The Cold Encounter

The Cold Encounter

"Scarlet," his voice pierced deeper than she could have imagined. "I never expected I would see you once more."

Her breath seized in her throat as she froze. It had been five years. After five years of silence and deep regret, he stood before her as if he were a stranger. She had once known him better than anyone else.

You don't look startled, she said, her voice a little more confident than she felt. You have been waiting for me to crawl back to you, certainly.

The sarcasm, though thick and heavy, lingered between them and was rooted in truth. She had abandoned him, without explanation, when he needed her the most. But she couldn’t let him see the fractures in her armor. Not now.

His lips hardly moved, the flutter of a smile there, but it vanished before she could really register it. His arms folded over his chest, he leaned casually against the doorframe. The movement seemed to talk of years of control, years of keeping everything out.

With narrowed eyes, Tucker remarked, "You're here for something." "What is this?" Presumably money?

Scarlet straightened her posture and met his gaze directly. She had to confront this situation immediately. She was not going to back down.

"Yes," she answered, her voice clear despite inner conflict. I am in need of money. I require your assistance.

The weight of all that had gone between them permeated the words, which seemed weighty in the air. She had visualized this a hundred times, and every time it felt different. But nothing had equipped her for the hardness in his eyes now. the wrath, the resentment.

His lips closed into a smile, one not visible to his eyes but yet seemed to exude some gratification. Tucker Beaumont was an ice man, not the lad she had developed feelings for.

"I don't give out charity," he murmured, his voice smooth as velvet but with the weight of finality. But I could make you an offer.

The room's air seemed denser, crushing in on Scar abruptly. Tucker's gaze remained fixed on hers, revealing nothing. Her ears could hear her pulse, thus drowning out the silence of the office. His proposal. The words hovered in the air, akin to a guillotine poised to fall.

She swallowed, attempting to calm the turbulence inside her chest. She asked, "What do you mean by an offer?" But she felt a sinking sensation and already knew the answer.

Tucker straightened, his stance stiff as though he were getting ready for a business conference—cold, exact, calculated. He said, "Marry me," and his words came out without doubt. "Two years. I will clear your debts in return. Pay your house back off. You would be free of everything.

Breath from Scarlet caught in her throat. Her brain spun. A contract of marriage? The absurdity of it sent a jolt down her spine. For him, this was a game. It was more than just a transaction.

"Marriages?" She laughed, but it was hollow, like sound leaking through broken glass. You are insane. You cannot be earnest.

Tucker's face stayed austere, but his eyes showed a flutter, something dark, as though he was savoring the power he possessed over her in this instant. "I'm really serious." I will get what I need, and you will have what you want.

His comments cut more than she expected. He seemed to be eliminating all hope she had left of things ever being the way they were.

Her heart hammered in her chest, fury raging through her like a tempest. This was his preferred method of discipline for her. He was twisting her weakness into a means of control by using her desperation against her.

"How dare you," Scarlet said through tightly closed teeth. "How dare you exploit this to denigrate me? I never specifically asked for this.

Tucker's face stayed blank, but her shiver came from his predatory calmness in posture. “You’ve been gone for five years, Scarlet. You don’t get to come back and act like you’re the victim.”

Her mind spun. How could he say that to her? Given all they had shared, how could he be so chilly? The love. The assurances. Years of shared history have passed. How could he remove it all?

“I don’t want your charity,” she said, her voice shaking now, filled with fury and disbelief. “I’m not some… I'm not some asset you can buy off with a marriage contract.

Tucker didn’t flinch, but the corner of his mouth twisted upward again, his smile getting colder. “You’ll change your mind. It’s your only option. Take it or leave it.”

Her throat clenched, the venom of his words smothering her. What option did she have? She couldn’t let go of everything her parents had toiled for, everything they had left her. But this offer… it felt like the ultimate betrayal. A person clothed in beautiful silk.

Her hands shook as she climbed to her feet, the document on the desk before her suddenly feeling like a noose around her neck. Her life was not like this. She wouldn't let it be.

"I refuse," Scar replied angrily, her voice shaking, but her will is stronger than it has ever been. "I won't let you rule me like this.”

Her steps swift and purposeful, as though she could leave this dream behind her, she turned away from the desk. Actually, though, there was no getting away from it.

Tucker silently observed her, his lips still closed into that damnable smile, his eyes sharp and relentless. At first he said nothing, just observed her as she reached for her bag from the chair.

Scarlet opened the door, her chest constricting as she retreated into the hall. She turned around. She would work something out alone.

She couldn't accept his offer but didn't know yet. Not unlike this. She would battle for everything: her dignity, her house. There must have been another approach.

"Scarlet"

His words halted her before she could go another stride. Though it was quiet, almost informal, her hesitation was caused by something in his voice about her name. Any forewarnings? a danger?

She turned to face him but said nothing. His dark, strong eyes locked with hers like a tempest building inside his chest. The following were cool and measured, but they had a certain finality.

"You have to make a decision; however, never consider for a moment that you can run from this. You have me here.

And the door shut behind her with that.

She stepped into the elevator, startled by her phone buzzing in her hand. Bernard handled it.

Her stomach turned over at the words on the screen.

The bank was notifying formally about a foreclosure. Tomorrows The faint whirl of the machinery was the only sound in the quiet, claustrophobic enclosure; the hefty, polished elevator doors slid shut behind Scar with a low metallic hum. Her heart hammered, the fast beat a sharp contrast to the frigid, austere lobby of Beaumont Constructions. With sleek glass and steel, the walls seemed to shut in on her, but inside this structure there was something even colder: the constant presence of Tucker Beaumont.

She hadn't anticipated this. Though the shards of their past were strewn like broken glass, the fragments seemed to cut deeper now. He had been fashioned by time, ambition, and resentment; he was not the man she had left behind. Her formerly beloved Tucker had vanished.

The doors opened to a corridor lined with polished flooring and costly art when the elevator halted. His office at last was at an end. She hardly had time to inhale when she heard footsteps moving forward.

Tucker."

Her heart accelerated. She found it impossible not to. Her body recalled him even if her heart had learned to protect itself. Tall and commanding, he entered view and his form strikingly contrasted with the shining backdrop of his glass-walled office. His presence was like a storm just about to strike. It was all too much; his sharp jaw, hard line of lips, and precisely fitting suit seemed to fit him like a weapon.

Just before her, he paused and for a moment, neither of them spoke. She could see it when his eyes locked on hers: the flicker of identification immediately covered by something considerably colder. His dark, sharp eyes captured the resentment of years of treachery. Though his eyes were impenetrable, the bitterness was there