Page 230 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
I nodded, still uncertain about what had just happened.
“Come to my office after breakfast,” he said, raising his newspaper—like he hadn’t just propositioned me.
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His office was full of books and colour-coded folders. The large, polished table didn’t surprise me. The décor was a mix of gold with hints of burgundy—a bold choice for a man like him, but somehow it worked. Rich. Intimidating.
He moved fluidly for someone his size, crossing to the desk and unlocking a drawer. When he turned back, he held a stack of papers.
“Read and sign,” he said, handing them over.
I took them, scanning line by line.
An agreement. Plain and simple. A legal exchange of goods and services for cold, hard cash.
My eyes paused over the figure.
The provision of an heir.
Marriage after confirmed conception.
The second half detailed a generous prenuptial agreement. Ironclad. Nothing like what my mother had.
I swallowed and lifted my gaze.
This was his world. Cold, contractual and calculated.
“I’m a virgin,” I said quietly, placing the papers on the table between us.
His reaction wasn’t what I expected.
He stilled.
Then the shift.
His face darkened—storm clouds behind his eyes—and colour surged up his neck.
“You dare try to negotiate with me by lying?” he hissed.
His voice was low. Lethal.
“I’m not lying,” I snapped, heat crawling up my own neck. “This is more than generous, but who said I was for sale?”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning over me—slow, calculating. Then he spoke.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Do you want a doctor’s note?” I said dryly, rolling my eyes and folding my arms across my chest.
“No.”
His voice was silk-wrapped steel.
“I want you to come over here. Sit on my lap—and let me check for myself.”
