He needed a fake fiancée. She needed a lifeline. Neither expected to become a target. Amelia Monroe signs a contract to save her clinic and escape a crushing lawsuit: pretend to be the future wife of Frederick Blackwell, a cold, calculating billionaire with more enemies than friends. But the moment the ink dries, everything spirals. A mysterious car crash. Silent boardroom wars. Leaked secrets. And Frederick—her supposed fake fiancé—goes missing. As Amelia gets pulled deeper into his world of corporate deception and hidden vendettas, one thing becomes terrifyingly clear: this was never just a contract. The threats are real. The danger is closing in. And the only thing more dangerous than the lies… is the growing truth between them. How do you fake a love that starts to feel real—when someone out there wants to see you both destroyed?
View MoreSIX YEARS AGO
The rooftop of the Silex Innovations gala shimmered like a mirage against the New York skyline. Golden chandeliers hung beneath glass arches, violins played in the background, and champagne flowed like silk. Everyone was dressed to dazzle, to impress, to be seen. Well, except Amelia Hart, who clutched her tiny silver purse like a lifeline and tried not to trip over her borrowed heels. "Remind me why I let Jane talk me into this?" she muttered, adjusting the neckline of her borrowed dress. Jane laughed beside her, already tipsy, her glittering black gown hugging her body like a second skin. "Because you just finished med school, and I said you needed to celebrate. And Collin is hot and rich and very single." Amelia's eyes slid to Collin, Jane's tech-whiz ex who now hovered near a group of coders, completely ignoring her. She sighed. "Yeah, real Prince Charming." "Just drink and dance," Jane winked, disappearing into the crowd. Left alone, Amelia moved toward the bar. She wasn’t here for networking or drama. She just wanted to breathe. To feel something other than exhaustion after years of sleepless nights and cramming anatomy textbooks. A flute of champagne found its way into her hand, and soon, the bubbles warmed her bloodstream. Across the room, Frederick Blackwell stood like a shadow draped in tailored Armani, his tie slightly loosened, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He hated these events. He said they were filled with pointless handshakes and shallow smiles. But Silex was relevant to his empire, and even as they defected from Blackwell dealings, he needed to be seen. Then he saw her. She wasn’t like the others. She was trying not to be noticed, failing miserably. Her dress hugged curves with an innocence that made his mouth dry. Hair swept to the side. A necklace glinting faintly with a name. He didn’t know her. But God, he wanted to. When she turned and caught him staring, she didn’t blush or look away. She raised an eyebrow, half-daring him to approach. So he did. "You look like you're trying to escape," he said, leaning casually beside her at the bar. She smiled, soft and playful. "I was. Almost made it to the elevator." "Let me guess. Not a fan of billion-dollar tech galas?" "Only when they don't have snacks." He laughed. A full, honest laugh that surprised them both. She liked the sound of it. Rich, low, unfiltered. "So, who's the lucky man?" He asked teasingly. "Who says there's a man?" She leaned over the bar and ordered two martinis. Drinks turned into banter, banter into shared glances, shared glances into touches that lingered longer than polite society allowed. The city spun around them in velvet and gold. But it was nothing compared to the way he looked at her. As if she were a secret worth burning for. They walked slowly and talked about the city. "Do you always look at strangers like that?" she asked. "Only the unforgettable ones." "What makes them unforgettable?" She leaned towards him obviously getting tipsy. "Well.." They kissed in the hallway outside the ballroom—soft at first, then hungrily. Her back hit the elevator wall as his hands skimmed her waist. They stumbled into a penthouse suite booked for someone far richer and far drunker, and the world narrowed to silk sheets, gasps, and her name whispered like prayer. "You're drunk" he said, moving back from her. "I'm pretty much stable." She lowered her voice. "I consent." "How many fingers do I have up?" He rose one finger up. "One. Index." He chuckled, slow and deep. “You always this charming when you’re tipsy?” “I’m not tipsy,” she lied. “I’m… moderately unstable.” “Cute.” “Annoying.” His smile widened. He didn’t ask her name. She didn’t ask his. It was better that way. No expectations. No strings. Just two strangers in a city that never stopped moving. By the time they got to the suite, her heels were off and she was giggling about the chandelier in the hallway. He opened the door, and the city lights spilled into the room, casting long shadows on the floor. She kissed him first. Clumsy, hot, tasting of fruit and nerves. He held her face like it was something precious. She tangled her fingers in his shirt. They stumbled back against the edge of the bed, her laughter fading into soft gasps. She was warm, all curves and heat, her dress sliding off her shoulders like a sigh. His hands memorized her skin, slow and reverent, as though the night might disappear if he moved too fast. She whispered something against his throat. He didn’t catch it, didn’t need to. And when they came together, it was more than lust. It was a collision. A craving. A beginning. The sun had barely risen when he reached for her and found only cool sheets. The pillow still held her scent. Her nameplate necklace was on the end of the bed. He groaned and stretched towards it. "Amelia" he whispered as his fingers traced the necklace.The screen went black.The last flicker of that familiar hair burned into Amelia’s mind, lodging itself behind her eyes like a splinter she couldn’t pry free. The silence that followed was worse than the ping of alarms, worse than the static hum of the machines. It was heavy. Crushing.Frederick didn’t move at first. He stood there, muscles locked, jaw clenched, one hand braced against the console as if the weight of the entire Empire rested on that single point of contact.She wanted to reach for him, to close the gap, but she knew him well enough now to recognize the stillness. It wasn’t calm. It was storm.When he finally spoke, his voice was a low scrape of gravel. “They want me to believe it’s you.”Her throat tightened. She took one step closer, her bare feet whispering against the polished floor. “And do you?”The question hung between them.Slowly, painfully, Frederick turned his head. His eyes found hers, dark and raw, threaded with a kind of fear she had never seen in him be
