Chapter One
The clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have.
Maybe because the house had gone too quiet lately—the kind of silence that settles after shouting, after crying, after running out of things to sell.
Elena Moore sat at the dining table surrounded by papers—crumpled receipts, unopened letters, and a single red notice stamped FINAL DEMAND across the top. Her fingers trembled as she touched the edge of the paper. She'd memorized every number already, but still she hoped that if she stared long enough, the total would somehow change.
It didn't.
Her father's faded signature rested at the bottom of one page, familiar and painful. The last loan he'd taken—one meant to save Moore Textiles, the family's pride. Instead, it had buried them in debt after a failed partnership.
She traced his handwriting with her thumb.
He used to say, "Hard work always pays off, Ellie."
Maybe he was right. Just not in the way he imagined.
The room smelled faintly of dust and detergent. The curtains had lost their color, and the dining chairs groaned under her weight. Every corner whispered that things used to be better.
Her phone buzzed on the table. Lila calling.
Elena hesitated, then answered.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Please tell me you're not sitting there with those stupid bills again," Lila groaned through the speaker.
Elena smiled faintly. "Caught me."
"El, you need a break. Come stay with me for a few days. You've done everything you can."
"I can't," Elena murmured, staring at the red notice. "If I stop now, everything my father built dies with me."
Lila sighed. "Sometimes holding on hurts more than letting go."
Before Elena could answer, a sharp knock echoed through the house—three precise taps that didn't sound like a neighbor.
"Someone's here," she said quickly.
"Want me to stay on the call?"
"No, it's fine. Probably the accountant." She hung up before Lila could argue.
The knocks came again. Firm. Deliberate.
Elena opened the door to find Mr. Daniels, her father's old accountant, standing in the cold evening air. His expression was tight with something between pity and exhaustion.
"Elena," he said gently, removing his hat. "You're still up."
"I couldn't sleep." She tried to smile. "The numbers keep running in circles in my head."
He sighed, eyes softening. "You've done everything you could, my dear. But they're not giving any more time."
Her stomach tightened. "Not even a week?"
He shook his head. "You've already had two extensions. They'll start repossessing by Monday if the debt isn't cleared."
She swallowed hard. "I thought maybe they'd understand. My father worked with them for years."
"Banks don't have memories," he said quietly. "Only ledgers."
The words cut deeper than he knew.
Daniels hesitated before speaking again. "There might be someone else who could help."
"Who?"
He looked almost guilty. "Adrian Blackwood."
The name froze her.
She'd heard it before—the youngest CEO in the city. Brilliant, ruthless, dangerous when crossed. Her father once admired him. Until admiration turned to regret.
"My father's old partner?" she asked.
"Yes. Before the fallout."
"The fallout that ruined us," she murmured.
He didn't deny it.
"I don't know what good it would do," she said finally. "Why would a man like that help me?"
Daniels adjusted his glasses. "Because your father once cared about him. And because he might still feel… something resembling a debt."
She gave a humorless laugh. "Men like Adrian Blackwood don't deal in sentiment. Only strategy."
"Then appeal to that," he said simply. "Make him an offer."
---
The next morning, Elena stood in front of the mirror, ironing her only decent blouse. The steam fogged her reflection as she forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Her shoes were clean but scuffed, her hair tied neatly back. She looked like someone pretending to have her life together.
"You've got this," she whispered to herself. "Just… breathe."
The lobby of Blackwood Holdings looked more like a museum than an office—marble floors, glass walls, and a quiet hum of efficiency that made her heartbeat sound too loud.
The receptionist gave her a polite, practiced smile. "Good morning. Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes. Mr. Daniels scheduled one. Elena Moore."
Something flickered in the woman's eyes—recognition, maybe curiosity. "Top floor. Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."
Expecting me.
The words felt more like a threat than comfort.
The elevator ride was silent except for the soft chime as it climbed. Elena watched the numbers light up one by one, her reflection trembling in the steel doors.
What am I doing? she thought. He won't help. People like him never help.
When the doors opened, she stepped into a room that smelled of cedar and power.
Adrian Blackwood stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets, looking out at the skyline.
"Miss Moore," he said without turning. "Sit."
His voice was low—controlled. Commanding.
She obeyed before realizing she had.
When he finally turned, the air shifted.
Gray eyes. Sharp jaw. Every inch of him spoke authority. Not cruel, but detached. A man who didn't need to raise his voice to be feared.
"You're here about your father's debts," he said flatly. "I've reviewed the numbers. They're… substantial."
"I'll pay them back," she blurted. "If you could just give me more time—"
He raised a hand, silencing her. "Time doesn't pay interest, Miss Moore."
Her pulse spiked. "Then what does?"
Adrian studied her for a long moment before leaning forward. "I have a proposal."
The word seemed to echo in the silence.
"I need a wife," he said calmly. "A legal one. For one year only. In exchange, I'll clear your father's debts and return your family's assets."
Elena stared. "You're not serious."
He didn't blink. "Completely serious. My board requires stability. Marriage provides that. You, Miss Moore, provide… convenience."
Her throat tightened. "Convenience?"
"No scandals. No messy history. You're respectable. Unthreatening."
She stood abruptly, fury burning through her. "You think I'd sell myself to you? For money?"
"I think," he said evenly, "you'd do anything to protect your mother from losing her home. Just as your father once did."
The words sliced through her defenses.
"Why me?" she whispered. "You could have anyone willing to play your perfect wife."
His eyes darkened. "Because I can trust you not to fall in love with me."
Silence. Thick and heavy.
Elena grabbed her purse with trembling hands. "You're unbelievable."
"Think it over," he said simply, turning back to the window. "You have three days. After that, the bank will act."
---
That night, the contract sat on her desk—a six-page document that felt heavier than it should.
Duration: one year.
Conditions: confidentiality, cohabitation, emotional neutrality.
Termination: mutual consent or breach of clause.
It read like a business deal. Because that's all it was.
Outside, the wind rattled the window. From her mother's room came the soft rhythm of sleep and the faint hum of a monitor.
Elena stared at the paper until her vision blurred.
Maybe love had failed her, but logic wouldn't. Not this time.
She picked up the pen. Her hand shook as she signed.
Elena Moore Blackwood.
The ink bled slightly into the paper—her name merging with his.
When she set the pen down, her heart felt hollow.
Outside, the city lights blinked like distant stars, and somewhere high above, a man with gray eyes smiled at his newest acquisition.
She didn't know it yet, but that signature would mark both her undoing—and her rebirth.