Chapter 3

Cora sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, wrapped in one of the thick bathrobes that hung in the guest suite. Her phone buzzed next to her, Rox had called twice and texted ten times but she hadn’t replied.

The world outside the windows was gilded in morning sun. Inside, it was still cold, unyielding. Everything in the penthouse gleamed like it had been polished for show, not comfort.

She thought about walking away, she really did. But she also thought about her brother, lying in that hospital bed, tubes snaking into his arms, machines beeping his borrowed time away.

She thought about the last time he’d smiled, and how it had only been because she’d promised things were getting better but they weren’t, not until now.

If Harvey wanted a fake wife, if he was offering security and medical salvation in exchange for a year of submission, did she have the right to say no?

She heard his voice before she saw him. Calm, cold, calculating. He was speaking with someone over the phone in the hallway. When he entered, it was like the air shifted, bending to accommodate his presence.

“I assume you’ve reviewed the documents,” Harvey said, closing the door behind him.

“I have questions,” Cora replied, standing up. Her voice didn’t shake, even though her legs did.

“Ask.”

She picked up the contract. “This clause says I’ll ‘accompany you to all necessary public and private events as a spouse.’ Define ‘private.’”

Harvey studied her. “There will be functions — charity events, business deals, private investor meetings, where appearances matter. You’ll be expected to behave like my wife.”

“And behind closed doors?”

He gazed at her. “You’ll be expected to live here, share a schedule, and present as my partner. Physical intimacy will be at my discretion. You’ll never be forced, but refusal will be considered breach of contract.”

Cora’s stomach flipped. “So you want me to be your doll, your actress, and maybe your whore?”

“No,” Harvey said. “I want you to be my solution.”

She laughed bitterly. “What’s wrong with your real life that you need a fake wife?”

“I don’t trust real ones.” He took a step closer. “This isn’t about love or fairy tales, it’s about image. Investors don’t trust men who can’t keep their houses in order. Marriage means stability. You help me solidify a merger. I help your brother live.”

Cora swallowed. The cruelty was in the calmness of his delivery. Like this was just another transaction to him.

“And what if I say no?”

He pulled out a single sheet of paper from his jacket. “Then I release the footage.”

“You’re blackmailing me.”

“I’m offering you a choice.”

She trembled but forced herself to stay steady. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough. Your brother. Your debt. Your struggle. You’re hardworking, loyal, desperate. That makes you ideal.”

Cora hated how accurate it all was. She looked at the pen sitting on the table, then at Harvey.

“I want it in writing,” she said. “My brother’s care. My freedom after a year, no sexual obligations, total confidentiality.”

Cora nodded slowly. “Agreed. But you must live here. Full-time. You must act the part, wear what I provide, and obey the household rules.”

“What rules?”

“You’ll learn them.”

She picked up the pen.

“No tricks,” she said. “No loopholes.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

Cora didn’t believe him, but she signed anyway. With every stroke of ink, she felt her freedom bleed out. When she finished, Harvey took the contract and placed it in a safe.

“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Pritchard.”

By noon, the transformation had begun. Miya, the assistant, arrived with stylists. Clothes, makeup artists, hairdressers. Cora’s protests were ignored as they swarmed her like she was a mannequin being prepped for display.

“This is absurd,” she hissed as one woman measured her bust for a gown.

“It’s necessary,” Miya replied coolly. “You have a gala tonight. Your first appearance as Mrs. Pritchard.”

“No one will believe this.”

“They will,” Miya said. “Because they’re already expecting it.”

Cora blinked. “What?”

Harvey stepped into the room then, dressed immaculately in a black tailored suit.

“The press release went out an hour ago,” he said. “Our engagement was private. We eloped last night, that’s the official story.”

“You what?”

“It’s done. The world believes we’ve been together for months. The gala will be our public debut.”

Cora stared at him, stunned. “You didn’t even give me time to breathe.”

“You signed away your right to time.”

The stylists kept working. Her hair was curled, her makeup darkened. The dress, blood-red silk with a plunging back and high slit, hugged her in places she hadn’t known existed.

When they were finished, Cora barely recognized herself in the mirror. She looked like someone else.

“You look the part,” Harvey said, offering his arm.

“I feel like a puppet.”

He smirked. “Then you’re already halfway there.”

The gala was a blur of lights, camera flashes, and polite lies. Cora clung to Harvey’s arm, her smile painted on, her heels biting into her ankles.

People swarmed them. CEOs, politicians, media figures, everyone wanted a photo — a glimpse of the mysterious bride.

“Cora,” he said at one point, pulling her close. “You’re doing well. But remember, your value is in perception. If you falter, they’ll devour you.”

She nodded stiffly. “You don’t have to remind me. I’ve been surviving sharks longer than you’ve been watching them.”

His lips curved. “Good girl.”

The words burned, but she smiled.

She had made a choice, a terrible, terrifying, binding choice. Now, all she could do was survive it.