Chapter 6 The rules
Jaxon Wentworth
The ticking of the sleek black clock on his office wall was unusually loud today—or maybe it was just the fact that Jaxon couldn’t focus.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze lost in the city skyline stretching beyond the glass. His morning meetings had dragged on longer than necessary, the board members insistent on discussing the expansion deal. Everything felt routine. Predictable. Cold.
Just how he liked it.
Until his phone buzzed again.
“Miss Montclair wants to meet.”
The message was short, direct—from his assistant.
Jaxon’s jaw clenched.
So, she finally decided to reach out.
He turned from the window, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. A crisp white tailored button-down framed his lean figure, the sleeves rolled just enough to hint at muscle and control. He wasn’t sure if he was irritated or intrigued.
He hadn’t expected Elena Montclair to want to talk. Not so soon, at least. And certainly not willingly.
“Schedule something,” he muttered, then paused. “No. Let her pick the place. I want to know how serious she is.”
“Yes, sir,” his assistant replied without hesitation.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Jaxon walked over to his desk and sank into the leather chair. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. The idea of marriage—of being tied to someone for political gain—had always been absurd to him. But it was a game of power. A game he could win, if played right.
Still, the Montclair girl stirred something in him—not interest, not affection. But challenge.
And challenge was something Jaxon Wentworth never turned down.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey and let the silence fill the room once more.
Whatever Elena Montclair had to say… he was ready.
But what she didn’t know was that he had his own terms—and not even her cold resolve would stand in his way.
Elena Montclair
She wasn’t sure if it was boldness or madness, but once the words left her mouth—“I want to meet him”—there was no turning back.
Elena sat in her car in the underground parking lot of MontLux Designs, gripping the steering wheel with more strength than necessary. The AC hummed gently, brushing over her skin, but her thoughts were burning hot. The morning had been long. Work had drained her, but not nearly as much as the mental weight of what she was about to do.
She had texted Brielle the moment the idea came to her.
“I want to meet him. One-on-one. Set things straight.”
Brielle hadn’t responded immediately, but when she did, it was exactly as expected.
“Girl, are you serious? What if he’s a total jerk again?”
Elena had smiled at her phone.
“I’m not going to him for friendship. I’m going for closure.”
She climbed out of her car and headed up to her apartment to prepare. As the door shut behind her, she kicked off her shoes and exhaled deeply. It felt like she’d been holding her breath since the dinner.
No more waiting.
No more pretending.
This was her life too—and if they were going to get married, even if just in name, he needed to know the rules.
She tossed her work tote aside and walked straight to her closet. No glam. No glitter. She didn’t want to impress him. She wanted him to listen.
Still, she picked something sharp—structured black trousers, a fitted olive blouse with a modest v-cut, and block heels. Her hair, she combed into a sleek ponytail. Natural makeup—just enough to show she meant business, but not enough to suggest she cared.
Standing in front of the mirror, she stared at her own reflection.
“You’re not doing this for love,” she whispered.
“You’re doing this for peace of mind.”
She grabbed her bag and phone. A new message had come in from an unknown number—likely his assistant.
"Mr. Wentworth has agreed. He said to choose the place and time."
Elena tapped her screen, breathing slowly.
She knew exactly where it should happen.
Somewhere public. Neutral. Familiar.
The Glass Garden Café—quiet, classy, and tucked into the edge of the city. They had privacy booths and the best green tea she could remember.
She typed back.
“The Glass Garden Café.4 PM.”
As she sent the message and slid the phone into her purse, she didn’t waver. But the butterflies in her stomach were undeniable.
Not from nervousness.
From the unknown.
She didn’t care if he was rich. She didn’t care if he was rude.
This meeting was her line in the sand.
\---
The Glass Garden Café was quiet and refined, its atmosphere wrapped in soft sunlight and the muted hum of conversation. Crystal light fixtures sparkled above, and the gentle sound of jazz floated through the air like a lullaby for tension.
Elena Montclair had been sitting for exactly five minutes when the bell over the café door chimed.
In walked Jaxon Wentworth.
She noticed the way heads turned as he passed—his presence was hard to ignore. He wore a dark tailored suit without a tie, the top button of his shirt undone, his hair slicked back but effortlessly tousled. He moved like a man who never had to wait for anything in his life.
Their eyes met for a brief second—no smile, no warmth—before he strode over and took the seat across from her.
“You’re punctual,” he said, leaning back, eyes scanning her.
“I said four. It’s four,” she replied coolly, not bothering with pleasantries.
A waitress approached but he waved her off. He didn’t want anything. Elena, on the other hand, gripped her teacup tighter than necessary, trying not to let the sight of him throw her off balance.
“So,” he said, folding his arms, “what did you want to talk about?”
She met his gaze squarely. “We both know why we’re here, Mr. Wentworth.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Please, call me Jaxon. We’re practically family now, aren’t we?”
“I’d rather not,” she said, voice crisp. “I came here to make something clear. This arrangement—whatever our parents are trying to build—is not a love story. And I refuse to pretend that it is.”
He smirked. “So no first dance? No sweet honeymoon memories?”
She didn’t even blink. “We keep it clean, professional, and temporary. One year. Just long enough for them to get whatever alliance they’re hoping for. After that, we separate quietly. No drama, no fuss.”
He leaned forward, intrigued. “You make it sound like a hostile merger.”
Elena didn’t flinch. “It is. Just with more expensive clothing and public appearances.”
He chuckled low under his breath, shaking his head. “You really don’t care, do you?”
“I care about my freedom,” she said. “And I care about having control over my life.”
“And here I thought you Montclairs were the romantic type.”
“We are. Just not with strangers.”
