Chapter 2

Lucian

The woman standing in the doorway looked like she had just walked into a trap.

Her fingers clutched her tablet so hard her knuckles were bone-white. Her chest rose and fell in fast, shallow breaths beneath her blazer.

Amelia Thorne.

I watched her through the dim lights of the suite—the pale curve of her neck, the slight shake in her lip, and the pure panic in her eyes. She didn't look at me with ambition or awe like everyone else. She looked at me like I was a ghost raised from her worst nightmare.

"Are you always this nervous when meeting clients?" I asked, keeping my voice cold and detached.

"My apologies, Mr Rhodes," she forced out, her voice barely a whisper. "I was just caught off guard."

I didn't answer right away. I let the silence stretch between us, my eyes tracking the way her hand went straight to the silver charm resting at her throat.

The gesture was familiar—a strange, quick memory pulled at the back of my head. But I brushed it off before it took root.

Five years ago was a ghost town I had no desire to visit. Five years ago was the night I flew into this city with an engagement ring in my pocket to surprise my girlfriend—only to walk into her lounge and find her with another man.

Walking out into the rain, numb and bitter, flashed briefly behind my eyes. That was the night I swore never to trust a woman again. Love was a liability. Business was solid.

"Good. Because we aren't here to discuss the gala," I said, turning to the desk.

I picked up the leather folder my legal team had finished three hours ago and slid it across the marble toward her.

"My legal team picked you specifically, Amelia."

She swallowed hard, taking two slow steps forward. "Picked me for what?"

I looked up, locking my eyes on hers.

"A contract marriage."

She froze. Whatever little colour she had left drained out completely.

"Excuse me?"

"Two years on paper," I said, leaning back against the desk. "No public displays of affection unless the press is there. Total secrecy. At the end of twenty-four months, an easy divorce and a full payout."

"Are you insane?" Her fear snapped into sudden, sharp anger. "I came up here to pitch an event contract, not sell myself!"

"You're not selling yourself. It's a business deal," I said calmly. "My uncle is trying to push me out before the board vote, claiming I can't lead the company without a family. A quiet marriage shuts him down overnight. You fit what I need."

"There are hundreds of women who would jump at this," she snapped back, her chest heaving as she glared at me. "Why me?"

"Because you have five years of clean taxes, zero public drama, no ties to my competitors, and a reputation for keeping your mouth shut," I said.

I reached into my jacket, pulled out the financial file my assistant had delivered this morning, and dropped it beside the contract.

"And because as of nine yesterday morning, your family’s house went into final foreclosure."

Amelia flinched as I’d hit her.

"Four million dollars in medical bills and defaulted loans," I said, watching her face closely. "In twenty-seven days, your parents get kicked out and their home goes to auction. Sign the contract, Amelia. The second your name hits the page, the debt is gone. You’ll also get five hundred thousand dollars every six months in a private account."

She stared at the papers, the weight of the situation crushing down on her.

"You spied on me," she whispered, her voice laced with sudden heat.

“I check every investment before I buy," I replied coldly.

I picked up the pen from the desk and held it out to her.

"You have until Saturday morning. Sign the paper and save your family, or walk out and watch them lose everything."

She didn't take the pen right away. She just stood there staring at me, her eyes burning with pure hatred.

Most people bowed when they heard my name. But Amelia Thorne looked like she wanted to tear me apart.

And for the first time in five years—since the night my heart was broken in a lounge—something quiet stirred in my chest.

"A car will be at your place at eight sharp on Saturday to move your things to my apartment downtown," I added, stepping closer until I could smell the faint scent of rain on her skin. "Once you step inside my house, Amelia... there's no turning back."

She yanked the pen from my hand, her fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second. A sharp spark shot up my arm, making my jaw tighten.

Without a word, she pressed the tip to the paper and signed her name in quick, shaky handwriting.

Amelia Thorne.

She threw the pen onto the desk, turned around, and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I stood alone in the quiet suite, looking down at her signature on the page.

My phone buzzed on the desk. I picked it up and answered.

"Is it done, Mr Rhodes?" Marcus asked.

"The contract is signed," I said, looking back at the empty door where she had just stood, remembering the desperate pain in her eyes before she signed her life away. "Send the wire transfer to her parents' bank."

"Understood, sir. Should I have security run a check on her living situation before Saturday?"

I paused, remembering how fiercely protective she looked—like a woman guarding a dangerous secret.

"No," I said, cold certainty settling over me. "She has nowhere else to go."