The coffee shop was quiet.
Amara sat by the window, with her fingers tracing lazy circles along the rim of her mug. Two days had passed since Elias. Two long, sleepless, strangely hollow days.
She havent seen him since he came to pick up his keys. She doesnt even care to know where he was anymore. He hurt her, and he still had the guts to act this way towards her.
She slowly touched her arm, where the scars from years ago rested. The ones Theresa and the other man gave to her u her his order.
And now, she was here, waiting.
She still didn't know why she'd said yes to this coffee. She had smiled whenever he asked, but that doesn't mean she was entitled to coming out.
Travis arrived right on time, like he promised. Not even a minute late, or a minute early. Just enough to make her wonder if he'd planned it that way.
He spotted her instantly, smiled faintly, and walked over. His movements were composed, and precise. He was a man who'd spent his entire life being watched, so he walked like it.
"Hope you didn't wait long," he said as he took the seat opposite her.
She tilted her head slightly. "You're exactly on time."
He smiled. "Then I suppose I did something right today."
"Barely."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll take barely."
A waitress appeared, smiling too brightly, and Travis ordered black coffee. No sugar. No milk. When the waitress turned to Amara, she just gestured toward her half-finished cup.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't warm either. It was… cautious.
Travis leaned back slightly, studying her as though he was trying to decide where to begin. His gaze wasn't intrusive, but focused. Clinical even. He stared at her the way people looked at things they'd already made up their minds about.
"I'm glad you came," he said finally.
She arched a brow. "You don't look like someone who gets stood up often. So, here I am."
His smile was brief, almost self-deprecating. "I don't ask people out often."
"I can see why," she said, dryly.
He chuckled under his breath. "You wound me."
"You'll live." She managed a smile.
Since that miss, she had been unconsciously cold to him. She doesn't even know why. She just wished the kiss never happened.
His coffee arrived. The waitress left. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Travis set his cup down, the faintest clink of porcelain on wood filling the space. "I wanted to talk to you about something… unconventional."
Amara blinked, her lips parting. "That sounds ominous."
He met her gaze evenly. "It's not, I promise. But I'll get straight to the point."
He paused just long enough for her to feel the weight of the moment before continuing. "I want you to marry me."
Amara froze.
The words hit the air like a crack in glass. Soft, but enough to shift the world slightly off balance.
She stared at him. "Excuse me?"
Travis didn't flinch. "I mean it. A marriage. Contractual. One year."
Her brows knit together, disbelief and offense colliding in her chest. "That's… supposed to be a joke?"
"I don't joke about things like this."
Amara's eyes narrowed, cold and sharp. "You're serious."
He nodded once. "Completely."
A slow, incredulous laugh escaped her lips. "You do realize how insane that sounds, right?"
"I do," he admitted, leaning forward slightly. "But I'm out of options."
She stared at him, her tone flat. "Out of options for what, exactly?"
Travis took a breath, his composure never slipping. "My family. They're… persistent. And by that, I mean relentless. I've avoided their matchmaking and proposals for years, but now it's affecting my inheritance. The board wants stability. The press wants a story. And my family—" He exhaled, his jaw tightening. "They want control."
Amara watched him in silence.
He went on, quieter now. "A year of marriage would fix that. A name on paper. Appearances handled. No emotional obligations. Just convenience."
"And you think I'd agree to that?" she said, her voice low, and dangerous.
His gaze didn't waver. "You're the only person I trust enough to ask."
"Trust?" she repeated, incredulous. "You barely know me."
He tilted his head. "Exactly. You don't come with baggage. You don't want anything from me. And most importantly, you don't play games."
Her eyes narrowed. "You've thought this through."
"For months."
Amara sat back, folding her arms. "So, let me get this straight. You want a pretend wife. A one-year arrangement. You get your inheritance. You walk away. And I… what? Just smile pretty and go along?"
Travis hesitated, then said calmly, "You'd get a publishing firm."
She blinked, once. Then again.
"A what?"
"A company," he said. "A fully functional, mid-sized publishing house. Yours to own. No strings attached. Think of it as… compensation for your time."
Her lips parted in something between disbelief and amusement. She stared at him like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or throw her coffee at him.
"A publishing firm," she repeated, her voice dry. "You make it sound like wearing a necklace."
He smiled faintly. "You underestimate yourself."
"No," she said, leaning in now. "I just don't make a habit of marrying strangers who hand out companies like party favors."
He met her glare, unwavering. "You wouldn't be doing it for me. You'd be doing it for yourself."
"For myself," she echoed. "And what exactly do you know about me?"
Travis didn't blink. "Enough to know you'd rather build something than owe anyone. Also enough to know that you're the best woman for this. Also, your family isn't under the spotlight,"
Her breath caught for a second—barely noticeable, but it was enough for his eyes to flicker with understanding.
She forced a small laugh. "You think you're clever, don't you?"
"I'm desperate," he said simply.
There it was. The honesty.
It hung between them.
For the first time, Amara looked at him differently. The crisp shirt. The perfect posture. The calm voice. All of it suddenly looked like armor.
And she couldn't help but wonder what kind of man hid behind something so carefully built.
She leaned back, studying him quietly. "And what if I say no?"
Travis's smile didn't falter. "Then I'll wish you a good afternoon and pretend I never asked."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Amara's eyes lingered on him for a long moment before she finally said, "You really are something, Mr. Alden."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he murmured.
"It wasn't."
He smiled anyway.
"Think about it," he said softly. "No pressure. I'll send you the terms. All written down. You can take your time."
Her jaw tightened. "And what makes you so sure I'll even read them?"
He met her gaze directly. "Because you're curious. And because somewhere inside, you know this could change everything."
Her chest tightened, the words sinking deeper than they should.
She forced a chuckle, shaking her head. "You're arrogant."
"Only when I'm right."
Amara rolled her eyes, stood, and reached for her bag. "You'll hear from me."
He rose too, smoothly, his expression unreadable. "I hope I do."