Sealing two destined souls

The cool breeze from the window surrounding the office slapped hard against Erica's skin. Finally, the results of being a valedictorian were paying off, and all her studying hadn't been in vain.

She grabbed the file sitting on the desk in front of her and brought it closer to her face. The only noise she could hear was from the TV inches away. She had left it on to keep the place from feeling too quiet, despite not paying attention to it.

"Mr. Jamal Jackson, the CEO of the Jackson Conglomerate, was spotted at the Live Art Auction in England yesterday with his sweetheart."

Erica's gaze shot up. She grabbed the remote from her desk and paused it immediately.

"Sweetheart?" her mind echoed. From the manicured fingers he held to the back of the woman's body—and the fact that he had never taken her out—it proved the worst.

Her chest tightened as she fisted the hem of her shirt.

Hot, fresh tears ran down her face as she thought about it.

"He has still refused to show us her face, which leaves us at a crossroads with anyone in mind. And while many say it is the Gromani heir, others doubt it because of their earlier misinteraction."

"Gromani heir?" Erica wiped her tears. "There's no way. I'll find out about this woman on my own."

The pen she was holding fell from her hands, and she reached for it immediately. Until now, no one recognized her as his wife because everything—from the wedding pictures to the ceremony itself—had been restricted from the public.

The only thing people knew was that he was married—and the woman seen could be his wife.

It had been barely a month since Jamal made her his secretary, and she had made sure he didn't regret it one bit. He had only taught her a few times, and before the end of the third week, she was already a pro.

She sniffed, wiping her tears roughly.

"He's just using her to pass time. I'm his, and he's mine. I just have to do what he asks."

The words on the paper blurred for a moment, but she forced herself to focus again. Sinclair's investment in the land-mining project for their resort was finally in place. This was it—the key to everything she had been working toward. Arman Sinclair, the owner of the biggest fashion brand in Italy, was finally one of their investors.

This would make them billions, and at least they would take care of her family like they promised—even if she hadn't heard from them since she left the house.

The sharp ring of the office phone cut through the quiet, pulling her from her thoughts.

"It's midnight, Erica. Why are you still there?" Knight asked, worried. As the weeks had gone by, they had become something close to friends, even if she still found him a bit weird sometimes.

"At least someone cares," she thought bitterly, running her hand through her long chestnut-brown hair and forcing a small smile.

"I'll be home soon," she lied, her eyes scanning the contract again. "Jamal has to make it to the trillion club this month."

"For Christ's sake, Erica," Knight's frustration was rising now. "How many times do I have to tell you? He doesn't care about you! He's using you, and he's not even hiding it. Open your eyes! We've talked about this!"

She sighed, gripping the pen tightly.

"Fine. I'll be home soon. Is he back?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

There was a pause on the line before Knight answered, his tone hesitant.

"Yeah… I don't think I should tell you this. He came home with a woman. They've been... well, noisy all day. He didn't even go to work, Erica. And here you are, killing yourself for him."

A sharp pain twisted in her chest. She swallowed hard, forcing the tears in her eyes to stay put. Knight didn't need to see her crumble—not again.

"It still hurts like the first time," she whispered, almost to herself. The first time had gotten her to the hospital; she wasn't willing to go back there.

"Are you okay?" Knight asked gently. "You should be used to this by now."

"Yeah, I'm okay," she said quickly, wiping her face when she realized she'd been silent too long.

"You scared the hell out of me," Knight joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"It's fine," he replied, but there was still concern in his voice. "Hey, did you go to the hospital today?"

Her stomach clenched. The words she wanted to say wouldn't come. Her eyes darted to the medical report sitting on her desk. Fresh tears blurred her vision.

"Erica?" Knight pressed.

"I... forgot. I'll go tomorrow," she lied again, cutting him off before he could say anything more. She hung up, dropping the phone and burying her face in her hands.

Her mind replayed the scene at the hospital—the news she still couldn't accept. And then there was that morning. The morning she had found a condom beside her bed. What exactly happened that night was a mystery she couldn't unravel because Jamal had nothing to do with it.

She had asked, "How was our first night? I was too drunk to remember a thing, and I really want to know."

Despite pouting at him and trying her best to look cute...

He slammed the brakes at the side of the road on their way to the office for the first time.

"You really think I'd ever spend a night with you?"

He scoffed.

"I don't know how long it'll take for you to get this in your head, but I'll keep telling you," he said, leaning closer. "This is all a contract—and an open relationship. Get yourself together."

Erica could remember running out of air. She clutched her chest as her pupils dilated. Her fists curled as she struggled to overcome the drowsiness threatening to envelope her.

"It… it wasn't you?" she rasped, and he turned.

"Did you sleep with someone?"

A lump formed in her throat—and since then, it had been the closest they had ever been to each other.

Her phone buzzed, lighting up with a message. She ignored it at first, but when Jamal's name appeared on the screen, she knew she couldn't.

Get back home in twenty minutes.

Her heart raced. He never texted her to come home. Something was wrong. She tried calling Knight, but the network was down.

Grabbing the pen, she scrawled her signature on the contract without a second thought, stuffed the papers into her bag, and grabbed her car keys.

When she reached the parking lot, she froze. Jamal's car was there. For a moment, hope flickered. Maybe he had come to surprise her—to take her home.

She knocked on the window, her heart pounding, but there was no response. Confused, she pressed the car key in her hand—and behold! The car unlocked.

Realization hit her like a cold slap. She had taken his car to work.

Shaking off the disappointment, she climbed in and sped off. Traffic was heavy, and her anxiety only grew. When a file slipped off the dashboard, she reached for it out of habit.

Her breath hitched when she saw what it was—her contract marriage with Jamal. Her eyes darted to the end date, and her heart sank. She still had three years ahead of her.

"Can I hide a baby for three years?"

Her mind raced as she forced herself to focus on the road. An hour later, she pulled into the driveway. The house was quiet—as always.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she tiptoed to her room. The moment she shut the door behind her, she collapsed on the floor, her body trembling as fresh tears streamed down her face.

Finally done with her daily routine of crying every night, her eyes caught sight of something shiny on her bed. Erica recognized it—it was their wedding invitation letter.

Who could have left it here?

She opened the envelope and staggered backward at what was written on it. Falling against her wardrobe, tears streamed down her face again. Despite how blurry it was, she could still see the letters boldly written:

"We cordially invite you to the marriage between Jamal Jackson and Mia Gromani. Sealing two destined souls."