The auctioneer's gavel sounded like a death knell.
"Sold! To Mr. Luca Rossi for one point two million dollars!"
A collective gasp rippled through the glittering hotel ballroom. At the back, clutching her fraying clutch purse, Chloe Laurent felt the world tilt. The Isis Necklace — her great-grandmother's creation, her family's last valuable asset — was gone. And it had been bought by the one man in Milan who hated their name.
Luca Rossi didn't even look at the masterpiece he'd just acquired. His ice-blue eyes, stark against his olive skin, scanned the crowd until they locked onto hers. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. It wasn't a greeting. It was a declaration of war.
Six months ago, her brother, Sebastian, had made a fatal mistake. He'd backed out of a merger with Rossi Industries, publicly humiliating Luca in the business pages, and worse — accidentally revealing confidential data that cost Luca a nine-figure deal. Sebastian had fled the country to avoid lawsuits, leaving their family's century-old jewelry house drowning in debt and disgrace.
And now Luca owned their crown jewel.
Chloe's heels clicked a frantic staccato on the marble floor as she chased him down in the lobby. "Mr. Rossi!"
He didn't stop. "The press is watching, Miss Laurent. I'd advise against creating a scene."
"You bought that necklace to spite us. Name your price. I'll buy it back."
He finally turned. At thirty-two, Luca Rossi was a monument of calculated power — tall, broad-shouldered, in a tailored suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. He looked her up and down, taking in her single vintage dress, the only designer piece she still owned.
"You have no money. Your business is failing. Your brother is a coward. What could you possibly offer me?"
Desperation tasted like copper on her tongue. "I'll work for you. I'm a designer. The best in my class at—"
"I don't hire from failing families." He began to walk away.
"Then what do you want?" The words tore from her, raw and too loud.
He paused, glanced at the photographers lingering near the entrance, then back at her. Something shifted in his gaze — a cold, calculating light. "Meet me tomorrow. Ten AM. My office. Come alone."
The headquarters of Rossi Industries was a glass monolith piercing the Milan skyline. Chloe felt microscopic in the sterile lobby.
His office was all sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows. Luca stood with his back to her, watching the city below. "Sit."
She remained standing. "Why am I here?"
He turned, holding a file. "Your family owes me more than money. They owe me reputation. Dignity. In business, those are the only currencies that matter."
"My brother's mistake wasn't—"
"It was malicious. And you bear the name." He dropped the file on the desk. "I'm proposing a transaction."
She opened it. Her breath hitched. It was a contract. A marriage contract.
"One year," Luca said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You become my wife in the public eye. You mend my image — the ruthless billionaire softened by a beautiful, respectable wife from a legacy family. In return, I clear your debts, return the Isis Necklace, and invest in your brand."
Her laugh was hollow. "You're insane."
"Am I?" He leaned forward, palms flat on the glass desk. "The press is already sniffing. They think I bought the necklace out of petty revenge. A whirlwind romance with the sister of my rival? That's a better story. It makes me human. And it saves your family from ruin."
"This is blackmail."
"It's business." He pushed a pen toward her. "Sign, and your parents keep their home. Your mother keeps her medical care. Refuse…" He shrugged. "I hear bankruptcy court is unforgiving this time of year."
Her hands trembled. She thought of her mother's frail smile, her father's silent shame. The generations of Laurent craftsmen who'd come before her.
"Why me? You could have any woman."
His gaze flickered—a crack in the ice. "Because you have something to lose. That makes you predictable. And I need a wife who will follow the script."
The script. The word made her nauseous.
"What are the terms?"
"Public appearances. Social media. Charity events. You live in my penthouse. You act the part. In private, we are strangers. No emotional entanglements. No real intimacy. After one year, we annul quietly. You walk away with your necklace and your business."
"And you walk away with a repaired reputation."
"Exactly."
The clock on the wall ticked loudly. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of pretending to love a man who saw her as a business asset. A man who despised her blood.
But her family's legacy, the craftspeople who depended on them, her mother's health…
She picked up the pen. It felt like a dagger.
"I have conditions," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I keep my design studio separate. No interference. And you never speak ill of my family in public."
A faint, almost imperceptible nod. "Acceptable."
She hovered the pen over the signature line. "This is a devil's bargain."
Luca's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then welcome to hell, Chloe Laurent."
She signed her name.
The moment the ink touched the paper, his demeanor changed. The ruthless negotiator vanished, replaced by a charming, solicitous stranger. He rounded the desk and took her hand—his touch was warm, startlingly firm.
"We announce our engagement tonight," he said, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a gesture that would look affectionate to anyone watching. "My driver will take you to the penthouse. Pack whatever you need. From this moment on, you're mine."
The word—mine—echoed in the silent office. It wasn't a promise. It was a sentence.
As she walked out, the weight of the contract felt heavier than any chains. She had just sold her freedom to save her past. And the devil she'd bargained with was watching her every step, already calculating his next move.