The elevator opened to silence.
Not quite, silence. Like the air itself had learned to obey.
Kingsley Headquarters looked nothing like anywhere I’d ever been. It was glass and stone and steel, polished to the point of aggression. The floors were marble, the walls were slate, and the air smelled faintly of something expensive and unwelcoming.
I followed Mark past glass-walled offices, each one filled with people who looked like they’d stepped out of magazines and MBA brochures. No one looked up. Or maybe they’d just been trained not to.
We stopped at the end of a long corridor. The door was matte black. No nameplate. Just power humming behind it.
“He’s waiting,” Mark said.
I swallowed hard, adjusted my jacket, and stepped inside.
Damian Kingsley stood by the window with his back to me. The city glittered behind him, New York in full arrogant glory. His posture was rigid, hands in the pockets of a perfectly tailored suit.
“Miss Reynolds,” he said without turning. “Take a seat.”
I glanced at the chair. Leather. Sleek. A little too comfortable, like it wanted you to forget where you were.
I sat anyway. My hands clenched in my lap, fingers raw from work, from winter, from trying too hard to hold everything together.
He finally turned.
And God help me; he was even colder in person.
His face was sharp. Not in a pretty way. In a way that could cut you if you stared too long. His eyes were gray and unreadable, and he wore the same expression people used when they stepped into something unpleasant.
“I assume Mark gave you no information.”
“He said you had a… proposal.”
He raised a brow. “Do you always accept rides from strangers with vague promises of salvation?”
I bristled. “Do you always dangle hope in front of desperate women like a prize?”
A flicker. The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. More like acknowledgment.
“Fair,” he said. Then he moved behind his desk: black wood, no clutter and pulled out a folder.
“This,” he said, placing it in front of me, “is a contract.”
My fingers didn’t move. “What kind of contract?”
“A marriage contract.”
I laughed. I didn’t mean to. It just burst out of me: sharp and broken. “Excuse me?”
“One year,” he said calmly. “Legal. Binding. You play the doting wife, attend events, wear the ring, and say the right things. In return, I’ll pay you five million dollars.”
I stared at him. Waiting for the punchline. Waiting for something.
“Why?” I asked.
“My board requires marital stability in order to finalize a merger. They don’t trust… bachelor volatility.”
“You mean they don’t trust you.”
He didn’t flinch. “They trust images. I intend to give them one.”
“And I’m what set dressing?”
His eyes held mine. “You’re a solution.”
I looked down at the folder like it might bite. My name was already typed on the first page.
“You want me to fake a marriage with you for money.”
“No,” he said. “I want you to enter a real marriage. But with an expiration date.”
I opened the folder. The paper felt heavier than it should’ve. Legal language blurred in front of me. Clause after clause. Appearances. Public affection. Privacy waivers. A non-disclosure agreement the size of a phone book.
And then my eyes caught it.
Section 14B: Breach of Contract
If party A (Ava Reynolds) chooses to exit the marriage before the agreed-upon twelve months, party B (Damian Kingsley) reserves the right to sue for damages not exceeding ten million dollars.
My vision blurred.
“You’d sue me? If I leave early?”
He didn’t blink. “This isn’t a charity, Miss Reynolds.”
I closed the folder. My hands were shaking. “You think I can just play happy wife for a year? Live in your world? Smile for cameras? Pretend I don’t hate every second?”
“Yes,” he said, simply. “Because I think you’re smart enough to know this is the only option you haven’t already exhausted.”
And there it was.
The worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
Rent. Bills. Hospital fees. Lily. Always Lily.
No job was going to fix this. No amount of night shifts or prayers. I had reached the end. And somehow, the devil was the only one offering a door.
“I’ll be trapped.”
“You’ll be paid.”
I stood up. My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear over it.
“I need to think.”
“You need to decide,” he said. “Now.”
I turned away. I could still feel his eyes on me. Burning, assessing.
I thought of Lily, her fragile smile, the way she tried to hide her pain, and the quiet terror in her eyes every time a new doctor walked in.
I turned back.
My fingers closed around the pen on the desk. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t ask for anything else.
I just signed.
Each letter of my name felt like a death sentence. Or a resurrection. I wasn’t sure.
When it was done, I dropped the pen.
Then I whispered, almost too quiet to hear—
“For Lily.”
