The hospital smelled like antiseptic and quiet death.
Elena Carter stood in the dim hallway outside Room 307, staring at the white paper trembling in her hand.
$287,000.
Her vision blurred.
That was the cost of her mother's surgery.
Forty-eight hours.
That was how long the doctor said they could wait before it became "too late."
Too late.
The words echoed inside her skull like a cruel countdown.
She pressed her forehead against the cold wall and inhaled sharply. She had already sold her car. Already taken double shifts. Already begged the bank for a loan.
Nothing was enough.
"You look like someone who just lost the world."
The voice was deep. Smooth. Controlled.
Elena stiffened.
She turned slowly.
And forgot how to breathe.
He stood at the end of the hallway like he didn't belong in a place filled with suffering. Tailored black suit. Crisp white shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar. A silver watch gleaming under the fluorescent light.
But it was his eyes that froze her.
Cold gray.
Calculating.
Dangerous.
"Excuse me?" she asked, steadying her voice.
He stepped closer. Confident. Unhurried. Like time bent to his will.
"I'm here to offer you a solution, Miss Carter."
Her stomach dropped.
"How do you know my name?"
His lips curved slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper.
"I know everything about you."
A chill slid down her spine.
"My mother is dying," she said firmly. "If this is some kind of joke—"
"It's not."
He pulled a black envelope from inside his suit jacket and handed it to her.
The paper felt heavy.
Inside was a contract.
Her pulse roared in her ears as her eyes skimmed the words.
Marriage Agreement.
Duration: One year.
Compensation: $1,000,000.
Her hands started shaking.
"This isn't funny."
"I don't joke about business."
She looked up at him. "You expect me to marry you?"
"Yes."
Her breath caught.
"I don't even know you."
"That's irrelevant."
His gaze lowered slowly, deliberately — from her eyes… to her lips… then back up again.
The air between them changed.
Thicker.
Warmer.
Dangerous.
"And what exactly do you get out of this?" she whispered.
He stepped closer until she could smell him — expensive cologne and something darker underneath.
Control.
"Stability for my company," he said calmly.
"That's it?"
A pause.
Then his voice dropped lower.
"And revenge."
Her heart skipped.
"Revenge for what?"
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"For what your father did to my family."
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
"My father disappeared years ago," she said defensively. "He didn't hurt anyone."
"That's where you're wrong."
His fingers brushed her chin, lifting her face slightly. The touch was gentle.
Possessive.
Electric.
"You look just like him," he murmured.
Her pulse spiked. She should pull away.
She didn't.
"If I sign this," she asked softly, "what happens?"
"You move into my house."
His thumb slowly traced the edge of her jaw.
"You wear my ring."
His eyes darkened.
"And you become mine."
The words shouldn't have made her stomach flip.
But they did.
"This is just a contract," she forced out.
"Yes."
"No feelings."
"Correct."
"No control over my personal life."
A faint smirk touched his mouth.
"We'll negotiate that."
She swallowed.
"You're insane."
"And you're desperate."
Silence stretched between them.
Her mother had forty-eight hours.
She had nothing left.
Except this.
"Why me?" she asked quietly.
His expression hardened.
"Because destroying you will be far more satisfying than destroying him."
The words struck like a slap.
She should walk away.
She should run.
Instead, she heard herself say—
"Where do I sign?"
His eyes flashed with something dark and victorious.
He handed her a pen.
As she pressed her signature onto the paper, she felt it.
Like she wasn't just signing a contract.
She was signing away her freedom.
Her pride.
Maybe even her heart.
When she finished, he took the papers from her and slipped them back into the envelope.
"Good choice, Mrs. Blackwood."
Her breath caught.
Mrs. Blackwood.
It sounded wrong.
It sounded dangerous.
It sounded like the beginning of something she might never escape.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
"Pack your things," he whispered.
"You're coming home with me tonight."