Chapter two

CHAPTER 2: FINANCIAL DESPERATION

Lyra tossed another rejection letter onto the growing pile on her coffee table. That made seventeen in total. Seventeen different publishers and agents who didn't believe in her work.

She glanced at her laptop screen where her bank account balance glared back: $246.78.

Not enough for rent. Not even close.

Rain pelted against the windows of her tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn. The building was old, with pipes that groaned and radiators that never quite heated the place in winter.

But it was hers, at least for the next week, unless she could come up with eight hundred dollars.

Jane's check sat untouched on the kitchen counter, burning a hole in her consciousness.

Lyra stood up and paced the small room, stepping over stacks of manuscript drafts and reference books. Six months ago, this apartment had felt like freedom.

Now it was just another cage.

(Six Months Earlier)

"You're making a mistake," Richard Harmon said, leaning back in his leather chair. The managing editor of Horizon Publishing looked genuinely confused.

"Assistant editors don't just walk away from secure positions, Lyra. Especially not in this market."

"I've been here three years," Lyra said, placing her resignation letter on his desk. "Reading other people's books, fixing other people's words. When do I get to write my own?"

Richard sighed. "That manuscript you showed me last month has potential, but it's not ready. Give it another year. Save some money. Don't throw away a good career on a dream."

"If I don't do it now, I never will," Lyra replied, surprising herself with her conviction. "I have enough savings for six months. If it doesn't work out, I'll find another job."

Richard shook his head but took her letter. "Your desk needs to be cleared by Friday."

Walking out of his office, Lyra felt lighter than she had in years. Six months to make her dream come true. It had seemed like plenty of time.

*****************

The shrill ring of her phone yanked Lyra back to the present. She grabbed it without checking the caller ID.

"Miss Winson." Mr. Patel's voice was polite but firm. "I'm calling about the rent."

Lyra's stomach clenched. "Mr. Patel, I know it's late. I just need another week…”

"It's been late three months in a row," he cut in. "I've been patient because you've been a good tenant, but I have bills too. If you can't pay by Monday, I'll have to start eviction proceedings."

"Monday?" Her voice cracked. That was four days away. "Please, I'm expecting payment for a freelance project…”

"Monday, Miss Winson. I'm sorry."

The line went dead. Lyra sank onto her worn sofa, hands shaking. Her "freelance project" was a lie.

The truth was much worse: she had nothing lined up, no prospects, and her novel, the reason she'd quit her stable job, was still being rejected by every agent in New York.

Her gaze drifted to the check on the counter. Three hundred thousand dollars. Half now, half later.

Jane's words echoed in her mind: "Just be the worst wife imaginable to a man who deserves nothing less."

Could she really do it? Pretend to be someone else, marry a stranger, and deliberately sabotage the relationship?

Lyra grabbed her laptop and typed "Ryker Blackwood" into the search bar. Images filled the screen, a tall, imposing man with dark hair and cold eyes.

Most photos showed him in expensive suits at business events, never smiling. Articles described him as "ruthless," "brilliant," and "intensely private."

One headline caught her eye: "Blackwood Acquisitions Forces Family Business into Bankruptcy." The article detailed how Ryker had systematically dismantled a company, leaving its owners destitute.

Is this the man Jane was supposed to marry? The man Lyra would be deceiving?

Her phone pinged with a notification: *Automatic Payment Declined. Electricity bill past due.*

Lyra looked around her apartment, at the manuscript drafts representing years of work, at the rejection letters, at the final notice from her student loan provider.

Then at Jane's check, which promised escape from all of it.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed her phone and called Jane.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon," Jane answered, sounding smug.

"I have conditions," Lyra said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Let me guess. More money?"

"No." Lyra took a deep breath. "First, I want everything in writing…what I'm expected to do, exactly how long I'll stay, and a guarantee that you'll bail me out if things go wrong."

Jane laughed. "You want a contract for our illegal arrangement?"

"Second," Lyra continued, ignoring her, "I want the second half of the money in an escrow account that releases to me automatically after three months, not six. I'm not waiting until the bitter end to get paid."

The line went quiet for a moment. "You've thought about this."

"Third, I need a way out if he becomes dangerous. From what I've read about Ryker Blackwood, he's not someone to cross."

"He's not violent, if that's what you're asking," Jane said. "Just cold, controlling, and used to getting his way. But fine, we can arrange a safety protocol."

Lyra closed her eyes. Was she really doing this? "Last condition: you tell me the truth about why your father owes him so much money."

Another pause, longer this time. "My father borrowed heavily from Blackwood to save his company. Now Ryker wants control, and my hand in marriage was part of the deal. Old-fashioned, isn't it? Like something from a bad novel."

"Why doesn't he just take the company?"

"Because this way he gets everything, the company, a socially connected wife, and the satisfaction of humiliating my father." Jane's voice hardened.

"My father deserves it. I don't."

Rain continued to pound against Lyra's windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Her bank account wasn't going to magically fill itself by Monday.

"When do we start?" Lyra asked quietly.

"Tomorrow. I'll send a car." Jane's tone was all business now. "We have to move quickly. The wedding is in twelve days, and you need to become me by then."

After hanging up, Lyra stared at Ryker Blackwood's image on her screen. Those cold eyes seemed to look right through her, as if he already knew what she was planning.

She picked up Jane's check, running her finger over the amount. With this money, she could finish her book without worrying about rent or bills.

She could finally be the writer she'd always dreamed of becoming.

All it would cost was her integrity. And possibly her freedom if they got caught.

Lyra walked to the window, watching lightning split the New York sky. Six months pretending to be someone else. Six months living a lie.

She thought of Mr. Patel, of her mounting debts, of the pile of rejection letters. Then she grabbed a pen and endorsed the back of Jane's check.

Some choices weren't really choices at all.