Chapter 2

ELENA

My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it repeatedly. I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it. Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar curtains, piercing straight into my brain.

This wasn't my room.

I sat up too fast. The room spun. My stomach lurched. I pressed my hand to my mouth, willing myself not to vomit.

Where the hell was I?

The room was nice. Too nice. Hotel nice. Cream colored walls. Expensive looking furniture. Sheets that probably cost more than my rent.

I looked down at myself. Still wearing last night's clothes. Wrinkled. Stained with what looked like vodka.

Last night.

Oh God, last night.

Fragments came back in flashes. The bar. Drinking. A man. Dark hair. Expensive suit. He said something about marriage.

No.

No, that couldn't be right.

I swung my legs out of bed. My left hand caught the light.

There was a ring on my finger.

A wedding ring.

Gold band. Simple. Beautiful. On my ring finger.

I stared at it. Tried to pull it off. It wouldn't budge.

"No no no no no." I yanked harder. The ring stayed put.

I stood up. Stumbled. Caught myself on the nightstand. My purse was there. I grabbed it. Dumped everything out. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Lipstick. Receipts.

And a piece of paper.

I unfolded it with shaking hands.

Marriage certificate.

My name. Elena Hart. And his. Adrian Blackwell.

Witnessed by Marcus Chen.

Dated yesterday.

"Oh God." My legs gave out. I sat back down on the bed. "Oh God oh God oh God."

I married him. I actually married him.

I pressed my hands to my face. Tried to remember. The bar. Yes. Crying about my parents. About the debt. The house. And then he appeared. Offered to pay it off.

If I married him.

And I said yes.

Didn't I?

I must have. The certificate was real. The ring was real.

"What did I do?" I whispered.

The door opened.

I screamed.

Adrian Blackwell walked in carrying two coffee cups and looking far too put together for someone who'd gotten married in a bar at midnight.

"Good morning," he said.

"Stay away from me."

"You're in my hotel room. Bit late for that."

"Your hotel room?" I looked around wildly. "Where am I?"

"The Blackwell Hotel. Kensington."

"You brought me to a hotel?"

"I wasn't taking you back to my place unconscious. That seemed inappropriate."

"But marrying me while I was drunk wasn't?"

He set the coffee cups down on the desk. "You signed the contract sober enough."

"I don't remember signing anything."

"You did. And you signed the marriage certificate. Well, you scribbled something that vaguely resembled your name."

I stood up. The room spun again but I ignored it. "This isn't legal. I was drunk. That can't be legal."

"It's legal."

"I don't remember the ceremony."

"That's not my problem."

"You took advantage of me."

He looked at me. Really looked at me. His expression was unreadable. "Yes. I did."

The honesty shocked me more than anything. I'd expected denials. Excuses. Not this calm admission.

"I want an annulment," I said.

"No."

"You can't just say no."

"I can. And I am. You signed a contract. We're married. That's the end of it."

"Like hell it is." I grabbed my purse. Shoved everything back inside. "I'm leaving."

"Fine. Leave. But your debt is still paid. And you're still married to me. Running away doesn't change that."

I stopped at the door. Turned back. "What do you mean my debt is paid?"

He picked up one of the coffee cups. Took a sip. "I transferred forty thousand pounds to your account last night. Before the ceremony. Check your banking app if you don't believe me."

I pulled out my phone. Opened the app with shaking fingers.

The balance made me gasp.

Forty thousand pounds. Sitting in my account. With a note that said "Debt payment. As agreed."

"You actually paid it," I whispered.

"I told you I would."

"But I could just take the money and leave."

"You could try. But you signed a contract. Break it, and you owe me double. Plus damages. Plus legal fees. You'd be in worse debt than before."

The room was spinning again. I sat down in the desk chair before I fell down. "You trapped me."

"You trapped yourself. You signed."

"Why can't you accept the fact that I was drunk Adrain."

"You were sober enough to write down your account number. Sober enough to sign your name. A judge will see it that way."

I wanted to cry. Or scream. Or throw something at his stupidly calm face."You used me."

"Yes."

"And you don't even care."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he set down his coffee cup and walked over. Crouched down so we were eye level.

"I need this marriage," he said quietly. "My father made a rule. Whichever son gets married first becomes CEO of the company. My brother got engaged. I had three days. I was desperate."

"So you found someone more desperate than you."

"Yes."

"And that makes it okay?"

"No. But it makes it necessary."

I laughed. It came out bitter and broken. "What kind of father forces his sons to marry for business?"

"The kind who built an empire and wants to make sure it goes to the right person."

"And you're the right person?"

"I'm better than my brother."

"That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

He almost smiled. Almost. "No. It's not."

We sat in silence. Him crouched in front of me. Me slumped in the chair. Both of us trapped in this mess we'd made

"What happens now?"

"Now we play the part. You move into my place. We attend events together. We convince everyone this marriage is real."

"For how long?"

"Eighteen months."

"Eighteen months of pretending to love you?"

"Pretending to like me would be enough."

"I don't even know you."

"You'll learn."

I looked at him. At this stranger I'd married. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. Expensive suit. He was handsome in a cold, calculated way. Like a marble statue. Beautiful but untouchable.

"What if I can't do this?" I asked quietly.

"You don't have a choice."

"Everyone has a choice."

"Not when they're forty thousand pounds in debt."

