Chapter 10 – A Chilling Deal

The gaze of the man and woman meeting each other revealed one thing—they both recognized the bare honesty behind each other’s false weapons of politeness.

As expected.

Neither of them—nor marriage—was sincere.

After waiting silently, Diana spoke again:

“You have no answer.”

“……”

“The reason you can’t answer now is because it’s the reason we shouldn’t get married.”

“……”

“Fortunately, I also have no intention of getting married. So let’s stop pretending.”

Ian’s mouth curved in a rare expressionless line. When the forced smile vanished, the atmosphere grew hauntingly still—as if the lights had snapped off at midnight.

“You don’t want marriage—so neither do I… right?” he finally said.

“That’s just childish,” he added, tossing pretense aside.

“Marriage is business for nobles like us—mutually beneficial contracts, nothing more.”

The effect was chilling. Diana shuddered as though she felt the temperature drop three degrees.

“Aren’t both of us backed by family? Do you think personal feelings can enter the equation?”

Ian leaned back with one leg crossed, like an expectant crime boss in a noir film.

That slight change in his smile… felt like mockery.

If he’d gone this cold after previous smiles, that was powerful acting.

“Or do you believe your childish whims hold that much value?”

“You seem so… polite in your phrasing,” Diana replied calmly.

“Should I thank you for dropping the pretense at least now?”

“My duty—my courtesy—does not make me your superior.”

“Since you know the virtues of a gentleman… why threaten me?”

“Virtue is virtue—nothing more.”

Even in contrast to idealistic chivalry, Ian’s cynicism seemed almost refreshing.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect today to go this way. Miss Diana…”

Ian paused, then smirked.

“You invited me here after our first meeting—without pretending anything had happened?”

Had he just changed his tone intentionally? What was he getting at?

He ignored her gaze completely.

“That’s why I thought you might be… someone similar.”

“In what way?”

“Someone who can fake a smile to achieve goals—and prioritize pretense over emotion when necessary.”

Was he calling her a fellow liar?

That did not feel like a compliment.

“If that’s true… I thought maybe I could go through this marriage, as if pretending…”

“Is that sincere? That’s the worst kind of husband admit I can imagine.”

“If that’s how you heard it, I regret that deeply.”

His words carried no regret at all. Ian seemed innately comfortable speaking empty words.

“Yes, I considered the Wellington family for marriage—but you seemed of little worth.”

“And now?”

“You pull me out of boredom.”

He really does have a talent for sarcasm.

Ian’s remarks cut like a blade. She could only stare back—unmoved.

“Let’s end this small talk—I’ll reject your offer. It’s not appealing as things stand.”

“And the casino support…?”

“Your qualifications matter little to me. Ultimately, your abilities are untested.”

He pressed his fingertips together, watching her coldly.

“If I am to play your fake fiancé, the benefits must be greater than mere casino help—only then is the deal worth it.”

And there it was—the limit she had reached.

No point arguing further: Ian’s logic was airtight.
She possessed education and knowledge, but the heir to the Crown Chancellor position—he had accomplishments no favor could grant.

She clenched her fists.
What guarantee could she offer him?

Maybe I should scare him back?

No—one wrong move, and this deal ends in their execution.

What can I actually offer him?

In the silence, Ian tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Fine—since this is a most intriguing proposal… let me add a condition.”

“A condition?”

Unexpectedly, he offered her a lifeline.

“Write a will, by hand, right now.”

“…What?”

She stared, baffled.

“Your will—dated one year from now. State that you entrust your family’s assets to Ian Crawford, whom you believe has shown ever‑consistent affection.”

“Wait—”

She tried to protest, but he continued.

“Specify that he returns the family fortune to the monarchy and donates a portion to the poor.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry about the wording. The key is your signature—your handwriting.”

He was basically instructing her how to let him print the document as he wished.

“If you complete that now… I’ll accept your offer.”

She could barely respond.

Something that felt impossibly strange:

“You are telling me to sign away our family fortune… to the man who just threatened my parents?”

Once the will is written—then what?
What makes her believe he won’t fake an accident?

What’s to stop him from pocketing the inheritance?

He was openly suggesting using her will to control property in a way favorable to him.

It’s insane.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

And then a lightning intuition struck.

“I see.”

He met her gaze:

“Can you do it?”

“Trust me?”

Could she rely on him now?

Impossible—but similarly—how could she trust him?

It was obvious now—he was testing her resolve.

This moment—maybe her only chance.

If she refused—she might die before morning.

She took a breath, leveled her determination.

“Paper… and pen, please.”

Ian’s smile dissolved a little.

He handed her a quill and paper—his gaze unwavering.

Was he serious?

This must be a final warning.

Her handwriting moved deliberately—calm, not rushed. Each line written with purpose.

She would not exit this alive unless she played it well.

“Ian.”

She called him gently after setting the pen down.

“Do you know why some say they’d trade everything just to survive?”

Ian remained silent, scanning the letter still wet with ink.

“Because life is that valuable. And I never miscount the true cost of anything.”

“Life…?”

“No—opportunity.”

To gain his trust.

“I will honor what I sign. I will stake my life and trust you.”

“……”

“Now it’s your turn.”

Her original plan—to avoid any connection—had utterly failed.

But she succeeded at least at one thing: stripping his pretense bare.

“From now on, behave as if you are completely enthralled by me.”

She issued her demand firmly, blue eyes blazing.

Ian studied her—saw something only he would recognize.

“Very well. I accept the proposal.”

His smile returned, colder than before.

“The term is one year. One year to restore the casino from near bankruptcy.”

A predator’s promise within that smile: sharp, merciless.

Diana steadied herself.

“Then I will perform as your ideal partner.”

Her resolve sparkled like a lighthouse.

This was a point of no return.