Blurb：
Sebastian Shaw, Hollywood A-list actor and secret heir to Shaw Studios empire, faces ultimate humiliation on his wedding day. When fiancée Isabella Young’s manager Wesley presents a degrading “Physical Intimacy Agreement” with 100 clauses stripping Sebastian of basic rights, the Shaw heir makes a stand. The contract includes outrageous terms like “no kissing below the brow” and “one intimate opportunity per month” – but Clause 98 proves the final straw: “Regardless of who the child’s biological father is, it will bear your surname.”
In this high-stakes drama of old money versus Hollywood royalty, Sebastian Shaw confronts Manhattan socialite Isabella Young about her shocking demands. As Wesley threatens to destroy Sebastian’s career, the powerful Shaw legacy emerges. Who really holds power in this marriage of convenience between retail magnate Young family and studio legend Shaw dynasty? Discover why Sebastian Shaw would rather walk away from the “role of a lifetime” than sign away his dignity.
Content：
I’m Sebastian Shaw. On the surface, I’m an A-list Hollywood actor, a face you might recognize from a blockbuster or two.
But in the world I come from, that’s just a hobby, a way to honor the family tradition. The real power—the kind that built this town—isn’t on the screen, it’s in the boardrooms of Shaw Studios, the empire my grandfather founded and I am set to inherit.
On my wedding day, while getting prepped in the back room, my fiancée’s personal manager, Wesley, handed me a document titled “Physical Intimacy Agreement.”
Clause 1, No kissing below the brow without express written permission.
Clause 2, Subject to the woman’s mood, the man is granted one intimate opportunity per calendar month, duration not to exceed ten minutes.
Clause 3, At any time, in any place, if the woman feels discomfort, the man must immediately cease all current actions and vacate the vicinity.
…
After scrolling through nearly a hundred clauses like this, I fought back a bitter laugh and dialed my fiancée.
“Isabella Young, care to explain Clause 98?”I kept my voice deceptively calm.
“What exactly does ‘Regardless of who the child’s biological father is, it will bear your surname’ mean?”
The whole situation was a farce. This lavish wedding was arranged by our grandfathers—hers a retail magnate, mine a studio legend.
We’d met at a few galas, she’d always been pleasant, if a bit distant. I knew she was a Manhattan socialite, but I’d hoped for more than this… contractual humiliation.
“You’re a public face, Sebastian. A charming one, but still.” Isabella’s voice was cold over the phone. “Did you honestly think the Young heir would carry your surname? This is about legacy.”
I took a deep breath, my tone dropping, leaving no room for argument. “I’m sorry, Isabella, but I won’t be signing this.”
The moment the words left my mouth, her furious shriek pierced my ear. “Sebastian Shaw! Who do you think you are?”
“Marrying you is a courtesy to your family! How dare you defy me?”
I was stunned. This was the poised heiress my grandfather admired? It was a far cry from the refined image he had painted.
I was about to respond when the line went dead with a sharp click.
Seeing this, Wesley, the assistant beside me, looked at me with utter disdain and snorted. “Mr. Shaw, I suggest you sign quietly. Given Ms. Young’s… temperament, your life will become very complicated otherwise.” His gaze swept over my custom-fit but understated tuxedo, clearly dismissing me as just another pretty face..
“An agreement that strips me of basic autonomy? Whoever wants to sign it can go ahead. I absolutely refuse!” The Shaw name might not be in retail, but in the ecosystem of Hollywood, we were the sun everything else orbited. They just didn’t know it yet.
With that, I started removing my jacket, turning to leave, only to have Wesley step bodily in front of the door.
“The ceremony starts in twenty minutes, Mr. Shaw. Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
My posture straightened, the ghost of military training tightening my shoulders. “My legs, my choice. None of your damn business!”
Instead of backing down, Wesley became more brazen. “Mr. Shaw, I strongly advise you to put your jacket back on.”
“If you cause a scene and embarrass Ms. Young, you won’t work in this town again.” He shoved me back a step, his eyes full of menace.
Seeing his arrogance, my anger spiked. “And what if I insist on leaving?”
Gasps erupted from the makeup artists and stylists in the room.
“Oh my god, he’s standing up to Wesley? His career is over!”
“It’s just a prenup! Why is he making such a big deal?”
“Seriously, marrying Isabella Young is the role of a lifetime. Who cares about the fine print?”
As the murmurs swelled, Wesley’s smirk returned. “Hear that? A famous face with no real power. Talking about dignity? Are you out of your mind?”
I almost felt sorry for him. The Youngs had money, oceans of it. But in this town, real power was about influence, legacy, and the silent ability to make or break empires. And the Shaws had that in spades.
