### CHAPTER 5 Archer stood there, astonished by the fierce argument unfolding before him. Surely, he should have anticipated this. After all, he barely knew Winnie, and this whole situation was meant to be resolved before he even stepped into this office. It was her father, Spencer, who should have managed that. "You will marry him," Spencer's voice boomed, laced with disbelief and anger. It was clear he thought her defiance was unacceptable, a serious challenge to the family’s legacy. "This is for your family. For everything we’ve built. I don’t want to hear another word about it." Archer clenched his jaw, irritated by the venomous tone Spencer directed at his daughter. Did she falter in judgment? Yes. But she was an adult, and so was the man who had manipulated her life for his own twisted vendetta. It infuriated Archer to witness her being persecuted in such a demeaning manner. He understood her reluctance to marry him completely; he had felt the same way when his father laid out his own obligations. Up until now, he had seen Winnie as compliant, pliable – but in this moment of crisis, she was pushing against her father’s iron-fisted demands with palpable fervor. Taking a steadying breath, Archer rose from his seat. His palms pressed firmly against the polished surface of Spencer’s desk as he leaned closer, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. The urgency of the situation gnawed at him. If he left without securing this agreement, his father would not just disown him; he would actively seek another heir to take his place in their empire. Spencer’s fixation on the contracts was evident; he was eager for the paperwork to be finalized, to secure their stake in Bishop Hotels - something that had been promised long ago before a family split had taken everything off course. “Can Winnie and I have a moment?” Archer asked, his voice low but firm. He locked eyes with Spencer, and despite the hostility that buzzed between them, he sensed an underlying irritation in Spencer’s demeanor. He might not be a monster—though Archer was acutely aware that his family bore its own share of sins—but the way he spoke to Winnie made Archer seethe. She was a victim in this mess, and witnessing her inner turmoil ignited a flame of protectiveness within him. Spencer's eyes narrowed, an attempt to exert control over the situation. Archer admired the effort but knew it was futile. He was holding all the cards, and if he wanted to speak to Winnie—his future wife—alone, he would have that chance. "Whatever you need to say to her can be said to me," Spencer snapped, shooting a glance her way. She remained silent, her cheeks flushed, eyes darting between the two men engaged in this power play. A disdainful laugh bubbled up from Archer's chest as a sudden idea took hold of him. He reached for the sleek pen resting in its holder on Spencer’s desk, twirling it casually between his fingers. As he met Spencer's gaze once more, he wiped the humor from his face, his tone growing icy. “Let me rephrase that. I’m going to talk to my future wife—alone. You can either leave this office or guide us to somewhere more private. Your call.” Spencer huffed indignantly, making no move to surrender his position. Archer rolled his eyes, dismissing the man’s bravado. Turning to Winnie, he commanded, “You’re coming with me.” To his surprise, she offered no resistance, at least not immediately. However, the moment he led her into an adjacent office and shut the door, her defiance surged. “I’m not marrying you, Archer,” she declared, wrenching her wrist from his grip, fire igniting in her eyes. The office was cramped, a small desk stuffed into the corner with a rickety filing cabinet squashed beside it. Archer scanned the room, realizing it felt more like a forgotten storage space than a legitimate office. How odd, considering their Manhattan headquarters thrived on occupation and success. “Did you hear me?” Winnie interrupted his thoughts, asserting her stance as she leaned defiantly against the windowsill. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, showcasing a defensive barrier. “I did,” he replied, matching her posture with his own arms folded, though the desk between them felt like a fragile barrier against their simmering conflict. Archer hated the dullness in her eyes, the way she seemed to mask her real emotions beneath a veneer of resolve. “So you understand, then? I won’t marry you.” To his astonishment, her words cut deeper than he expected. While she appeared to fit the mold of a compliant pawn in her father’s game, in this moment, she revealed an unexpected fire, one he found compelling. “You will marry me,” he stated confidently. “No,” she shot back, her lips trembling slightly, fraught with determination. “Yes.” With an exasperated sigh, Winnie