Catherine Smith was born into untouchable wealth, a girl with everything except the freedom to love by choice and not demand. When she falls for Elijah Blakes, the quiet, kind man who works at the repair shop, she thinks she’s found the one thing money can’t afford: real love. But Elijah is hiding a secret. He’s not poor. He’s not powerless. He’s the estranged heir of a rival empire— and he’s been pretending to be someone else to keep her close. When her powerful parents discover their forbidden relationship, they break them off mercilessly. Catherine is forced to marry into a loveless engagement. Elijah, heartbroken, disappears and marries someone else. Years later, fate brings them back together. He’s colder now. Married. Untouchable. But the fire between them never died. And now, with everything to lose and nothing left to hide, the only question left is: Will she risk everything again for a man who lied to win her heart or—will love truly the only thing they can’t afford?
View MoreThe engine gave a sick, sputtering cough—then died completely.
Catherine Smith stared at the dashboard of her Bentley Continental GT, stunned. As if the car had the nerve to malfunction on this street—where cracked sidewalks met rusted fences and not a single doorman stood in sight. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, pulling out her phone. No signal. Of course. Her father had warned her not to drive into “these kinds of neighborhoods.” Her mother would have a panic attack if she knew Catherine had crossed into Brooklyn alone, without a driver, wearing heels worth more than the rent on the corner laundromat. But Catherine had wanted space. A break. Air. Now the car that symbolized her freedom sat lifeless in front of a grease-stained auto repair shop called Blakes Auto. She sighed, pushed open the door, and the moment her Louboutin hit the cracked pavement, she regretted everything. A bell chimed overhead as she stepped inside the garage. It smelled like oil, rubber, and something burnt—but it was better than being stranded outside. A tall man stood with his back to her, bent under the hood of a classic Ford. His black T-shirt clung to his back. Muscles flexed as he adjusted something with a wrench. “Excuse me,” Catherine said, hoping her voice sounded confident—and not completely helpless. The man turned. He was young. Late twenties, maybe. His dark hair was tousled, curls brushing his forehead. His jaw was sharp, shadowed with a rough stubble. There was sweat at his temple. Grease on his forearm. And the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “You lost?” he asked. “Is that how you greet all your customers?” she snapped, folding her arms. He gave a slow, crooked smile. “You don’t look like a customer. You look like someone who made a wrong turn into the wrong neighborhood.” She lifted her chin. “My car broke down. It’s a Bentley. It just… stopped.” “Bentleys usually don’t ‘just stop.’” He wiped his hands on a rag, walked past her, and glanced outside. “That your silver coupe?” “Yes.” He gave a low whistle. “Nice ride. Looks too clean to be yours.” “Excuse me?” “Relax, princess,” he said. “I’ll take a look.” She bristled. “My name is Catherine.” “Of course it is.” He smirked and walked out to her car. She followed, trying not to trip in her heels. He popped the hood and leaned in. She caught the faint smell of his cologne—subtle, woodsy, nothing like the overpowering designer scents she was used to. “So,” she said after a minute, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong with it?” “Depends. Are you going to yell at me if I tell you it’s your fault?” She glared. He chuckled. “Battery’s drained. And your alternator’s throwing off bad voltage. You’ve been ignoring your dashboard warnings for weeks, haven’t you?” “I don’t read dashboard warnings.” “Clearly.” She should’ve been insulted. But somehow, she wasn’t. “I can fix it,” he said, closing the hood, “but I’ll need to run diagnostics. Give me about an hour.” She checked her phone again. Still no signal. “There’s nowhere to wait.” “You can sit in the office. It’s not the Plaza, but it’s clean.” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know what the Plaza is?” He grinned. “I read magazines.” Something about that grin felt dangerous—but not in a bad way. He led her to a small breakroom office—dimly lit, with a beat-up couch, a fan in the corner, and a coffee machine that looked older than she was. He handed her a cold bottle of water. “Here. Try not to melt.” “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” “Immensely.” He turned to leave, but she called out, “Wait. What’s your name?” He paused. “Elijah.” “Elijah…?” “Just Elijah.” And then he walked away, back to her car, leaving her sitting there with a water bottle and a strange flutter in her chest. The office fan whirred lazily, blowing warm air into Catherine’s face as she sat stiffly on the edge of the couch. Dust clung to the windowsills, and someone had scribbled “Don’t touch my snacks” in Sharpie on the mini fridge. She wasn’t used to places like this. No velvet sofas. No ambient lighting. No champagne flutes brought without asking. But strangely, she didn’t feel like leaving. Outside, she could hear the faint clang of Elijah working. Tools clicking. A soft grunt. Then silence, followed by the low hum of the diagnostic machine booting up. Catherine stood, peeked through the dusty glass door, and watched him for a moment. He moved with precision—focused, efficient, confident in a way that made her heartbeat slow and then speed up again. