The Marriage Contract (PUBLISHED!)

Twisted Desire- Chapter One

I checked the large circular clock hanging from the top of the wall, relieved that I only had fifteen minutes left until the night shift was over.

Thank God.

It was my third consecutive one in a row, and my back was aching from the constant folding of clothing from shelf to shelf. The warehouse was mediocre, with its bland navy colored walls and a light at the end of the hall that flickered every ten seconds. Ironically enough, the clothing I was placing on these ordinary, inexpensive shelves, was worth thousands.

While finishing off the last box of Louis Vuitton scarves, my eyes met my own reflection. I frowned. I'd rushed to work that day straight after lab class, didn't bother to try to be presentable because I knew I'd go directly to the warehouse for the night shift. My long black hair which, during the regular work hours, would have been placed in soft waves over my back, was now in a horribly tangled bun over my head, with annoying tendrils placed at the side of my face. The summer had given me a stark tan, as my usually olive skin appeared a light brown. Emma, my best friend, would say some girls would envy my thin physique, but man I wish I had some curves. I looked like one of those stick figure drawings- a short five foot two one at that.

And then there were the freckles that I still hadn't come to terms with- sprinkled like irritating dust over the bridge of my nose and just above both cheekbones. But if there was one feature I maybe, kind of, sort of, loved-it was the dimple on my left cheek. My mother, when she was alive, had the same one, and it made me feel that a piece of her was still with me- within my smile.

CLANK!

The sound was loud, scaring the shit out of me, as the expensive scarf fell from my hand and on to the floor. My insides shook from the noise, as a sprinkling of laughter was heard in the hallway just outside the warehouse. It was a man's voice.

It was a minute past midnight-all the staff except myself and a manager were in the building.

Without another thought, I rushed towards the closet, grabbing a broom. As soon as the door burst open, I gripped hard onto the broom, ready to face whoever was out that door.

"Whoa...calm down little lady," grunted the man in a drunken slur.

I winced, smelling the hard booze oozing out of his mouth.

"The warehouse is off limits," I snapped. "Leave before I call the cops."

He laughed again, but harder this time, as if trying to convince himself that something was funny. Weirdo. And a rich weirdo at that. The man, whom I guessed was in his late twenties, had an aristocratic feel about him-well a drunk aristocrat if there ever was one. Dripped in designer rags, from the tailor-made Armani suit to a Hermes belt, and down to the diamond Rolex hanging from his wrist. He was made of money, that was for sure-probably a spoilt heir who didn't know how to spend his daddy's fortune. But what the hell was he doing here?

"The cops?" He repeated, taking slow steps towards me. "I own the fucking cops."

"Listen, dude—I'm warning you." My eyes narrowed. "Get the hell out of here."

His eyes darkened, his jaw ticking from anger as he closed the distance between us. I swallowed a lump in my throat, my palm going sore from how tight I was holding the broom, as he raised a hand towards me.

I flinched.

A cool, thick finger traced lightly over the side of my face, as his other hand circled my waist bringing me so close I could smell the intense fragrance of his Gucci cologne.