Price Tag on a Promise
The next day, Skylar hailed a cab to the Civil Affairs Bureau, dragging her feet and not in any real hurry. Her phone buzzed again—William’s third call. She scoffed. He’d been blowing up her phone for the past hour, but she hadn’t spared him a second of attention.
“Desperate much?” she muttered under her breath.
She ignored the buzzing phone, leaned her head against the cool leather of the backrest, and closed her eyes, pretending the world didn’t exist. Peace lasted exactly five seconds before a message pinged in.
“Stood me up for more than an hour. Are you doing this on purpose? Don’t forget you signed a contract with me. Show some professionalism.”
Skylar rubbed her forehead like she was trying to knead away a headache. Her lips curled into a half-smirk, half-scoff as her fingers tapped out a reply.
“The contract was to get a marriage certificate and play a happy couple in front of your grandma, not to be your damn alarm clock. Extra demands need extra pay."
Tossing the phone aside, she closed her eyes again. But her mind drifted back to the ugly conversation she had with William the night before.
---
"Don’t you love money so much?" William’s voice had been laced with arrogance, like he was doing her a huge favor. . "I’ll pay you double your earnings. Just get the marriage certificate and pretend to be a good little wife in front of grandma."
The words echoed painfully in her mind. Skylar had stared at him, speechless, her heart cracking like thin glass.
"Am I such a money-minded person in your eyes?" she asked quietly, tears threatening to spill.
"Name your price," he shot back coldly, dragging her back from her painful thoughts.
That cold indifference replaced anger to hurt.
"Enough, William! Stop looking down on me. I'm not some toy for you to use and throw away," she said, her voice hoarse, her heart weighed with resentment.
"Don't play the saint with me. Didn’t you jump into the arms of the college's Richie Rich right after I rejected you? Spare me the act."
His words were like daggers. Skylar’s blood boiled. True, she had accepted another guy’s proposal after William’s brutal rejection at their engagement, but that guy had chased her for months. And within a week, she’d dumped him after finding out he was already in a relationship.
"Stop throwing mud on me when you don’t even know the damn truth!"
"What’s wrong? Did I hit a nerve?"
"Enough!" she’d snapped, eyes blazing. She had raised her hand, ready to slap the smugness off his face, but William caught her wrist mid-air, twisting it behind her back and he yanked her close until they were nose to nose.
"Sign a two-year marriage contract with me. Pretend to be the ideal granddaughter-in-law. I’ll pay you 300k a month. Win-win."
"Why me, though?” she spat.
“Because grandma’s got her eyes on you. And I don’t have time for auditions. Sign it or get lost.”
---
Her phone buzzed again, pulling her out of the memory. She glanced at the screen—50k credited to her account. A second message followed.
"Now be here in 5 minutes."
Skylar chuckled dryly. “Someone’s losing their mind,” she muttered, replying:
"With this amount, I’ll be there in 10."
She shot the reply and told the driver to stop a little before the Civil Affairs Bureau. With her shades on, she leaned back and watched the flustered William pacing like a caged tiger. Her phone buzzed again. Another 50k dropped in.
Her lips twitched into a mocking smirk. “Desperation looks good on you, William Scott,” she muttered, tapping her wristwatch.
'William,” she thought coldly, eyes locking with his, “after rejecting me at our engagement banquet like I was nothing… what made you so desperate to marry me now? Don’t think I don’t see through you. This isn’t about me—it’s about your damn ambitions. You want to use me to win your grandma over, to lock in that chairman position like a good little heir.”
She took two steps, and beautiful pink lips curled into an evil smirk.
“Well, since you were selfish enough to humiliate me back then, don’t expect mercy now. You’ll pay the price—every single day—for using me as a pawn in your game."
After exactly 5 minutes, she stepped out of the car, paid the driver, and strolled toward the bureau like she was walking a red carpet. William, already seething, checked his watch for the hundredth time.
“Why the hell are you so late? They’re about to close!” he barked the moment he saw her.
“There’s still five minutes left,” Skylar said coolly, casting a glance at her watch. “I’m working exactly according to the pay I received.”
William clenched his fists. He knew she was deliberately testing his patience, but there was no time to argue.
“Fine! Let’s just get this over with.” He barked, reaching out and seizing her by the arm before marching her inside.
Skylar, still wearing her nonchalant expression, moved at a glacial pace, every step deliberate—like a model on a runway. He let out a growl of frustration, tightened his grip, and pulled her forward with a rough tug.
Five minutes later, they walked out with the marriage certificate in hand.
Skylar looked down at the document. Once upon a time, I dreamed of this. Of having my name next to William’s on this exact piece of paper. I’d have given anything for it. I’d swallowed my pride and let my be humiliated again and again just for a sliver of that dream. And now, when all I want is to stay the hell away from him, fate slaps this on me. How cruel can life get?
“Give me your marriage certificate,” William said suddenly, his voice sharp and commanding, as if he had every right over her life now.
Skylar blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”
Her grip on the certificate was instinctively tightened as she took a small step back, clutching it behind her like a child hiding stolen candy.
“I need to send pictures to Grandma,” he replied curtly. He didn’t wait for her approval—of course he didn’t. In one swift move, he reached behind her, yanked the document from her hands before she could react.
“Huh? Oh...” she mumbled, stunned by the audacity.
Still flustered, she straightened herself, pushing her hair back and trying to mask her shock with indifference.
“What?” William asked with a crooked smirk. “Do you want money for this task too?”
“I charge only for my work,” Skylar snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’m not pathetic enough to cash in on someone else’s duties.”
William scoffed, snapped a few pictures with cold efficiency, and forwarded them off without even sparing her a glance. Then, as if the document held no more value than a takeout menu, he tossed it back toward her. It fluttered before she caught it, her lips curling in silent resentment.
“Pack your things. I’ll send someone to pick you up,” he said, already turning to leave like the matter was settled.
“For what?” she asked flatly, stuffing the certificate into her bag with zero interest.
“To move in with me. What else?” he said, looking at her as if she were the idiot in the conversation.
Skylar stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you out of your damn mind?” she snapped. “The contract was to fake a happy marriage in front of your grandma—not to play house with you 24/7!”
William exhaled sharply, clearly annoyed. “Do you think Grandma’s that easy to fool? A piece of paper won’t cut it. She’ll drop by—uninvited, of course. And that’s not all… she’ll have people keeping tabs on us. Every move we make will be watched.”
Skylar groaned dramatically, rubbing her temples. “God, this fake marriage and the entire Scott circus are more trouble than they’re worth.”
William’s tone turned cold. “You don’t have a choice, sweetheart. Either move in or…” He let the rest dangle in the air like a loaded gun.
Her eyes flared at the implied threat, and she clenched her fists. But in the chaos of her life, maybe this was the lesser evil. At least it gave her a break from the debt collectors who treated her phone like a punching bag.
She inhaled deeply and plastered on a slow, sarcastic smile. “Fine. Transfer 1 million as a move-in charge,” she said sweetly. “And send the address. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Sliding her sunglasses over her eyes, she turned with the grace of a queen who’d just outplayed a king, her heels clicking with power and defiance.
“Why tomorrow? Not tonight?” William called after her, clearly losing control of the narrative.
She glanced over her shoulder, one brow raised, lips curled in amusement. “Because, Mr. Scott,” she said, voice dripping with sass, “tonight, I’ve got plans of my own.”
And with that, she strutted away, leaving William staring after her, his jaw tight with frustration, and maybe… just a hint of curiosity.