Chapter 3

~ LENA ~

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. No matter how many times I closed my eyes, my mind just wouldn’t turn off.

Each time I began to drift off, Sofia’s face flashed before me like a guilty conscience, jolting me awake again.

Forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours before my sister could lose her life.

Actually—it wasn’t up to that anymore. Julian was right. Time was running out—fast. I had to make a decision quickly.

I lay on my back, staring at the wall clock in my room, counting the seconds as they ticked by, counting all the reasons I should walk away from Julian’s offer.

Every logical part of me screamed that it was insane—stepping into another woman’s life, marrying a man I didn’t know, lying on a scale so massive it could destroy me.

Besides being insane, it was dangerous. Illegal.

Prison.

The word made my stomach knot. If this went wrong, if I was exposed, I could lose everything—my freedom, my future.

But then I thought of Sofie, remembering her pale face against the white pillow, the beeping machines, the tubes connected to her body as her chest rose and fell weakly.

She’d been barely awake when I left the hospital earlier in the evening. Turning her head toward me had taken all the strength she had.

“Lena,” she’d whispered in a voice so weak I barely heard it. Her lips were dry, her eyes sunken in their sockets, and her skin almost translucent, as though the life was slowly draining out of her.

“I’m here,” I’d responded, forcing on a smile even as my throat burned with pain and fear.

She’d looked at me for a long moment, her eyes searching my face, like she already knew something was wrong. Like she knew she was running out of time.

“You’ll…take care of Mamá, right?” she’d asked softly.

“Sofie, don’t talk like that,” I’d told her firmly, even as fear crushed my heart. “You’re going to be fine. You hear me?”

She hadn’t smiled. She’d only squeezed my fingers weakly, insisting, “Promise me.”

To put her mind at ease, I had.

That promise echoed in my head now as I lay awake in the dark, thinking.

I thought of my mother. Isabella Martinez had looked like a ghost in the hospital. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes dull with exhaustion and sleep deprivation. A woman worn down by worry, by helplessness, by fear. A woman watching her child slip away while having nothing—absolutely nothing—to stop it.

I could still see her trembling hands as she clutched her rosery, still hear the silent sobs she thought no one noticed. Sobs of a mother drowning.

Suddenly, I sat up in bed, breathing hard. I wouldn’t forgive myself. If anything happened to Sofie because I was too afraid to do something, I would never forgive myself.

Suddenly, I didn’t care about the consequences anymore. I didn’t care about the lies or risks. All that mattered was saving my little sister.

And so, at daybreak, with dark circles under my eyes and a resolve that felt terrifyingly calm, I picked up my phone, dialing Julian’s number from the card he’d given me the previous day.

The phone rang only once before he picked.

“I accept,” I said before he could speak. “I’ll do it. Please, I’ll do anything.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. Then, calmly, “Meet me in an hour. Same café.”

An hour later, I arrived at the café to find him already there, seated, with a folder in front of him on the table.

“This is a formal agreement,” he said, sliding it toward me. It wasn’t a marriage contract. It was a non-disclosure agreement.

“In the course of this, you’ll be exposed to private affairs involving my family,” Julian said quietly. “You cannot, under any circumstances, reveal anything about our arrangement or the Blackwood family to anyone. Anything you see or hear stays private. Is that understood?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded. Fear had begun clawing its way back to my heart. As I skimmed the pages of the agreement, it only got worse. The penalties were severe. Threats of swift legal action that Julian restated in words. After which he went ahead to explain everything the contract entailed in precise, clinical detail.

Six months. That was how long I was to be married to his cousin for. Six months of being legally bound to Nathan Blackwood. Six months of living as Kimberly Hayes—taking over her name, her identity, her life.

I was to become Nathan Blackwood’s wife in every sense of the world, publicly and privately. I would have to quit my job, move to New York, live under the same roof with him while meeting all social expectations and emotional obligations associated with the role of his wife.

My hands shook as the implications of everything he was saying sank in.

“I’m supposed to be his wife…for real?” I asked quietly, the question sounding ridiculous even to me.

Julian met my flushed gaze steadily. “In every way that matters.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “And if he wants…intimacy?”

He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Then you handle it as Kimberly would.”

The thought of that was enough to unnerve me. I didn’t let myself think, because if I did, I would flee.

“Pen,” I asked Julian, releasing a huge fortifying breath as he handed one over to me from his coat pocket.

With trembling fingers, I signed the document then slid the folder back to him.

Julian nodded with a satisfied look after he inspected it. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

Acting true to his word, the money hit my account that same morning. One million dollars. My mouth dropped wide open. My legs turned weak. I had to grab a seat.

I couldn’t believe it. But there was no time to waste. I had to pay for the surgery.

Julian helped with the arrangements. He made sure the whole process flowed seamlessly and fast. By afternoon, Sofia was being prepped for surgery by the best doctors in the hospital like he’d promised.

Mother was both confused and overwhelmed by joy. She insisted on knowing where the money had come from, her eyes filled with hope and fear at the same time.

I lied to her, told her my boss had offered me a loan from the company, which she believed. I was relieved because there was no other lie that I could think of that would have made sense.

The surgery commenced and lasted for several hours. Hours of unbearable waiting. Mother sat silently beside me, her fingers locked around her rosery so tightly, her lips moving nonstop in whispered prayers.

Every minute that passed made the fear worse. Each time the theatre doors opened, our hearts leapt, only to sink again when it wasn’t the doctor. My chest hurt from holding my breath, from imagining every possible outcome and trying to be strong.

When the doctor finally emerged, Mother froze completely. Her eyes were wide waiting for him to speak, her entire body braced for devastation.

He smiled. The words, “The surgery was successful. She’s going to be fine,” broke something loose inside me, inside the both of us. We turned to each other, hugging ourselves and sobbing as relief washed over us.

Sofia was going to live.

That knowledge was enough. Nothing else mattered. Not my life which I had just signed away for the next six months.

Whatever the deal demanded of me, whatever it would cost, Sofia’s life was worth it.

An hour later, I found Julian standing alone near the hospital’s glass corridor, overlooking the city lights below. He’d left the hospital after the surgery began but had returned just in time.

“She’s going to be fine,” I said the moment I reached him. “The surgery went well.”

He turned to me, looking genuinely pleased to see the smile on my face. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “None of this would have been possible without you.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded, as if that part was settled business.

“Now that Sofia’s safe,” he said, “are you ready to fulfill your end of the deal?”

My heart sank. Excitement turned to apprehension. My throat clenched as I swallowed hard.

“Are you ready,” he continued, his voice low and firm, “to become Mrs. Blackwood?”