He sat up straighter now, looking at her with something that wasn’t quite amusement anymore—maybe respect, maybe curiosity.
“Alright,” he said. “One year. We play along. Then we’re done.”
“Glad we agree.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black envelope.
“I’ll have the paperwork sent to your assistant tomorrow. It’s simple. Terms, duration, discretion. Just sign it.”
Jaxon took the envelope without opening it. “Binding contract for a fake marriage. You’re thorough.”
“Just making sure we both walk away clean.”
He stood, slipping the envelope into his coat pocket. “You know, Montclair, you might actually be more ruthless than me.”
She looked up at him, calm and composed. “And yet I’m the one offering you an exit strategy.”
Jaxon gave a low chuckle. “Touché.”
As he turned to leave, the waitress finally approached with the check. Elena picked it up without a word. She watched Jaxon walk out of the café, his steps confident, but his face unreadable.
Only when the door closed behind him did she let out the breath she’d been holding.
Agreement made. No turning back now.
But as she looked down at the check and the untouched tea, something in her chest stirred—not nerves, not fear. Just a subtle awareness.
Of how easily everything could go off script.
\---
The penthouse was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the modern grandfather clock standing guard near the window. The skyline shimmered beyond the glass walls—an endless sea of lights, yet Jaxon Wentworth felt like he was on an island.
He loosened his tie and dropped it on the back of the sleek black couch. His jacket followed. His assistant had gone home hours ago, and the only company he kept now was the silence and the faint sound of classical music drifting from the surround speakers.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat at the glass dining table. Then he pulled out the black envelope Elena Montclair had given him.
Still untouched.
He stared at it for a long moment before finally breaking the seal.
Inside: a single-page contract—no fluff, no excess clauses. Just straightforward, bullet-pointed terms.
\---
Marriage Agreement Terms
Duration: 1 year from date of official marriage.
Purpose: Satisfy family arrangement.
Termination: Mutual agreement or at end of term.
Public: Appear together when necessary.
Private:
No physical intimacy.
No kissing.
No sleeping in the same room.
No pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.).
No unnecessary gifts or romantic gestures.
No meddling in each other’s personal or romantic interests.
Maintain boundaries and respect privacy.
After 1 year, we sign divorce papers and go our separate ways.
– E.M.
\---
Jaxon read through it twice, his expression unreadable.
“No pet names?” he muttered under his breath with a dry laugh. “She really means business.”
He leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink, eyes on the city. The burn of the whiskey couldn’t quite drown the tension curling behind his ribcage.
This was clearly not just about the alliance for her—this was her line in the sand.
He admired that. It made her unpredictable. Dangerous, even.
He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. There was no hesitation in him—he would sign. He needed this arrangement just as much, though for reasons he hadn’t shared with anyone. Not even his father.
As he lowered the pen to the page, his eyes caught her last line again.
We go our separate ways.
“Noted,” he murmured, and signed his name in his usual sharp, slanted script:
Jaxon A. Wentworth.
But as he looked down at his signature, bold and final on the paper, a small, amused smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.
“You’ve set the rules, Montclair,” he said quietly. “Let’s see how long we stick to them.”
\---
Elena Montclair slumped into the soft cushions of her living room couch, tugging off her heels with a groan. The day had been emotionally exhausting, but oddly satisfying. She had said what needed to be said. Now it was just a matter of waiting for Jaxon to decide if he was on board.
Her phone buzzed, and she barely glanced at it before answering.
“Girl,” Brielle's voice rang on the other end, energetic as always. “I’ve been waiting for your call all day. What happened? Spill. I need the tea—extra hot.”
Elena chuckled and pulled her legs onto the couch, hugging a throw pillow. “I met him.”
Silence. Then, “Wait, you met him? Like in person? No parental supervision? No awkward third wheels?”
“Yup. Just me and him,” Elena said, and then added dryly, “At that little café we always talk about but never go to anymore.”
“Omg,” Brielle squealed. “Okay, details! What did he say? What did you say? Did you throw your coffee at him or something?”
Elena laughed, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t throw coffee. I gave him an offer. One year. Pretend everything’s fine, play the good couple when needed, and then after that, we both walk away.”
Brielle paused. “Wait, wait. You mean like a fake marriage contract?”
“Exactly. I even wrote up the terms. No kisses, no pet names, no sleeping in the same room, no over-the-top romantic drama. Just... business.”
There was a stunned silence from the other end. Then Brielle let out a low whistle. “Damn. You did not come to play.”
Elena smirked. “I wasn’t about to let him think I’m desperate or something. I made it very clear—he gets what he wants, our families get what they want, and I get my freedom when this ends.”
“And he agreed?”
“I don’t know. He took the paper. Said he’d read it.”
“You sound... proud,” Brielle said, amusement dancing in her voice. “Like a cold-hearted boss lady.”
“I am a cold-hearted boss lady,” Elena teased. “But really? I was shaking the whole time. He was so calm. So unreadable. It's like I was talking to an ice wall in a designer suit.”
“Wait,” Brielle said, “but what if he agrees and plays along... and then pulls something?”
“Then he better not cross the lines,” Elena said, her voice cool now. “Because I have a brain and a lawyer.”
Brielle laughed, but there was admiration behind the giggle. “You know what? I’m proud of you. You did what a lot of girls wouldn’t even think of doing. You set your terms.”
There was a pause. Then Brielle added, more gently, “But if he does sign it... just make sure you’re prepared for whatever comes next. This guy? He’s used to control. And you're... you’re not someone to be controlled.”
“I won’t let him,” Elena wh
ispered.
The call ended not long after. But as Elena curled into her bed later that night, she couldn't help the small flutter in her stomach.
He hadn’t called. He hadn’t messaged.
But she had a feeling...
He would sign.