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and leaned into the hood like the car was whispering secrets. “You’re staring,” he called without turning. Catherine flinched and stepped back. “You’ve got good hearing for a mechanic.” “I’ve got good instincts,” he said, finally glancing back at her through the open bay. “And instincts say you’re not used to waiting.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t mind waiting. When the company’s decent.” He smirked. “Is that your way of flirting?” “It’s my way of saying you haven’t offered me anything but water.” “Would you rather a glass of 2014 Château Margaux?” She blinked. “You know wine?” “I know a lot of things people don’t expect me to.” The words lingered between them, charged. Catherine stepped forward. “How long have you worked here?” “A while.” “That’s not an answer.” He closed the hood and turned toward her, arms crossed. “Are you always this curious about strangers who fix your car?” “Only the ones who don’t tell me their last name.” He smiled—slow, easy, but something behind it stayed guarded. “Let’s keep it simple. You’re Catherine. I’m Elijah. And your car has commitment issues.” She laughed despite herself. “Fine. What’s the damage?” “Battery’s dead. Alternator’s hanging on by a thread. I’ll need to keep it overnight.” Catherine hesitated. “So how do I get home?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Call a car service. Don’t rich girls keep those on standby?” Her jaw tightened. “You really don’t like people like me, do you?” “I don’t know you.” “Then why all the assumptions?” He didn’t answer right away. Just grabbed a rag and started wiping his hands again. Finally, he looked at her. “People like you usually look at me like I’m invisible.” Her chest tightened a little. “I didn’t.” “No,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t.” The silence stretched—tender and raw, the kind that made her feel like something important had just been said. Catherine’s phone buzzed. Signal: back. She glanced at the screen. Ten missed calls. All from her father’s assistant. Elijah noticed her expression change. “Problem?” She locked the screen. “No. Just the real world catching up.” “I see.” She stepped away from the door. “I’ll call for a ride. Shouldn’t take long.” “You can wait inside. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s cool.” She gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” “And hey,” he said, catching her gaze before she turned. “Next time your Bentley acts up, try listening to the warning lights.” “Next time?” she repeated. He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “You seem like the type who doesn’t learn the first time.” Her smile widened. “You have no idea.”Catherine hadn’t cried when she left Elijah’s suite.Not on the ride home.Not when she walked past James and her parents like they were air.Not even when her mother called after her with a sharp, “You missed your future this morning.”But now, alone in her room with the door locked and her phone facedown, the silence was too heavy to carry.She sank onto her bed, knees curled, the city lights painting her ceiling with flickers of silver and gold. They looked like stars — and she hated them for it.Because Elijah had once told her she made the stars feel close.And now?Now, even his name was a lie.⸻He said he was Elijah Carsen.Not Elijah Miles Blakes.He’d told her about the girl he was supposed to marry — how it was a family decision he didn’t want. He even said he left that life behind. It was emotional. Vulnerable. Honest enough to hurt — but vague enough to control the damage.She had looked into his eyes that night and believed him. Held his secrets like fragile glass and pr
The silence in her parents’ penthouse was never just silence.It was performance. It was tension dressed in crystal and marble. And as Catherine walked in—coat still clinging to her skin like memory—she could feel it all pressing down on her.Her mother was waiting in the living room. Perfectly still. Not a hair out of place.“You’re late,” she said, not looking up from her tablet. “And you missed brunch with the Carters.”Catherine didn’t respond. She walked past her, toward the hallway. But before she could escape, her father’s voice called out from the dining room.“Catherine. Sit.”She froze.The chair was already pulled out for her, like this was a board meeting she hadn’t asked to attend. James was sitting at the head of the table, dressed in a pale grey suit and a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.“Lovely to see you,” he said casually, swirling wine in a glass like he lived there.Catherine sat. Slowly. Her heart hadn’t stopped thudding since she left Elijah’s place.