twisted a finger through her ponytail before planting her hands back on her hips. “People don’t do arranged marriages anymore, Archer. It’s outdated.” Shrugging, he replied, “Tell that to the countless alliances formed among families like ours. It happens all the time.” “I could have chosen any other man if I was interested in advantages. Tons of them have asked,” she countered, her voice laced with conviction. Archer smirked inwardly, well aware of her desirability. She was young, beautiful, and the only daughter of a powerful man, making her the prize in a multitude of social fields. Yet, she remained unimpressed by the suitors vying for her attention. Instead, she had fallen into the trap of someone like Blake—a worthless, toxic shamble of a man who was undeserving of her. “You don’t have any other options,” he asserted, checking his watch. Time was slipping away, and he refused to leave the office without making her see the necessity of their twisted arrangement. “I’ll think of something else,” she mused, the defeat creeping into her tone. “No time for that,” he replied, shaking his head. “He’ll have that video and all those photos out in a heartbeat—sick and twisted. The only way this stops is if we’re married.” He paused for effect, his voice becoming more compelling. “I’ll arrange interviews and photoshoots with the media. They will know not to run anything about you unless it’s approved by me.” Winnie bit her lip, contemplating his proposal. Archer couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment that he wasn’t exactly her top choice. But still, her resolve intrigued him. “How long?” she asked, catching him off guard. “What?” he stammered, taken aback. “How long do we have to be married? This isn’t about love for me. I want to marry someone I love. So what’s the timeline for this?” Archer’s lips pressed together as an amused smile threatened to break free. “No set time limit. We can discuss that later. You’ll be free to choose your next husband for love… if you ever choose to love again,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from his words. “I don’t like that answer,” she countered pointedly, challenging him with her gaze. Walking toward her, he closed the distance, effectively cornering her against the window. Her back pressed flat against the glass, each quickened breath palpable between them. Against his better judgment, he moved closer. Their bodies almost touched, the air thick with tension, fueling the heartbeat in his chest. “You’re in no place to negotiate,” he reminded, his gaze skimming her face, catching the delicate freckles on her cheeks illuminated by the sunlight. The revelation hit him hard— she was anything but the docile figure people assumed she was. “We’ll be married for one year,” Winnie demanded, her eyes softening briefly, betraying her vulnerability. “And we’ll present it as an amicable split, as if we fully support each other. Maybe we’ll even grab lunch together afterward—in public. So that Blake won’t try anything after we’re done.” Archer restrained the urge to inform her that a visit to Blake was already on his agenda. She was worth more than her father’s twisted games, and while Blake’s name clamored ominously in the background, Archer determined no harm would come to her. “I don’t see the point in negotiating when I already hold all the power here,” he quipped, a tingle of satisfaction playing on his lips at her flustered expression. “Just hear me out! One year, please!” Her tone shifted to a whisper, the tone carrying a raw desperation that struck a chord deep within him. He hadn’t felt for someone in a long time, and her plea, juxtaposed with the fierce determination in her eyes, stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. He understood her desire for security. The deal his father had struck with Spencer favored their side significantly. If she wished to only be bound to him for a year to spare herself from scandal, it was advantageous for him as well. They would still have their stake in the company long after the marriage was just a memory. “Fine, we’ll revisit our arrangement in one year,” he relented, despite the stirring of something deeper within him at the sight of her relieved smile. “Really?” she breathed, her eyes lighting up, and for a fleeting moment, their proximity became electrifying. “Don’t get carried away. We might need to extend it beyond a year. But I am open to discussing it. This has to appear authentic, and it must seem genuine from the outset. Are you prepared for that?” The silence that followed felt thicker than anticipated. Winnie hesitated, caught in a web of uncertainty. She might think she wielded some control, but the truth was clear in Archer’s mind. Finally lowering her head, she murmured, “Tell me what you want.”