Damian’s POVThe penthouse hadn’t changed.The curtains still hung the way she arranged them that morning we overslept. The tea mug she abandoned on the marble counter still held the ghost of mint. And the silence—God, the silence—had her shape carved into it.But she was gone.And I had let her go.The clock on the wall blinked 3:17 a.m. I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t. I kept waiting to hear her voice in the hallway, hear Lily’s soft laugh from the bedroom, feel the shift in air that always came before Ava walked into the room. But there was nothing. Just the hum of the city far below and the ache behind my ribs.I checked my phone again. Nothing. Again.No call.No message.No trace.She didn’t take security. Not a driver. Not even a bag that made sense. Just Lily, a few clothes, and the quietest goodbye I’d ever heard.Maybe that’s what hurt the most. That she didn’t scream. Didn’t fight.She just… left.Because I gave her a reason to.My fingers hovered over Naomi’s name more than onc
Ava’s POVThe sun was rising, but it didn’t feel like a beginning.It felt like exposure.Light spilling over everything I couldn’t outrun.The headlines. The whispers. The worst part wasn’t what he said.It was how steady his voice was when he said it.Like it didn’t cost him a thing to doubt me.Like all the moments we shared, everything we survived could be erased with one look at aheadline.Lily stirred beside me on the train, her head tucked under my chin.So small. So still.She felt light in my arms, but heavy in all the ways that mattered.Too fragile to be out of a hospital bed.Too fragile to be caught in the middle of any of this.But I carried her anyway.Because no one else would.Because I couldn’t leave her behind, even if that meant leaving everything else.I kept one arm wrapped around her, like maybe I could still protect her from the noise, the world, the wreckage.But my other hand wouldn’t stop shaking.My phone screen glowed in my lap—still open to Naomi’s messa
Ava’s POVThe hospital was quiet at midnight, but my phone wasn’t.I stared at Naomi’s last message. Helena leaked the contract footage. Ethan just reshared it. They’re pinning everything on you. Even Lily.Delete.That should’ve been the end of it.Out of sight, out of mind.Nice and neat. No noise.But it wasn’t just my phone that buzzed.It was the hallway… the nurses’ station—The way strangers started glancing twice, like the walls had whispered my name before I even walked past.The air shifted too.Sharper. Colder.Not just antiseptic, but… off. Like something had just happened. or was about to.I bent down, kissed Lily’s forehead.Let it linger a second longer than I meant to.“Back soon,” I whispered.And maybe I even believed it when I said it.But I wasn’t five steps away when I saw the flash.Not just on a screen…In the eyes.In a way, every single thing around me seemed to hold its breath.“Ms. Reynolds! Is it true you faked your sister’s illness for media sympathy?”I f
Ava’s POVThe antiseptic sting in the air reminded me of every night I’d spent in hospitals, except tonight, the blood on the sheets wasn’t Lily’s. It was Damian’s.He’d walked in alone. No security, no suit, no press disguise. Just a streak of blood down his arm and something desperate in his eyes. He’d looked at me—only me—before sliding against the white wall outside Lily’s ICU room and saying nothing.I should’ve told him to leave.Instead, I told the nurse, “I’ve got it.”She blinked, uncertain. “You’re…?”“His wife.”Her mouth pressed into a tight line. She handed me the tray of gauze, thread, and antiseptic. No questions asked.“You need to let me look at that,” I said, quietly.Damian didn’t respond.So I turned. “Damian. Sit.”He hesitated, and then just like that night on the rooftop in Rome, the one he still pretended didn’t happen he listened. He lowered himself onto the stiff couch, his movements tight, the fabric of his shirt sticking to torn skin.Naomi had stuffed a me
They were trying to take my sister.And I would burn the world down before I let them.The streets blurred as I ran. Rome didn’t care what I was fighting for. The lights didn’t flicker in fear, the cars didn’t pause for grief. But my body did. Just enough to remember how much I hadn’t done.I hadn’t visited her. I hadn’t checked the files. I hadn’t listened when Andreas warned me.The hospital came into view, cold and tall against the sky. I burst through the sliding doors, past the front desk, barely hearing someone shout behind me.Elevator? Too slow.I took the stairs.Three at a time, almost falling once, barely breathing by the time I hit the ICU floor. My palm slammed into the double doors, and—A guard blocked Lily’s room.No badge I recognized. No kindness in his face. Just static silence.“I’m her sister,” I snapped. “Let me through.”He didn’t flinch.I opened my mouth again—but a voice beat me to it.“She’s listed on the new emergency file. You’ll want to double-check.”I t
Ava’s POVI didn’t move for a long time.Just stood there in the penthouse, lights off, my reflection barely visible in the glass. Romeoutside, blurred and bright, like the city refused to care that everything was falling apartinside this apartment.Because this wasn’t just smoke and mirrors anymore.It was war.And I was already losing.Naomi’s voice cut through the silence like a crack splitting glass.“Guys. You need to see this.”There was no one else here. Just me. And her. And the air between us felt too still.I turned slowly. She stood by the kitchen island, pale, phone in one hand, laptop glowingcold light across her face.“Helena just called an emergency board vote,” she said. “Effective immediately. She’snominating herself as interim CEO.”I blinked. “She can’t.”“She can,” Naomi said tightly. “If she has enough voting shares. And she does.”“No,” I breathed. “She had… what, seven percent?”“She had seven percent.” Naomi’s voice was sharper now, her fingers flying acros