The steel door slammed shut behind us, silencing the chaos outside.

I stood frozen in the center of the panic room, my chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes darting across the bare space. It was sterile and cold—no windows, no decor, only smooth gray walls, a reinforced door, and dim recessed lighting overhead. The only furniture was a large monitor wall, a sleek white couch, and a compact desk embedded with surveillance screens that displayed every angle of the penthouse.

I turned to Enoch, still in shock, my voice trembling. “What the hell was that?”

Enoch didn’t respond immediately. He walked to the far corner of the room and opened a cabinet, pulling out a first aid kit. With practiced ease, he peeled off his suit jacket, revealing the graze wound on his upper arm. Blood had soaked into the white fabric of his dress shirt, now torn at the shoulder.

I swallowed hard as I watched him dab antiseptic on the wound with a hiss.

“I asked you a question,” I said again, louder this time.

Enoch finally looked at me, his expression unreadable. “You heard more than you were supposed to tonight.”

I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, trying to keep from shaking. “Jason. Eliminating people. Me being leveraged. What the hell does it all mean, Enoch?”

He tossed the bloody gauze aside and straightened. “It means your life is no longer ordinary. And neither is mine.”

“That’s not an answer!” I snapped. “You dragged me into this insane marriage, gave me some cryptic speech about discretion, and now people are trying to kill me? I deserve the truth.”

For a moment, I thought he might yell. Or shut down again behind that cold CEO mask. But instead, he moved to the surveillance wall and pulled up a grainy black-and-white photo.

I stepped forward, and my breath caught.

It was a surveillance image of me. I was leaving my art class two weeks ago. Behind me, a black SUV was parked near the curb—blurry, but clearly following me.

“W-What is this?” I whispered.

“Proof,” Enoch said. “Jason has had eyes on you long before our agreement.”

I turned toward him, horror creeping up my spine. “Why? I don’t even know who he is!”

Enoch’s jaw tightened. “Jason Stone is my uncle. He murdered my parents when I was fifteen. Made it look like an accident. He wanted full control of my family’s company. But he couldn’t claim it all—not while I was alive and in the picture.”

My lips parted in disbelief. “You’re saying your uncle… murdered your parents?”

“Yes. And he’s been trying to finish what he started ever since.”

I sank onto the edge of the couch, my knees weak. “So where do I come into this?”

Enoch folded his arms, his voice low and deliberate. “You’re the wildcard he didn’t expect. A legal, public connection to me. A new vulnerability. Jason sees love as weakness. And while our arrangement isn’t built on love… he doesn’t know that.”

I stared at him, trying to make sense of it all. “So you married me to protect yourself from your uncle?”

“Yes… and no.”

I shot him a glare. “Be honest with me, Enoch.”

He let out a long breath. “Jason has a network. He works through shadows—blackmail, surveillance, sabotage. But he never strikes unless he has leverage. You were a variable I could control—someone without ties to his world, someone real enough to throw him off. But I didn’t realize how soon he’d act. He was already watching you before our wedding.”

My stomach turned. “You used me as a human shield.”

Enoch didn’t deny it.

“I was broke. Desperate,” I said, my voice cracking. “And you knew it. You knew I’d say yes if you dangled enough zeroes.”

“You had a choice,” he replied evenly.

“No,” I snapped, standing to face him. “I thought I had a choice. But you tricked me into walking into a war I didn’t know existed.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Enoch moved closer, eyes locked on mine. “That’s why I’m giving you another choice. Right now.”

I blinked. “What?”

He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a second contract—sleeker, newer, thicker.

“This is a renegotiation,” he said. “The stakes have changed. If you stay, I’ll double the payout—one million dollars. You’ll have full security, your family will be protected, and you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

I stared at the paper. “And if I say no?”

Enoch’s gaze didn’t waver. “Jason won’t stop. He’s already tracked you for weeks. If you walk away, you become an easier target. Out there, I can’t guarantee your safety. Here, I can.”

My throat tightened. My life was no longer my own. Either I accepted the protection of a cold, calculating man who had manipulated me from the beginning… or I walked back into a world where someone wanted me dead.

“This is insane,” I whispered.

“No. This is survival.”

I stepped back, my mind spiraling. “This is a prison.”

Enoch said nothing. Instead, he reached into the file and pulled out a stack of photographs.

My blood froze.

Photos of me and Aunt Maria. My apartment. My old job at the bookstore. Me walking in the rain three nights ago, oblivious to the lens capturing my every step.

He laid them out like evidence at a crime scene. “You weren’t paranoid. You were being hunted. Jason’s surveillance is invasive and precise. This marriage put a temporary wall between you and him. If that wall falls, he’ll strike.”

I felt tears press at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I looked at the new contract again. The ink. The signature line waiting for me.

“And what’s the catch this time?” I asked bitterly. “More silence? More secrets?”

Enoch’s eyes darkened. “This time… the catch is convincing the world that we’re deeply in love. Publicly and privately.”

My breath hitched. “Why?”

“Because Jason isn’t fooled easily. He’ll test us. Watch our body language, our eye contact, our interactions. If he senses this marriage is fake, he’ll move in for the kill.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “So now I have to act in love with you? Live with you? Touch you? Sleep in the same house as you—like we’re some fairy tale couple?”

He nodded once. “Convincingly. Every time. Everywhere.”

I bit my lip, unsure whether to scream or cry. My entire life had flipped in forty-eight hours. And now I was being asked not just to fake a marriage… but to sell an illusion of intimacy with the one man I couldn’t read, trust, or understand.

Enoch stepped closer, and for the first time, his voice softened. “I won’t force you. But I will protect you. No matter what you decide.”

I stared up at him, my voice trembling. “Why me, Enoch? Of all the women in the world, why pick me for this?”

His jaw flexed.

Then quietly, almost too quietly, he said, “Because you didn’t want my money. Not really. You wanted your freedom. And ironically… that made you the safest choice.”

My breath caught.

Silence stretched between us. Thick. Unspoken. Heavy with consequences.

I turned toward the couch and sat down again, my legs barely able to hold me.

I picked up the pen.

My fingers hovered above the signature line. The word “Stelwart” stared back at me like a brand.

Finally, with a deep breath and a racing heart, I signed.

Enoch took the contract, locked it in a secure drawer, and looked back at me.

“There’s one more thing,” he said.

I frowned. “What now?”

“To sell the story… we’ll need to make appearances. Public affection. Private closeness. Paparazzi will track us, and Jason will plant people. Which means—”

He paused, then added with finality—

“You’ll be moving into the master bedroom.”

My heart stopped.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I blurted.

Enoch’s mouth twitched—not quite a smirk, but close. “No one said anything about that. But the illusion must be airtight. You’ll enter the room with me, leave it with me. The rest is yours to decide.”

He turned and left me with those words, the steel door hissing open behind him.

I remained on the couch, staring at nothing, my hands clenched in my lap.

Outside, the soft sound of his footsteps paced back and forth—slow, steady, relentless.

He wasn’t asleep.

Neither was I. Enoch bore the same name with my ex. How come?

We just couldn't sleep.

Because now, our marriage wasn’t just a lie.

It was a target.

And love, pretend or not—had just become our most dangerous weapon.