Lena didn’t sleep.

She spent most of the night sitting on the edge of her tiny apartment’s futon, the contract laid out in front of her like it might spontaneously combust.

Every time she tried to walk away from it, her eyes returned to the damned number on the second page. Damien's words echoed in her mind time and again, as if mocking her. He knew what he was offering. He knew she had no other way of paying her mother's bills. He knew she wouldn't— couldn't— say no, not if she wanted to save her mother's life.

She had only managed to get forty eight hours from the hospital to pay her mother's due bills. She could go apply for a loan, but what about the next bills? How many loans was she going to take? Moreover, how was she going to repay any of them?

She stared at the contract again.

It was real. It could save her mother’s life. It could fix everything.

But the man offering it?

Damien Blackwood didn’t strike her as a savior. He struck her as the kind of man who didn’t give anything without owning you in return. But the question was, was she ready to let him own her for a year?

At 7:59 a.m., her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Your car is waiting outside. – D.

She didn’t remember agreeing to anything. But still, she was in the back of a sleek black SUV by 8:02.

The ride uptown was silent. The driver didn’t speak. The city passed in a blur—too fast, too expensive, too far from everything she’d ever known.

They pulled into a private underground garage. A waiting elevator scanned her thumbprint—how they already had that, she didn’t ask—and whisked her up to the top floor of the Blackwood Tower.

Damien was already waiting, standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window with a skyline that looked too beautiful to be real. Like yesterday, he was dressed sharply in an all black suit that hugged his lean body in all the right places.

He turned when she stepped in, his expression just as unreadable as the day before.

"You came," he said simply.

"I didn’t say yes."

"But you’re here." He gestured to the chair across from his glass desk. "Sit."

Lena stayed standing. "Why me?" She asked, wanting— no, needing— to know. She'd agonized over that question last night for more times than she cared to admit.

“You’re discreet. Unattached. Educated enough to pass for someone in my world, but poor enough to accept the terms without asking too many questions,” came his precise, almost practiced reply.

Her stomach turned, and suddenly she was thankful she hadn't had breakfast yet. "You’ve been watching me," she concluded.

"Of course I have. I don’t make blind investments."

Lena crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, suddenly uncomfortable. "So this is what I am? An investment?" She asked softly, feeling rather hurt for some unexplainable reason.

"You’re a solution," he replied coolly. "I need a wife. You need a miracle. This arrangement benefits us both."

"Why do you need a wife?" she asked. That was another thing she had spent a better part of last night thinking.

He gave her a long, unreadable look.

"My company is merging with an international firm owned by old-world traditionalists. They won’t close the deal with a bachelor at the helm."

"Why not just marry someone you actually—" She caught herself. "You know. Like. Love."

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant, making her think if she had imagined it.

“I don’t do love,” he said, his tone eerily calm. “Love is a liability.”

"And you think I’m okay with marrying a man who feels nothing?"

"I’m not offering you love, Miss Carter." He opened a sleek folder kept on the side of his large desk, and slid it across the glass toward her. "I’m offering you salvation. On paper."

Lena hesitated, then picked up the contract and flipped to the second page. Below the financial terms were a series of stipulations:

The marriage will last twelve months.

The wife will attend public functions as needed.

No romantic entanglements outside the marriage.

No sexual activity unless mutually agreed upon.

No falling in love.

She looked up sharply. "This clause. 'No falling in love'?"

"It’s there for both our protection."

She shook her head. "Is this a business deal, or a dystopian dating app?" she couldn't help but ask.

Damien’s mouth curved just slightly. "That’s up to you."

She tossed the contract back on the desk, shaking her head yet again. "I don’t belong in your world."

"You don’t belong in hospital billing offices either."

He didn’t say it cruelly. Just factually.

She stood frozen for a long moment. Her palms were sweating. Her head was spinning. This whole thing was driving her crazy.

Then, she whispered, "What if I say yes?"

He stepped closer.

"Then we get engaged in seventy-two hours."

"Why so fast?"

"Because time isn’t on either of our sides."

Her heart thudded, loud enough that she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. "And if I say no?"

"Then I’ll find someone else." He paused. "But I won’t cover your mother’s hospital bills."

The air was sucked from her lungs. There it was. The line.

He wasn’t making her choose. He was making her bleed for the choice.

Lena stared at him. This man. This offer. This cold, calculating game.

And still, something about him—the fire buried under all that ice—dared her to step closer.

But before she could answer, a sharp knock rattled the glass doors behind her.

A man stepped in—Damien’s assistant? bodyguard? henchman?—with urgency on his face.

"Mr. Blackwood. Your ex-fiancé just released a statement."

Damien’s jaw flexed. "What kind of statement?"

"She claims you broke off the engagement because she’s pregnant."

Lena blinked. "You were engaged?"

Damien didn’t look at her.

He only said, voice clipped and steady, "Looks like our timeline just moved up."