Chapter 8 Told Sarah #3
Alexander: My driver will be at your door at 8:30. Don’t be late, little cat.
I stared at the screen.
Then I hurled the phone onto the bed and buried my face in my hands.
Tomorrow, I wasn’t walking into a meeting.
I was walking into negotiations with a man who never lost.
And I intended to be the first exception.
The next morning, Sarah was at my door at 7:00 AM sharp with a box of donuts and a look of grim determination. She didn’t ask how I slept; she could see the dark circles under my eyes that even the best concealer couldn’t hide.
“Okay,” she said, slamming the donuts down on my tiny kitchen table. “If you’re going to enter the Lion’s Den, we need to talk strategy.”
I slumped into a chair, staring at a glazed donut like it held the secrets to the universe. “Strategy? Sarah, I’m signing a contract to give a man an heir and then vanish into the night. What strategy is there besides ‘don’t cry in front of the shark’?”
“The physical side, Isabella,” she said, her tone shifting into something unnervingly serious. Clinical. Focused. It wasn’t her usual sarcasm , it was strategy. “The heir part.”
I looked away.
“You told me what happened in the café. You told me how your brain basically short-circuited the second he touched you. If you’re going to survive a year in a penthouse with that man, you need a plan for the bedroom. Because if you let him control your head every time he controls your body…
you’re going to lose more than just leverage.”
I groaned and tipped my head back against the wall. “I don’t even want to think about it. The thought of him… of me… it’s too much.”
“Too bad,” she said, though her eyes softened. “Men like Alexander Kingsley thrive on control. That’s their oxygen. If you want to keep your sanity, you have to take some of that power back. Even when he’s closer than arm’s length.”
She leaned across the table, humor gone now.
“So what’s your plan? How exactly are you planning on not getting pregnant?”
The question landed heavy.
“Think about it,” she continued. “Your only role in this twisted arrangement is to produce an heir. A man like him isn’t going to just trust you. He’ll have private doctors. Bloodwork. Exams. He’ll verify you’re not on birth control, not using anything long-term. He’ll be thorough.”
I stared down at the half-eaten donut in my hand. It suddenly felt like lead in my stomach.
“I know,” I muttered. “I’ve been running that scenario in my head all night.”
“You could try delaying,” she offered. “Say you need time to adjust. That you’re overwhelmed. But how long can you stall a man who literally bought your life? The second you hesitate, he’ll suspect something. And from what you told me about the café…
saying no isn’t exactly something your body handles well around him.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“I can’t refuse forever. It’s written into the contract. He won’t let it slide.”
Sarah went quiet for a second.
Then her eyes flickered with something dangerous.
“Okay. This is risky,” she said slowly. “And slightly insane. But it might work.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Emergency contraception.”
I blinked. “You mean , ”
“Yes.” She nodded firmly. “You keep it hidden. If things happen, you excuse yourself immediately after. Bathroom. Shower. Whatever excuse works. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t know.”
My pulse quickened.
“You can’t take it constantly,” she added quickly. “That’s not safe. But strategically? It buys time. And then you tell him you need to wait a few weeks before confirming anything. No intimacy until results. That gives you breathing room.”
I stared at her, my mind racing through logistics.
It was reckless.
It was desperate.
It might be the only leverage I had.
“But eventually nothing will happen,” I said. “He’ll notice. He’ll get suspicious.”
“Then you pivot,” she shot back. “Blame stress. Pressure. Timing. You don’t need to avoid pregnancy forever , just long enough for the twelve-month contract to run out. If there’s no baby, there’s no child to leave behind. And according to your ‘failed pregnancy’ clause,
you still walk away with compensation.”
I exhaled slowly.
“It’s a dangerous game.”
“Everything about this is dangerous,” she replied, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “But you’re not helpless, Isa. You’ve been surviving long before he showed up in a tailored suit. Don’t let the silver eyes and private jets make you forget that.”
A heavy knock sounded at my door.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“That’s the driver,” I said, standing on legs that felt steadier than I actually was. I smoothed my skirt, inhaled slowly, and forced my spine straight.
“Remember,” Sarah called out as I grabbed my bag. “Bathroom. Pill. Peace. You’ve got this.”
I walked out the door and toward the black SUV waiting at the curb. The tinted window rolled down just an inch, revealing nothing but the cool, dark interior and the scent of expensive leather.
I wasn’t just entering a lion’s den. I was entering a cage I had helped build, and I was carrying a pocketful of secrets I hoped would be enough to keep me whole.