The Unshackled King (by David Wu) novel Chapter 36

"No, he wouldn't... Stefan isn't like that. I know him..."

Margery swayed, barely able to stand. The words spilled out in a whisper, a desperate refusal to accept what Fidel had said.

"You know him?" Fidel's laugh was cold, sharp as a winter draft. "What do you really know? Perhaps his pursuit of you, all that devotion and care, was just for your money. Now that he's found a better option, he discards you without a second thought. Margery, it's a pity. Your genuine heart was simply wasted."

She shook her head, her reason insisting that Stefan's care before his imprisonment had been real, not some calculated scheme.

Yet, as she saw him stand there, unmoved and offering no explanation, her heart felt like a stone sinking into cold depths.

"Stefan, tell me it isn't true. Please?"

Her plea was teary-eyed as Margery searched his face for any sign of denial.

"What's between us is over," he said flatly, his tone devoid of warmth. A faint, mocking smile touched his lips as he glanced at Fidel, as if observing a particularly deluded clown.

For money? Hah.

Stefan almost wondered what expression Fidel would make if he revealed the several hundred million dollars in his accounts.

Not that he'd bother with such a pointless gesture.

"You said you needed to discuss something? Let's go." Stefan turned to Sara, effectively dismissing the scene behind him.

Sara gave a slight nod, leading the way into the Southlake Pavilion.

As they walked away, Fidel's voice rose in a frantic, bitter snarl behind them. "Miss! Stefan's character is despicable. You'd do well to remember that. When something better comes along, he'll kick you aside just like he did Margery!"

Neither Stefan nor Sara broke stride, nor did they acknowledge the outburst. No response was given.

He wasn't worth one.

*****

Upstairs, a private room bathed in soft light was quiet and peaceful. The faint scent of sandalwood filled the air, matching the warm decor—perfect for quiet, comfortable conversation.

He noted the slight tension in her posture—a dislike for the smoke—but lit it nonetheless. Some battles weren't worth choosing.

As a plume of smoke drifted between them, his attentive gaze remained fixed on her through the haze.

From her bag, Sara produced a sleek folder and set it on the table. "Our proposed arrangement. The verbal understanding from the other night is detailed here. Please review the terms."

Stefan took the document. The language was clear, the clauses straightforward.

She continued, her eyes steady on him, "Verbal agreements lack substance. If the terms are agreeable, your signature will formalize it. The premise is simple: a marriage in name only, maintained for appearance until I can resolve certain familial expectations. Upon its dissolution, you will be compensated with 30 million dollars."

He scanned the pages quickly.

A dry smile touched his lips. The clauses were not merely neutral; they were unequivocally in his favor.

"This reluctance. Is there another person involved? A lingering attachment, perhaps?" Stefan began, his tone conversational yet probing.

"I'm not involved with anyone. There's no one else, no one from my past. My objection is purely on principle. A marriage without real affection means nothing to me. I won't be tied down—or touched—by a convenient arrangement. The idea that a piece of paper can decide my life is absurd. If I can't live my own life, what's the point?" Sara replied firmly.