Chapter 3

The black town car that pulled up to Sophia's building at exactly 7:30 PM probably cost more than she'd make in three years. She watched it from her apartment window, her palms sweating as she smoothed the blue dress he'd somehow known she owned.

The dress was her one truly expensive piece a midnight blue silk sheath she'd splurged on for a job interview at the Ritz Carlton that had ended in humiliation when they'd discovered her father's reputation preceded her. She'd worn it exactly once, and somehow Ethan Cross knew about it.

"You look beautiful, mija," Elena said from her wheelchair by the window. The effort of getting dressed had exhausted her, but she'd insisted on seeing Sophia off. "Like a queen going to battle."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of." Sophia grabbed her clutch her own this time, not borrowed—and kissed her mother's forehead. "If I'm not back by midnight"

"You'll be back." Elena's voice was firm. "And you'll be fine. You're stronger than you know."

The elevator in their building had been broken for six months, so Sophia took the stairs carefully in her heels, each step echoing her racing heartbeat. By the time she reached the lobby, the driver was already waiting a professional looking man in a crisp uniform who opened the door without a word.

The interior of the car was all buttery leather and polished wood, with a small bar and what looked like a tablet built into the partition. As they pulled away from the curb, the tablet lit up with a message.

"Don't be nervous. I don't bite. Usually. - E"

Despite her anxiety, Sophia found herself fighting a smile. She typed back: *How reassuring.*

"I thought so. How's your mother?"

The question caught her off guard. She stared at the screen for a long moment before responding: "Why do you care?"

"Because understanding someone's motivations is good business."

"Is that what this is? Business?"

"Everything is business, Sophia. The question is what kind of deal we're going to make."

The conversation ended there, leaving her to stare out at the glittering lights of Manhattan as they made their way toward Midtown. Le Bernardin was the kind of restaurant she'd only ever read about in magazines the kind of place where a single meal cost more than her monthly grocery budget.

When they arrived, Ethan was already waiting at a corner table that somehow managed to be both intimate and commanding. He stood as she approached, and she was struck again by the sheer presence of him. In his perfectly tailored charcoal suit, he looked like he belonged in this world of crystal and linen and hushed, expensive conversations.

"You came," he said, pulling out her chair.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I thought you were smart enough to know better." His smile was enigmatic as he settled across from her. "But desperate enough to come anyway."

The waiter appeared as if by magic, presenting them with menus that had no prices. Sophia's stomach clenched. She'd looked up the restaurant online the tasting menu alone was more than she made in a week.

"The tasting menu," Ethan told the waiter without consulting her. "And bring us the 2015 Chablis."

"Sir, we actually have a 2010 Chablis that would pair"

"The 2015." Ethan's tone brooked no argument. "Thank you."

When they were alone again, Sophia leaned forward. "You could have asked what I wanted."

"I could have." He poured water from a crystal pitcher, his movements precise and controlled. "But I've done my research. You're adventurous when it comes to food, practical when it comes to everything else, and you have a weakness for good wine that you can't afford to indulge."

"Your research is disturbingly thorough."

"I don't make deals with people I don't understand."

"And what kind of deal are you planning to make with me?"

He leaned back in his chair, studying her with those penetrating gray eyes. "Tell me about your business."

The change of subject threw her. "My business?"

"Martinez Events. You started it three years ago with a five-thousand-dollar loan from your mother's 401k. You've planned twelve events in the last year, mostly small corporate functions and one wedding that went spectacularly wrong when the bride's father embezzled the catering funds."

Sophia's cheeks burned. "You really have done your research."

"The Pemberton wedding. The bride was left with no flowers, no food, and a venue that locked the doors when the payment bounced. But you stayed. You called in every favor you had, borrowed money you couldn't afford to lose, and salvaged the entire event. Why?"

"Because it was the right thing to do."

"Was it? Or was it because you understand what it feels like to have your father's crimes ruin your life?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Sophia reached for her water glass, buying time to compose herself. "I felt sorry for her."

"You felt guilty." His voice was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. "You've been feeling guilty for five years, haven't you? Living with the weight of what your father did to mine."

"My father"

"Your father was a weak man who chose money over honor. But you're not him." The waiter appeared with the wine, and Ethan went through the tasting ritual with practiced ease. When they were alone again, he continued. "You've spent five years trying to make amends for crimes you didn't commit. Working three jobs, sacrificing your own future to pay for your mother's care, building a business based on making other people's dreams come true because you feel responsible for crushing mine."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know everything about you." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper that made her pulse skip. "I know you haven't been on a date in eight months because you're too busy working. I know you cry in the shower when you think your mother can't hear you. I know you lie awake at night wondering if there was something you could have done to stop your father, even though you were twenty years old and had no idea what he was planning."

Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. "Stop."

"I know you blame yourself for his suicide. I know you think you could have saved him if you'd just tried harder to understand why he was so desperate for money."

"Stop." The word came out sharper than she intended, drawing glances from nearby tables.

Ethan sat back, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Sophia. I'm trying to help you understand that I know exactly who you are. And I know exactly what you need."

"Which is?"

"Freedom. From the guilt, from the financial pressure, from the constant weight of trying to atone for someone else's sins." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. "I'm prepared to offer you five million dollars."

Sophia's breath caught. "For what?"

"Six months of your life."

The first course arrived some kind of seafood preparation that probably had a French name she couldn't pronounce. Sophia stared at it, her appetite vanishing.

"What kind of six months?"

"I need a fiancée." His tone was conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "Someone intelligent, beautiful, and convincing enough to fool some very sophisticated people."

"You want me to pretend to be engaged to you."

"I want you to be engaged to me. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

He smiled, and something in his expression made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. "For six months, you'll be Sophia Cross. You'll live in my penthouse, attend events at my side, and play the role of a woman completely in love with her billionaire fiancé. In return, you'll receive five million dollars, enough to pay for your mother's treatment and set yourself up for life."

"Why?"

"Because I need to appear stable and committed for a business deal that will cement my position as the most powerful man in Manhattan. Because my mother is dying and her last wish is to see me happily married. Because there are people who will try to destroy me if they think I'm vulnerable, and nothing says invulnerable like a beautiful woman who chooses to love you."

Sophia took a sip of wine, the crisp Chablis doing nothing to clear her head. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Smart girl." His smile turned predatory. "There's someone I need to make jealous. Someone who chose money over me five years ago and is about to find out what a mistake that was."

"Your ex."

"My ex-fiancée. She's marrying her hedge fund prince next month, and I intend to be there with the most stunning woman in New York on my arm."

"So this is about revenge."

"This is about justice." His eyes hardened. "She destroyed my family for a better stock portfolio. I'm simply returning the favor."

Sophia set down her fork, her hands trembling slightly. "And what happens to me when your revenge is complete?"

"You walk away five million dollars richer and free to live whatever life you choose."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." He leaned forward again, his voice dropping to that intimate whisper. "Unless, of course, you find yourself not wanting to walk away."

The implication hung in the air between them like a challenge. Sophia felt heat rise in her cheeks as his gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.

"This is insane."

"This is business. Very profitable business."

"For you, maybe. What guarantee do I have that you won't destroy me the way you're planning to destroy her?"

"Because you're not her." His voice was soft but certain. "You're not capable of the kind of calculated cruelty that she is. You're too honest, too loyal, too..." He paused, searching for the word. "Too good."

"You don't know that."

"I know that you crashed my party to steal food for your dying mother, not to steal corporate secrets or seduce your way into my bed. I know that you've sacrificed everything to take care of the one person who matters to you. I know that you're the kind of woman who would rather starve than compromise her principles." His smile was gentler now, almost tender. "Unfortunately for you, I'm counting on those principles to make this arrangement work."

Sophia stared at him, her mind racing. Five million dollars. Her mother's treatments. A chance to start over without the crushing weight of debt and guilt.

"What would I have to do?"

"Be yourself. Be the woman I've been watching for five years, the one who turned tragedy into strength and guilt into purpose. Be the woman who could make a man like me believe in second chances."

"And if I can't? If I'm not convincing enough?"

"You will be." His confidence was absolute. "Because this won't just be an act, will it, Sophia?"

The question hung between them, loaded with implications she wasn't ready to face. Because he was right. The way her pulse jumped when he looked at her, the way her breath caught when he smiled, the way her entire body seemed to come alive in his presence none of that was fake.

"I need time to think."

"Of course." He signaled for the check. "But not too much time. I need an answer by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow? That's not enough"

"It's plenty of time to decide whether you want to save your mother's life or not." The words were brutal in their simplicity.

As they waited for the car, Ethan helped her into her coat, his fingers brushing against her neck as he lifted her hair free of the collar. The touch was brief, probably accidental, but it sent electricity shooting through her entire body.

"One more thing," he said as they walked toward the waiting car. "If you say yes, there will be rules."

"What kind of rules?"

"No falling in love with me." His smile was wicked as he opened the car door for her. "I'd hate to break your heart along with everyone else's."

As the car pulled away from the restaurant, Sophia touched her neck where his fingers had been and wondered if it was already too late for that particular rule.

Because something told her that Ethan Cross was about to break a lot more than just her heart.

He was about to break her completely.

And the most terrifying part? She was starting to think she might let him.