Chapter 2 - The Man Behind the Name

By 9:47 a.m., Elena had learned a truth she didn’t want: Desperation makes you obedient. She left the hospital only because she had no idea what else to do. Daniel was still in surgery. There was nothing she could fix with her hands. Nothing she could buy with her empty bank account. So when a billionaire demanded her presence, she went.

She didn’t bother going home. She washed her face in the hospital bathroom, shoved her hair into a tighter knot, and tried to scrub the panic out of her eyes. It didn’t work.

Blackwood Group Headquarters rose from the city like a threat. Glass and steel. Clean lines. Guards at the entrance. The kind of building that didn’t just hold power— it radiated it. Elena stepped through the revolving doors and immediately felt out of place. The lobby was massive, silent except for the muted click of heels on polished stone. Everything smelled expensive—wood polish, crisp air-conditioning, perfume that wasn’t trying too hard because it didn’t need to.

A receptionist looked up, smile fixed. “Can I help you?”

Elena swallowed. “Elena Moore. I have… a meeting.”

The receptionist’s gaze flickered over Elena’s worn hoodie, the scuffed shoes, the faint shadow under her eyes. Then her expression changed—just slightly. Like she’d been instructed to expect this exact mismatch.

“Yes.” She picked up the phone. “She’s here.”

One minute later, a security badge was placed in Elena’s hand.

“Executive elevator,” the receptionist said. “Straight up.”

Elena walked across the lobby feeling every set of eyes that weren’t actually on her. She could feel judgment in the air even if no one spoke it. The executive elevator required a keycard. The doors slid open anyway, as if the building itself had decided she was allowed. She stepped inside. The elevator rose without a sound, numbers climbing. 32. 45. 61. Her ears popped. Her stomach clenched.

When the doors opened, she expected another reception desk. Instead she stepped into a quiet hallway that looked like a museum—artwork on the walls, soft carpet, no visible people. A glass door at the end was etched with a simple word:

BLACKWOOD

A woman appeared from nowhere—tall, severe, flawless suit. “Ms. Moore?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Cynthia.” No last name offered. “Follow me.”

Elena followed, heartbeat loud in her ears. Cynthia led her into a waiting area that didn’t feel like a waiting area. It felt like a place where you came to be evaluated.

“Mr. Blackwood will see you now,” Cynthia said, and opened a door.

Elena stepped through. The office beyond was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows. City skyline spread like a crown at his feet. A dark desk the size of a dining table. No personal clutter. No warmth. And behind it—Adrian Blackwood.

He didn’t stand. He didn’t smile. He looked up from a document with the calm disinterest of a man reading a report about a company he’d already decided to buy. Elena’s breath caught. He was… exactly what she’d imagined, and worse. Mid-to-late thirties. Sharp suit. No visible jewelry. Dark hair, neatly cut. Face carved into angles—cheekbones, jawline, mouth that looked like it had forgotten how to soften. His eyes were the most unsettling part. Not cold like ice. Cold like a scalpel. He studied her the way people like him studied numbers. Worth. Risk. Use.

“Sit,” he said.

Elena stayed standing. “Why am I here?”

His gaze flicked to her badge, then back to her face. “You’re late.”

“I’m at the hospital. My brother—”

“Yes.” Adrian’s voice was flat. “Daniel Moore. Motorcycle accident. Emergency surgery. No insurance.”

Elena’s skin prickled. “How do you know that?”

“I know everything I need to know.” He gestured again. “Sit.”

Elena’s legs felt unsteady. She lowered herself into the chair opposite his desk. It was too soft. Too expensive. Like it was designed to lull people into believing they were safe.

Adrian folded his hands. “Your brother will survive.”

Elena’s heart jolted. “What?”

“I spoke with the hospital’s chief of surgery this morning.” Adrian’s eyes didn’t move. “He believes Daniel will make it through the operation.”

Elena’s throat burned. Relief surged so hard it almost hurt. Then suspicion followed.

“Why would you—” Elena swallowed. “Why would you call them?”

Adrian’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Because you have a problem.”

Elena clenched her hands in her lap. “My brother has a problem.”

“You have a bill,” Adrian corrected. “And you can’t pay it.”

Elena’s voice came out sharper than she intended. “No.”

Adrian leaned back slightly, as if she were confirming something he already knew. “Two hundred and eighty thousand, give or take. ICU will add another fifty. Physical therapy. Medication. Follow-ups. You will drown in it.”

Elena’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“No. You didn’t.” Adrian’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “But you’re here anyway.”

Because you summoned me.

Elena lifted her chin. “What do you want?”

There was the question. The real one. The one that turned her stomach. Adrian stared at her for a long moment, like he was deciding how much truth to offer someone he didn’t consider an equal. Then he spoke.

“I need a wife.”

The words landed like a slap. Elena blinked. Once. Twice. Certain she’d misheard.

“A… what?”

“A wife,” Adrian repeated, tone unchanged. “A legal spouse. Immediately.”

Elena’s pulse pounded in her temples. “This is— this is insane.”

Adrian’s gaze didn’t flicker. “It’s business.”

Elena stood so abruptly the chair scraped. “No. Absolutely not.”

Adrian didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move. He simply watched her like he’d watched everything else—calm, controlled, inevitable.

“You’re emotional,” he said. “Sit down.”

Elena’s hands shook, but her anger steadied her spine. “You don’t get to call me emotional like I’m a child. My brother is in surgery.”

“And you’re in my office,” Adrian said softly. “Both of those things are true.”

Elena stared at him, breath coming faster. “Why me?”

Adrian’s eyes slid over her, assessing. “Because you’re clean.”

“Excuse me?”

“No scandals. No public history. No family name that complicates things. No ambition that would make you careless.” Adrian paused. “And because you’re desperate.”

Elena felt heat flood her face. Shame and fury tangling together.

“You can’t just—” her voice cracked. “You can’t buy people.”

Adrian’s gaze sharpened. “People sell themselves every day, Ms. Moore. They just prefer prettier words for it.”

Elena’s stomach turned. She wanted to leave. She wanted to run back to the hospital, back to Daniel, back to a world where her pain wasn’t being turned into leverage. But Adrian’s office felt like gravity. Like once you stepped into a billionaire’s orbit, you didn’t leave without being changed.

Adrian nodded once, as if concluding the first part of the conversation. “Sit.”

Elena didn’t. “No.”

Adrian’s eyes held hers. A quiet challenge. Then he spoke again—slower.

“Your brother’s bills will be handled.”

Elena’s heart stuttered. “Handled…?”

“Paid,” Adrian said. “All of it.”

Elena’s throat tightened. Relief threatened to crack her in half. And that was what scared her most. Because relief was how traps closed.

She forced the words out. “And in return?”

Adrian’s voice didn’t change. “You marry me.”

Elena’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not a trade. That’s—”

“That’s reality.” Adrian stood then, finally, tall and imposing, and walked to the window as if she were no longer the most important thing in the room. “You need money. I need a wife. This is efficient.”

Elena’s voice shook. “For how long?”

Adrian turned his head slightly, eyes reflecting the city. “Long enough.”

Elena stared at him, chest tight. “This is blackmail.”

Adrian looked back at her fully. His eyes were calm.

“No,” he said. “This is an offer.”

He let the silence stretch until it felt like it might suffocate her. Then, in the same tone he might use to approve a merger, he added:

“Decide quickly.”