“Wesley, last warning. Get out of my way, or face the fallout.”
Perhaps startled by the shift in my demeanor, the cold certainty in my eyes, he faltered for a second.
“Alright, you little punk… you dare threaten me? I… I’m calling Ms. Young right now! Let’s see how you like being blacklisted.”
I spread my hands, utterly indifferent. “By all means. Make the call.”
Moments later, the dressing room door was flung open with a force that made the stylists jump.
Isabella Young stood framed in the doorway, her silhouette etched against the hall’s opulent lighting. She was undeniably stunning, a vision in a gown that probably cost more than most indie films. At nearly five-foot-ten, she commanded the room even before she spoke.
“Wesley,” she said, her voice a whip-crack of impatience that didn’t quite match her bridal elegance. “I pay you to manage my life. Is wrangling one… performer… truly beyond your capabilities?”
“So the elusive Isabella Young,” I said, turning to face her fully. “My fiancée.”
The title felt alien on my tongue.
We’d been ships passing in the night at a few high-profile events, exchanging nothing more than polite, camera-ready smiles.
Up close, the only flaw in her perfect picture was the absolute arctic frost in her eyes as they swept over me.
“Ms. Young, since our parents seem to have done all the introductions, perhaps I can properly introduce myself. I’m Sebastian Shaw. Beyond the screen, my family—”
“Spare me the biography, Sebastian,” Isabella cut me, a perfectly manicured hand slicing through the air. “I have absolutely no interest in your family’s little production company or your filmography.”
I had been about to say “Shaw Studios,” to offer her a final chance to step back from the cliff.
But this arrogant heiress wouldn’t even let me finish.
“Even in a business merger,” I replied, my voice cooling several degrees, “common courtesy is usually part of the deal. Or does your family’s manual skip that chapter?”
Her face instantly darkened. “Courtesy? Don’t be na?ve. This is a business merger. And you, Sebastian, are the talent my father insisted on acquiring.”
She gave me a dismissive glance and snorted coldly. “Let me be perfectly clear, if my father weren’t forcing me into this, a freeloading loser like you wouldn’t even register on my radar!”
She raised her voice, addressing the room. “And don’t for a second thinkthis ring gives you any equity in my life or my body. Access is granted solely at my discretion.”
My gaze locked onto hers, my voice devoid of emotion. “If you’re so against marrying me, Ms. Young, why force yourself?”
“In fact…” I continued, a note of finality entering my voice. “let’s save us both a monumental waste of time. Why don’t we just cancel the wedding? It would be better for both of us.”
I meant it as a clean exit. But she took it as a declaration of war.
“You pathetic loser! Don’t play hard-to-get with me!”
“Do you have any idea how many men in Manhattan are lining up to marry me?”
I couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped me. “I don’t keep a tally, Isabella. I simply recognize a bad script when I see one. I simply think we’re fundamentally incompatible.”
“As for your father,” I added, “I’ll explain it to him myself. You needn’t worry.”
The room, which had been holding its breath, erupted into a cacophony of shocked whispers.
“Oh my god, is this guy nuts? He’s actually asking to break off the engagement with the Youngs?”
“No kidding! Isabella Young is practically every guy’s dream girl here. This idiot doesn’t know how lucky he is.”
“If it were me marrying the Young heiress, I’d be pinching myself awake!”
Through the noise, I remained still. In my world, a bad partnership could tank a studio. This was no different.
Clearly, this entitled Manhattan princess wasn’t for me.
I vividly recalled her father, CEO of Young Enterprises, practically sweating through his shirt, bowing and scraping before my grandfather, terrified of saying the wrong word.
He probably had no idea that the immense influence he’d begged for was about to be destroyed by his own daughter.
“Sebastian Shaw! I’ll ask you one last time,do you truly want to break this engagement?”
I lifted my head, meeting her eyes directly, my resolve unwavering. “Absolutely.”
The silence in the room was thick enough to choke o.
Isabella clearly hadn’t dreamed I’d walk away from marrying into such wealth. Her face flushed crimson.
As she sputtered, searching for a retort, Wesley smoothly inserted himself between us, the perfect, unctuous assistant.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Young,” he soothed, patting her arm. “Good riddance to this freeloading trash!”
Isabella bit her lip, a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes. “But Wesley… the press… the Vogue spread is scheduled! I’ll be a laughingstock!”
Wesley shot me a malicious glance. “An opportunity, then. Ms. Young, you recall Preston Vanderbilt? Of Vanderbilt Global Media?”
Instantly, Isabella’s eyes lit up. “Wesley, you mean…?”
Wesley nodded emphatically, excited. “Vanderbilt Global just closed their Series B on Wall Street. Preston, as the sole heir, is worth billions.”