He stood up. Walked back to the desk. Picked up a folder I hadn't noticed before.

"What's that?" I asked.

"The contract. I thought you might want to read it properly. Since you don't remember signing it."

He held it out. I took it with shaking hands.

The contract was thick. Twenty pages at least. Dense legal language that made my head hurt more.

I started reading.

Party A. Adrian Blackwell. Party B. Elena Hart. Terms of agreement. Eighteen months. Living arrangements. Public appearances. Monthly allowance of five thousand pounds.

I kept reading.

Section Three. Termination clause. Either party can terminate with six months notice. But early termination requires full repayment of all benefits received.

Section Four. Confidentiality. Neither party can discuss the contractual nature of the marriage.

Section Five. Fidelity. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a monogamous relationship.

Section Six. Living arrangements. Party B agrees to reside in Party A's primary residence.

I turned the page to Section Seven.

And stopped breathing. I was shocked and found it hard to comprehend what I just read.

"Pregnancy clause," I read aloud. "In the event Party B becomes pregnant during the term of this agreement, any resulting child shall be considered the legal child of Party A, with Party A retaining full custody upon termination of this agreement."

I read it again. Then again.

"Any child belongs to you?" I looked up at him. "Are you serious?" Any child that comes from my womb??

"It's standard contract language."

"Standard? Having a baby isn't standard. This says if I get pregnant, you keep the child."

"It's just covering legal bases."

"Legal bases?" I stood up. The contract fell from my hands. "You're talking about a human being. A baby. Possibly My baby and you're saying you'd just take it?"

"The contract is clear."

"The contract is insane." I was shouting now. Didn't care. "This entire thing is insane. Marriage contracts. Pregnancy clauses. What kind of sociopath are you?"

"The kind who gets what he needs."

"By trapping women and stealing their potential children?"

"No one's stealing anything. The contract clearly states the terms."

"And you took advantage of me knowing fully well that I did not read the contract?"

"Yes. I did."

There it was again. That brutal honesty. Like he didn't even care how it sounded.

I grabbed the contract from the floor. Tore it in half.

"I'm leaving," I said. "I don't care about the money. I don't care about the debt. I'm not doing this."

I headed for the door.

He was faster. Stepped in front of it. Blocked my way.

"Move," I said.

"No."

"I said move."

"And I said no."

I tried to push past him. He didn't budge. Just stood there, solid as a wall, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"You can't keep me here," I said. "That's illegal."

"You can leave anytime you want. But the moment you walk out that door, you breach the contract. And the moment you breach, you owe me eighty thousand pounds. Plus damages. Plus legal fees. Probably closer to one hundred thousand total."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"I know."

"So you're threatening me."

"I'm reminding you of the terms you agreed to."

"I didn't agree to anything. 

"Tell that to a judge. See how far it gets you."

I wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream. Wanted to do something, anything, to wipe that calm expression off his face.

Instead, I just stood there. Trapped. Literally and figuratively.

"Your debts are paid," he said quietly. "You have a place to live. Money in your account. All you have to do is play a part for eighteen months. It could be worse."

"How could it possibly be worse?"

"You could be homeless. Penniless. With collectors knocking on your door. Is that better than this?"

I hated that he was right. Hated that I'd put myself in this position. Hated everything about this nightmare I'd stumbled into.

"I hate you," I whispered.

"I know."

His phone rang.

He pulled it from his pocket. Looked at the screen. His expression changed. Just slightly. A tightening around his eyes.

"I need to take this," he said.

"Don't let me stop you."

He answered. "Father."

I couldn't hear the other end. But I watched Adrian's face. Watched the careful mask slip just a bit.

"Tonight?" he said. "That's short notice."

More talking from the other end.

"Yes, she's here." His eyes flicked to me. "We'll be there."

More talking. Adrian's jaw tightened.

"I understand," he said. "We'll see you at seven."

He hung up. Stood there for a moment. Just staring at his phone.

"What?" I asked.

He looked up at me. And for the first time since I'd met him, I saw something real in his expression. Something that looked almost like fear.

"That was my father," he said slowly. "He wants to meet you. Tonight. At the family home."

"I'm not going."

"You don't have a choice. He's bringing my brother. And James's fiancée. He wants to meet both couples together."

"Let me guess. More games."

"Always games with him." Adrian ran a hand through his hair. Messing it up for the first time. Making him look human. "But there's something else."

"What?"

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "He's dying. Brain tumor. He has three months. Maybe less."

I wanted to feel sorry for him. Couldn't quite manage it. Not after everything. But I saw the way his hand shook slightly. The way his shoulders tensed.

"I'm sorry," I said. And meant it. A little.

"He said we have three months to prove the marriage is real. If he's not convinced by the time he dies, everything goes to James instead of me."

"Three months?"

"Three months of playing the perfect couple. Of convincing him we're in love. That this marriage is legitimate."

"And if we can't?"

"Then I lose everything. And you're still stuck in this marriage. For nothing."

His phone was still in his hand. I could see his knuckles were white from gripping it too hard.

"We have to go tonight," he said quietly. "We have to convince him this is real."

"How are we supposed to do that? We just met. We don't even like each other."

"We figure it out. We have to."

He finally moved away from the door. Sat down on the bed. Put his head in his hands.

For the first time, he looked as trapped as I felt.

"Three months," I said.

"Three months to prove marriage is real or everything goes to James."