Amelia’s chest tightened so fiercely that it felt as if her lungs had been compressed in a vice. Her fingers shook as she reached for the folder, as though touching it might erase the damning truth printed in cold black letters. She didn’t. She couldn’t. To do so would be to admit that maybe, in some twisted corner of reality, the accusation could be true. That maybe her presence at the Empire had been exploited, or worse, that someone had used her without her knowing.“Frederick…” Her voice trembled, soft, almost pleading. “You have to believe me. I wasn’t there. I didn’t—”“Then explain it,” he snapped, the words slicing through the room. His hands clenched the folder until the edges bent. “Tell me how your card was used at the Empire at the exact time the security systems were breached. Because right now, Amelia, it looks like you’ve been lying to me.”The accusation hung in the air like smoke, curling around her ribs, suffocating. She took a trembling step back, then another, the
Amelia’s breath refused to steady. She sat on the floor of her clinic, glass scattered like sharp stars around her, the note still trembling in her hand. Patients whispered, some cried, nurses tried to calm them, but all the noise blurred into the background. The only thing clear was the paper between her fingers, the threat carved into it with jagged strokes.He will never be yours.The words seared her like an open flame, and for a moment, she thought she might choke on the weight of them. She’d known from the start that being tied to Frederick painted a target on her back, but seeing it written so bluntly, so personally, cut deeper than anything else. This wasn’t just about him. Whoever had sent this wanted her gone. Wanted her broken.The phone still lay where it had fallen, Frederick’s voice spilling out in fragments. “Amelia? … answer me. Amelia.” His tone carried a sharpness that made her chest tighten, as if he were here already, pulling her up, shielding her with that unshaka
By the time the room emptied, Frederick was no closer to breathing.He had ordered them out—every technician, every guard, every last witness to the frame frozen on the wall. The silence that followed pressed against his skull, thick and suffocating, leaving him alone with the glow of screens and the shape of a woman who could not, must not, be Amelia.He replayed it again. The movement. The fall of hair over the shoulder. The turn of her body as the ID card was swiped. Credentials flashed on the corner of the screen: Dr. Amelia Hart.Each time, the same truth stared back at him, and each time he refused to believe it.His fists clenched at his sides. His pulse was a steady roar in his ears, drowning out reason, drowning out memory. Yet memory fought to surface—her voice shaking in the dark when she confessed her nightmares, the way her breath trembled against his chest, the desperate honesty in her eyes when she let him touch her as though she’d been waiting her whole life for someon
The knock at his door barely registered. It came again, firmer this time, and Luke’s voice followed.“Frederick. We need to talk.”Frederick closed the folder slowly, his jaw set. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, sharp and unreadable. The pieces were shifting, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the fragile edges of control slipping through his hands.He didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched, filled with the faint hum of the city outside and the measured beat of his own heart. When he finally said, “Come in,” his voice was quieter than usual, almost too calm, as if the storm had already begun inside him.Luke stepped through, shutting the door behind him. He looked as though he’d aged in the last hour—eyes sharp but tired, shoulders heavy with whatever truth he carried. He hesitated only for a second before placing a flash drive on the desk between them.“You’re going to want to see this.”Frederick’s fingers tapped the wood, deliberate, steady. H
The light found them slowly. Thin streaks slipped through the curtains, crawling across the floorboards and over the tangled sheets, until they reached the bed where Frederick and Amelia still lay. The room felt quieter than it had the night before, as though it knew not to intrude. Her head rested against his shoulder, her breath moving in sync with his, while his hand remained curved possessively at her waist, anchoring her against him even in sleep.But they were awake. Not completely, not ready to leave the safety of the dim morning, but awake enough to know that the night had changed something between them.Amelia shifted first, her eyelashes brushing against his skin as she blinked up at him. She didn’t speak, only watched him, as though trying to memorize the exact weight of his presence after such an unguarded night. Frederick’s gaze followed hers, steady and unreadable at first, until his thumb began to draw idle circles against her side. A small gesture, but enough to tell h
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