“Were you ever going to tell me you were supposed to marry her?”Her voice cracked just slightly at the end, but she stood tall in his suite, bathed in the golden hush of the early morning sun. Catherine looked like a question he didn’t deserve to answer — elegant, wounded, and furious in the kind of quiet way that made it worse.Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t speak.The question sliced through him with surgical precision.“I need the truth,” she added, her voice low now. “Not the gentle version. Not the one you tell yourself to sleep better at night.”He finally looked at her. “I didn’t sleep at all.”“Then start talking.”He let out a breath and sat down slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. The rich silence between them stretched — tense, loaded, raw.“You want the truth?” he murmured. “Fine.”She crossed her arms but said nothing.“I was supposed to marry her. Years ago. My name was printed on gold-foil invitations before I ever had the chance to speak up. I was born into it. Groom
The ride home was a blur. Catherine couldn’t remember the roads she took, or how many red lights she might’ve run. Her hands stayed clenched around the wheel, knuckles white, jaw locked so tight it ached.She had said she needed more than love.She just hadn’t expected less than truth.By the time she reached the quiet luxury of her family’s penthouse, morning light was already spilling across the horizon. The city was waking. She was unraveling.She dropped her heels by the door and headed straight for the living room, tossing her coat aside and reaching for her laptop. She didn’t know what she was looking for exactly—only that she couldn’t sit still, not when her head was screaming with questions.What did Elijah mean by “the board”?Who was he talking to?And who the hell was he supposed to marry?She started with what she knew.Blake Holdings.She typed the name into the private database her father paid ridiculous money to maintain access to. It didn’t take long to find the busine
Catherine woke up to warmth— Elijah’s arm draped strongly around her waist, paying close attention to his heartbeat, the morning sun spilling across tangled sheets that smelled like sweat, skin, love and sin.For a moment, time froze, along side her body. She didn’t move, she didn’t want to. This felt like peace. Like a Future. Like maybe love could survive being lied to. But then she blinked herself into reality and remembered everything. James’s mouth on her neck. The sound of Elijah’s voice breaking. Talia’s eyes flashing like warning lights in the dark. She turned slowly, careful not to wake him. But he was already awake, watching her.“You always look like that in the morning?” He asked quietly, his voice a bit raspy. She blinked. “Like what?”“Like you’re planning your escape.”Catherine sat up, pulling the blanket to her chest. “Should I be?”He flinched at that — the kind of flinch a man makes when he knows he still owes the truth.“I didn’t expect last night to happen,
Catherine didn’t sleep.Not really.She closed her eyes, but her body pulsed with guilt—and longing. The guilt belonged to James. The longing? That part hadn’t moved. It was still tethered to Elijah.It wasn’t just what happened.It was how she let it.How she’d wanted to forget.But Elijah’s voice, his eyes, the way he said her name—none of it left her. Not even in the arms of someone else.She sat on her balcony as the sun cracked open the sky. The cool breeze kissed her bare shoulders. She hadn’t changed from the dress she wore last night. A shameful echo of all the ways she’d tried to erase him.The gate buzzed.Her heart jumped.She didn’t check. She didn’t have to.She opened the door before he could knock.Elijah stood there, face shadowed, eyes bloodshot.They stared at each other.No words. Just… gravity.He stepped inside. She didn’t stop him.“I saw you,” he said finally. “Last night.”Catherine swallowed, her chest tightening. “I know.”He looked like it physically pained
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