The Fine Print

Name: The Fine Print
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Homa Jones

Romance | Ongoing

5.0

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Leila Smith is a bold nonprofit founder with no interest in boardroom games or picture-perfect marriages. But when her parents broker a contract tying her to James Red Stevens-reserved, ruthless, and heir to a global empire-she's forced into a deal she never saw coming. The arrangement is simple: marry for optics, keep emotions out, secure the merger. But as their lives intertwine, so do their ambitions, clashing values, and undeniable chemistry. What begins as a business transaction starts to feel a lot less predictable. Two names. One contract. No promises.

Modern CEO Contract marriage Drama Arrogant/Dominant Romance

Chapter 5 We lift as we climb🌞🥰

06-16 15:24

Chapter 1 I'm getting married to James Red Stevens

The news hit her like a slap. "You're getting married to James Red Stevens." Leila Smith blinked, staring across the marble breakfast table at her mother, whose tone was so casual you'd think she'd just said they were out of orange juice. "I'm sorry-what?" she asked, incredulous. You must be kidding, right? Her father, seated at the head of the table, folded his newspaper with surgical calm. His red-ginger hair was perfectly combed, his tailored navy shirt crisp even at eight in the morning. "It's already arranged, Leila. The Stevens family reached out.

It's the perfect alliance." Alliance? Not love. Not even marriage. Alliance. Leila let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, brushing her long dark hair off her face. "So I come over for breakfast after a long time away and I get an arranged wedding on the side?" "What the hell! I've never even met this man!" "You'll meet him at dinner on Thursday," her mother said crisply, slicing her toast with militant precision. "Wear something sophisticated. Dress to impress." "You two are not giving me a choice!" Leila pushed back from the table, her voice rising. "I'm your daughter, not your investment strategy!" Her father set the paper down, his dark brown eyes locking onto hers-calm, but carved from steel. "Leila. We're not marrying you off. We're securing the future of two families." "Oh my God," she muttered, backing away, the edge of the table pressing into her hip. "You are. You're literally trading me for business. This is insane!" "Enough, Leila," her mother snapped. "This is for your benefit. You are marrying into wealth, into legacy. Your father's company is barely staying afloat. Can't you make a simple sacrifice?" "A simple sacrifice? You're throwing away my life like it's one of Dad's bad stocks!" The words rang through the room like a gunshot, but neither of her parents flinched. They were calm. Composed. Unbothered. And that's when it hit her-they were serious. Stone-cold, life-altering, no-way-out serious. She didn't say another word. Her hands trembled as she turned away from them-her pulse thundering, her throat tight with the threat of tears. She stormed out of the room, down the marble steps, out the front door. She needed air. She needed space. She needed to breathe. That morning, Leila drifted through Manhattan in a fog. Her designer flats tapped the pavement rhythmically, but she barely noticed. Shop windows blurred past. Mannequins in spring florals. Sale signs. Life moved around her, loud and bright, while she felt frozen inside. Her phone buzzed again. Another call. She didn't check. She didn't want to hear their voices, their rationalizations. All she could hear was "perfect alliance." Somehow, her feet carried her to Central Park. She sat on a familiar bench, the same one she and Jasmine had claimed last fall. All around her, the city pulsed on. Joggers in neon gear. Kids shrieking with laughter. Dogs tugging leashes. And Leila sat in the middle of it all, unraveling silently. James Red Stevens. She knew the name. Everyone did. The billionaire hotel tycoon. Tabloid king. The man with an empire made of steel, glass, and rumors. She'd seen his face a hundred times on magazine covers strewn around the penthouse-always in some immaculate suit, always with that unreadable expression like he didn't have time for nonsense. And now, apparently, her fiancé? She laughed-short, bitter, and breathless. "What the hell is happening?" She pulled out her phone. Eight missed calls. Three from her mother. Two from her nonprofit organization. Three from unknown numbers. And one from- "Jasmine," she whispered, and hit Call Back instantly. Ring... Ring... As the dial tone hummed, she watched a little boy chase pigeons, his laughter echoing like a memory she couldn't hold onto. "Come on, Jazz... pick up," she murmured. "Come on." Every second felt like an eternity. What if Jasmine didn't answer? What if she was alone in this too? Then-click. "Leila?" Jasmine's voice broke through, drowsy but alert. "Girl, you better have a damn good reason for ghosting me since you got back!" Leila almost sobbed in relief. "Jazz..." Her voice cracked. "I need you." That was all it took. Jasmine's tone changed immediately. "Where are you?" "Central Park. Near the little lake. Same bench as last fall." "I'm on my way. Will be there in fifteen." Fifteen minutes later, Jasmine appeared, jogging up in leggings and a hoodie, her long braids swinging behind her. She didn't ask a single question. Just pulled Leila into a hug and said softly, "Start from the top." Leila crumbled into her. "You won't believe what my parents dumped on me this morning." "Try me." "No, Jazz. You don't get it. I'm-I don't even know how to say it without sounding completely unhinged." "What's going on, Leila?" Leila pulled back and wiped at her cheeks. Her voice wobbled. "I'm getting married." A pause. "You're what? To whom? You are joking, Are you?" "You are not in a relationship with anyone I'm aware of. So, I don't get where all these talk about marriage is coming from." "To James Red Stevens." Jasmine blinked like she'd just been slapped. "Wait. What? The James Red Stevens? The billionaire with the icy jawline and the $300 million yacht?" Leila nodded, eyes glistening. "The same. Apparently, our families think this is some fairytale merger. My dad's company is falling apart and now I'm the sacrificial lamb." Jasmine exhaled sharply. "Girl... that man looks like he cancels brunch for sport. No way you're marrying him." "Try telling that to my parents." "Holy crap," Jasmine muttered. "You're serious." "Do I look like someone joking about being traded like a vintage Rolex?" "Nope. You look like someone two seconds away from either burning down a country club or sobbing into a latte." Leila gave a shaky laugh. "Option two sounds good." "Alright," Jasmine said, already digging into her tote. "We're not doing this the polite way. You want out? I'm getting you out." Leila sniffled. "How?" "First of all, we create options. I know someone at Gossip Org. If we can leak something-" "Leak what?" "Something scandalous enough to make Ice Prince James say, 'no thank you' to this whole marriage package." Leila frowned. "You think a scandal will scare him off?" "Please. These guys live for image. One bad story and their brands start bleeding. Trust me." Leila hesitated, then looked at Jasmine-really looked at her. Steady. Fierce. Loyal. She didn't just see Leila the heiress, the pawn. She saw the girl who once snuck out of boarding school to climb a water tower at midnight. The girl who still lived in here, buried under designer labels and expectations. Jasmine saw her. And for the first time all day, Leila smiled. Just a little. "Operation Freedom begins now," Jasmine said with a mischievous grin, tapping at her screen. "Operation what now? Aren't you taking it a bit too far?" "We need to get you out of this mistake." "But it's wild. Risky. Reckless." Leila sputtered. It's better than silence and acting up like a zombie." Jasmine replied.