“It’s the perfect opportunity for Young Enterprises to break into overseas markets!”
Isabella lowered her head coyly. “But… would he marry me?”
Wesley thumped his chest confidently. “Absolutely!”
“I just got word! Preston is on his way here right now!”
Seeing this, the pieces clicked.
The so-called “Intimacy Agreement”?The manufactured outrage.
It wasn’t just Isabella’s pettiness, it was a corporate raid, and Wesley was the inside man, collecting a kingmaker’s fee.
“That’s enough,” I cut in, my voice slicing through their little fantasy.
“Ms. Young, while I’ve ended our farce of an engagement, Isabella, procuring a replacement groom before my seat is cold is… undignified, even for you.”
I turned my full attention to Wesley, my gaze cold and assessing. “Right now, I just want to know one thing. Whose idea was that agreement? The specific, degrading clauses.”
Knowing Isabella, she was arrogant and spoiled, but this reeked of a more calculated malice.
Something else was at play.
Her reflexive, guilty glance towards Wesley was all the confirmation I needed.
“What does it matter whose idea it was? It’s none of your concern!”
“A man of your word, right? Surely you’re not backing out now?”
I let a cold, humorless smile touch my lips. “Second thoughts? No. I’m having revelations. I just suspect someone deliberately poisoned the well between us!”
I turned my gaze fully onto Wesley. “Ms. Young, doesn’t this whole setup feel… orchestrated?”
I tried to warn her gently, out of respect for her father, but she wouldn’t hear it.
“Sebastian Shaw! I warn you, stop trying to drive a wedge between us!”
“Weren’t you just so eager to wash your hands of me? Changed your mind already?”
Her words left me disappointed. How could a family dominating the business world for decades produce someone so naive?
“You heard the lady,” Wesley sneered, gesturing grandly toward the door. “Time for you to exit stage left.”.
I didn’t move. “The performance isn’t over, Wesley. You got your understudy to break a leg. Isn’t it time the real lead made his entrance?”
As if summoned by the director himself, the dressing room door swung open.
Preston Vanderbilt stood there, flanked by a publicist holding a phone, clearly filming for social media. He struck a pose, a cocky, media-trained smile plastered on his face.
“Isabella Young,” he announced, his voice pitched for the cameras. “How about we give these people a real wedding to talk about?”
“Preston! Thank god you’re here!” Wesley gushed, the sycophantic relief dripping from his voice.
The room’s atmosphere shifted instantly, a wave of obsequious murmurs and adjusted stances greeting the arrival of the Vanderbilt Global Media heir. It was a masterclass in seeing where the perceived power had shifted.
“Judging by the royal welcome, ” I said, my voice cutting through the noise, “I take it you’re the producer funding this little drama?”
Preston Vanderbilt sauntered towards me with arrogant ease of someone who’d never been told ‘no.’ He gave me a slow, condescending once-over.
“Sebastian Shaw. I’ve seen your work. Not bad.”
“But sometimes, knowing your place is better than being clever.” His tone was even more condescending than Wesley’s.
I met his gaze, unimpressed. “If I had to guess, Preston, you’ve been waiting for this day a long time?”
He nodded, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at me with mock pity. “Mr. Shaw, I understand you refused to sign that little agreement?”
“What a shame.” He lit a cigarette, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “You just voluntarily walked away from a lifetime of real influence. The kind of money that lasts longer than your looks.”
I remained impassive, a faint, genuine smile touching my lips. “An ‘influence’ you’re offering? I’m better off outside.”
My indifference clearly threw him. “Mr. Shaw, aren’t you even a little angry?”
“I just waltzed in and took your fiancée!”
I let out a soft chuckle, waving a dismissive hand, my smile lingering. “Pissed? Why would I be?”
“Frankly, I should be thanking you, Preston. Without your interference, I wouldn’t know how to explain this to Mr. Young.”
Seeing me not just unbothered, but almost grateful, was the final straw for his ego. The carefully constructed cool evaporated. “Then what the fuck are you still doing here?” he snapped, his voice losing its media-trained polish. “Want me to have someone take care of you?”
I tilted my head, perfectly calm. “Don’t be hasty, Preston. Before I go, I need to make a call.”
I pulled out my phone right in front of everyone. “Grandfather? It’s Sebastian.”
His voice came through warmly. “Sebastian, my boy! Calling me now? Shouldn’t you be at the altar? Is the bride as radiant as they say?”
I shot Isabella a meaningful look before replying coldly, “Grandfather, that’s exactly why I’m calling.”
“It seems another studio head has decided to poach your future granddaughter-in-law right from under me.”
There was a deafening roar on the other end.
“WHO DARES?”
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