Chapter one

CHAPTER 1: THE PROPOSITION

Lyra Winson's phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes. She glanced at the screen, surprised to see Jane McCormick's name flashing again. They hadn't spoken in weeks.

"What's so urgent?" Lyra answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she continued typing her latest rejection email to a literary agent.

"I need to see you. Now." Jane's voice had an edge Lyra hadn't heard before. "Meet me at Bellini's in an hour."

"Bellini's? That place costs more than my monthly rent."

"I'm paying. And Lyra?" Jane paused. "Wear something nice. Not those jeans with the hole in the knee."

Before Lyra could protest, the line went dead. She stared at her laptop screen, the half-written email to yet another agent who'd rejected her manuscript.

Six months ago, she'd quit her steady job at Horizon Publishing to focus on her writing. Six months of dwindling savings and growing desperation.

Jane McCormick, on the other hand, had never worried about money a day in her life.

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Lyra felt out of place the moment she stepped into Bellini's. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over white tablecloths and wealthy patrons.

She'd worn her only decent dress—black, simple, and thankfully without any obvious signs of wear.

Jane waved from a corner table, looking immaculate in a designer outfit that probably cost more than Lyra's entire wardrobe.

Her sleek blonde hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, highlighting her sharp cheekbones.

"You're late," Jane said as Lyra slid into the seat across from her.

"Some of us take the subway, not private cars." Lyra grabbed the menu, then quickly set it down when she saw the prices. "What's this about, Jane? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jane took a long sip of her martini, glancing around before leaning forward. "I have a business proposition for you."

"I'm not interested in a job at your father's company."

"It's not that kind of job." Jane's perfectly manicured nails tapped nervously against her glass. "Have you ever heard of Ryker Blackwood?"

Lyra frowned. "The tech billionaire? The one they call 'The Wolf of Wall Street' except with computers or whatever?"

"That's the one. Dark, mysterious, ruthless. Worth about fifteen billion." Jane's eyes darted around again. "And I'm supposed to marry him in two weeks."

Lyra choked on her water. "What? Since when are you engaged?"

"I'm not. Not exactly." Jane signaled the waiter for another drink. "It's arranged. My father owes him. A lot. This marriage is the payment."

"That can't be legal. This isn't the 1800s."

Jane laughed bitterly. "Tell that to my father. Or to Ryker Blackwood, who apparently thinks he can buy a wife to settle a debt." She leaned even closer.

"Here's the thing—Ryker has never met me. The whole arrangement was done through lawyers. He's been overseas for months. The wedding is by proxy, and then he's gone again for another six months."

The waiter arrived with Jane's fresh martini and took their orders. After he left, Lyra shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but what does this have to do with me?"

Jane reached into her designer bag and pulled out a thick envelope, sliding it across the table.

"I want you to be me."

Lyra stared at her, certain she'd misheard. "You want me to what?"

"Marry Ryker Blackwood. As me." Jane's voice was deadly serious. "Sign the papers, live in his penthouse while he's away, and make yourself so unbearable that when he returns, he'll want nothing more than a quick divorce."

Lyra pushed the envelope back. "You've lost your mind."

"Look inside."

With shaking hands, Lyra opened the envelope. Inside was a check with more zeros than she'd ever seen in her life.

"Half now, half when it's done," Jane said. "Enough for you to write your book, publish it yourself if you have to, and not worry about rent for years."

Lyra's heart raced. The amount could change everything—pay off her debts, fund her writing career, provide the freedom she desperately needed. But the risk...

"This is fraud, Jane. It's criminal."

"It's justice." Jane's eyes hardened. "Ryker Blackwood is using my family's desperation to force this marriage. He doesn't care who I am, he just wants control of my father's company assets and a trophy wife who won't make trouble."

"But what happens when he finds out?"

Jane smiled coldly. "He won't. The plan is simple: you marry him as me, live in his penthouse for six months while he's in Asia, throw wild parties, redecorate his precious home, spend his money carelessly. By the time he returns, he'll be begging for a divorce." She tapped the check.

"And we'll both get what we want."

The waiter returned with their meals. Lyra stared at her plate, appetite gone. The money would solve everything. Her rent was due next week.

Her latest manuscript needed professional editing she couldn't afford. Her credit cards were maxed out.

"What if he hurts me when he discovers I'm not you?" Lyra whispered.

"Ryker Blackwood doesn't get his hands dirty. He'll just want to end the marriage quickly and quietly to avoid scandal." Jane reached across the table, squeezing Lyra's hand with unexpected force.

"Six months of luxury living, and you're set for years. How many struggling writers get an opportunity like this?"

Lyra pulled her hand away. "I need to think about it."

"You have twenty-four hours." Jane's voice was suddenly businesslike. "The marriage certificate needs Jane McCormick's signature, you'll have to practice. My father can't know. No one can know."

Lyra's mind raced through the possibilities, the dangers, the rewards. "Why me?"

Jane's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Because you're the only person I know desperate enough to say yes, but principled enough to follow through." She raised her glass.

"And you look nothing like me, which is perfect. When Ryker eventually tracks down the real Jane McCormick, he'll find someone who looks nothing like his fake wife."

The implications sank in. Jane was setting her up as a scapegoat if things went wrong.

"I can't do this." Lyra started to stand.

"Three hundred thousand dollars, Lyra." Jane's words froze her in place. "Half now, half after. Enough to change your life. All for signing some papers and living in luxury for six months."

Lyra slowly sank back into her chair. Three hundred thousand dollars. Freedom. Her dream.

"What exactly would I have to do?" she asked quietly.

Jane's smile widened, victorious. "Just be the worst wife imaginable to a man who deserves nothing less."

Outside the restaurant, thunder rolled across the New York sky, as if warning of the storm to come. Lyra knew she should walk away.

But as Jane outlined the details, the check sat heavy in Lyra's purse, whispering promises of the life she'd always wanted.

One signature. Six months. Financial freedom.

What could possibly go wrong?