Legally Not Yours

The Clash

POV: Leah

It was just wine. A glass, an accident. Well, not quite it in the end but still!

Here I was, staring at a contract—an actual freaking contract. He even signed it like he was some villain in a gothic novel.

Apparently, this was his idea of settling the matter.

Not with a dry-cleaning bill or a snide remark—no, that would be too normal. Instead, he proposed a Master–Submissive arrangement. Like I owed him obedience because my merlot made contact with his overpriced wardrobe.

Like I should fall to my knees and say, ‘Sorry, sir, please punish me.’

Yeah, like hell, pervert! The arrogance and the audacity of this man!

I read through it twice, trying not to believe what I just read. Every word was typed and clinical—and unmistakably about control and ownership.

He wrote it like it was all very civil: “Private agreement”, “Creative resolution”, “Duration: undisclosed.” Oh, and my favorite part—restitution equal to the value of the damaged property.

As if I could pay off a silk shirt with… what? My dignity? My body?

Because I embarrassed him? Because I made him feel something he didn’t expect? And clearly, men like him don’t take surprises well.

I should’ve been scared or at least insulted, but mostly—I was pissed. Pissed and just curious enough to wonder what kind of jerks turns accidentally spilled wine into a power play.

It didn’t matter how fancy the language was, it all meant one thing: he thought I’d roll over and play along because I couldn’t afford to say no. He thought he could buy my silence. My compliance. Maybe even my body.

And that made me sick.

By the time the sun came up, I knew exactly what I needed to do.

I stormed across campus with the contract in one hand and rage burning under my skin. I didn’t know his full name and I didn’t really care. Because only one arrogant asshole on this campus could do something like that.

Well, he messed with the wrong girl.

I spotted him near the east quad, standing like he owned the damn building. A few students were around him, laughing at whatever smooth comment just came out of his mouth.

He was in a clean white shirt—of course—sleeves rolled up, arms crossed. Like he had no worries in the world. Until he saw me, his smile faltered just a little, then came back stronger.

“Miss Scholarship,” he said, amused. “Miss me already? Did you read the contract?”

I shoved his “master-submissive” contract against his chest and glared at him. “What is exactly wrong with you?”

“Did you read it carefully?” He took it, unbothered, like I’d just handed him the weather report.

“I read every disgusting word. And let me make something clear—I’m not paying for your overpriced jacket and I’m definitely not signing your creepy little contract.”

“You damaged my property so you have to pay it back.” His brow lifted, still calm. “That is how the world works, you made a mistake and—”

“And now you want to own me? Are you fucking insane?”

Some people nearby turned to watch us, but I couldn’t care less.

“I’m not intimidated by you,” I snapped. “And I’m not some scared little charity case you can throw money at to shut up.”

His smile vanished at that moment while I’m going on.

“I don’t care how many watches you own or how many girls are spinning on your little dick. I’m definitely not one of them and never would be.”

He stepped closer. “You should be careful with your words and really watch who your opponent is.”

“Why? You gonna call security? Cry to your stylist?”

“No.” His eyes darkened. “But I could make one phone call and wipe that scholarship off your record.”

I froze. My heart thudded hard in my chest, but I didn’t back down.

“You think I’m scared?” I said. “Go ahead. Prove me right. Show everyone what a spoiled, egotistical, manipulative douchebag you really are.”

A few gasps around, one guy actually choked on his drink. But he didn’t move, he just kept staring at me, quiet.

For the first time, it seems like his mask cracked a little. Not with anger, but with... curiosity? Like I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

“Interesting,” he said finally, eyes scanning me. “Most people don’t speak to me like that.”

“Well, maybe you need more people like me,” I snapped. “Someone who’ll call you out on your trash instead of pretending you’re some kind of god.”

We stood like that, staring each other down.

I was shaking with adrenaline flooding out from my body. He tilted his head slightly, like he was seeing me for the first time. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

I blinked. “I don’t care who you are.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling again. “You will.”

* * *

Later that exact afternoon, I was invited—no, more like summoned—to a scholarship luncheon hosted by the Connors firm, the team who picked me as the luckiest student alive to get a scholarship.

I’m thankful for them helping me to collect all the documents that I needed along with helping to negotiate my contract after graduating.

As much as I didn’t want to go, but my advisor said it was important to show face and “express gratitude to those to helped you.” So I did what I always did: I showed up, smiled, and tried to act like I had everything under control.

The event was held in the law faculty’s glass hall. Long tables, white napkins, gold lettering on the name cards.

Way too formal for a group of stressed-out law students and overworked faculty.

I found my seat near the middle. The name card said Leah Rosewood – CLA Scholar. Across from me sat a couple of other recipients. Nervous, polite. The usual.

Then, just before the speeches started, someone tapped the mic at the front of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” a tall, well-dressed man said. His voice echoed slightly in the room. “I’m Jeffrey Connors, senior partner at Connors Legal Associates.”

I froze in my seat. That was him. The man behind the scholarship. The reason I was even at this school.

He continued, thanking the board, the staff, and then—

“And now, I’d like to introduce someone very special to me. He’s not only one of our brightest young minds but also my son. Please welcome Jared Connors.”

Everything inside me stopped as I turned my head slowly and there he was. Walking up to the stage in a black suit and smug smile.

Jared.

The same Jared who handed me the contract. The same Jared I’d called a manipulative douchebag in public, this morning, in front of everyone around us.

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like gravity had doubled. Oh God.

He stood beside his father and shook hands with some of the guests, then his eyes found me. Then he smiled, but it was not just any smile, that was an ‘I win’ smile.

He winked at me, confidently winning the game while all I wanted right now is to disappear under the table.