet somehow ended up here, pen in hand, about to sign away a piece of herself.

Because at least this will bemychoice, not my mother’s.

I press the pen to the paper, my signature flowing across the line with practiced precision.