Chapter 4

Mia barely slept, and when she finally gave up trying, it was still dark outside, the city lights blinking against a sky that hadn’t decided on morning yet.

She found her way to the penthouse’s private gym instead of the kitchen — not because she wanted to work out, but because she needed somewhere to put the restless energy crawling under her skin. She hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake. She definitely hadn’t expected to find Damian there, already mid-run on the treadmill, shirt clinging to him, expression somewhere between focus and exhaustion.

He glanced at her in the mirror but didn’t stop. “Couldn’t sleep either.”

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t treat it like one. She grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler by the door and sat on the bench, watching him for a moment before she spoke.

“Tell me what Serena meant.”

His pace didn’t change, but something in his shoulders tensed. “Serena likes chaos. She’ll say things designed to unsettle you regardless of whether they’re true.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

Mia set the water bottle down harder than she meant to. “I signed a contract, Damian. I moved into your house. I let your family witness me getting a fake wedding kiss on the cheek. I think I’ve earned more than deflection.”

The treadmill slowed. He stepped off, breathing hard, and grabbed a towel from the rack, using the motion to buy himself a few seconds before he answered.

“The marriage wasn’t only about your father,” he said finally.

“I gathered that much.”

“There’s a clause in my father’s will. A condition tied to inheriting full control of Cross Enterprises.” He tossed the towel aside. “I had to be married by the end of this fiscal year, or the board takes controlling interest and my cousin’s side of the family — Serena’s father — gets the deciding vote.”

Mia went very still. “So I’m not just leverage against my father. I’m a business requirement.”

“You’re both.” At least he didn’t try to soften it. “The timing worked in my favor. Your father’s debt, my deadline — it solved two problems with one contract.”

“How romantic,” Mia said, and the bitterness in her own voice surprised her.

“I never promised romance.” Something flickered in his eyes — not quite guilt, but adjacent to it. “I promised two million dollars and your father’s freedom. You knew what this was.”

“I knew half of what this was. There’s a difference.” She stood, needing the height advantage even if it didn’t actually change anything about the conversation. “So what happens if Serena tells the board the marriage is fake? A contract, not a real relationship?”

“Then I lose the company my father built, and everything I’ve spent a decade rebuilding goes to a woman who’d sell it off in pieces within a year.” His voice hardened. “Which is exactly why Serena would love nothing more than to prove this marriage isn’t real.”

“And if she succeeds?”

“She won’t.” He said it with the flat certainty of a man used to being right. “Because you’re going to help me make sure of it.”

Two hours later, Mia found herself standing in a walk-in closet the size of her old bedroom, staring at racks of clothing with tags still attached — gowns, blazers, things she’d never have chosen for herself and would never have been able to afford if she had.

“Cross Enterprises is hosting its quarterly gala Friday,” Damian said from the doorway, arms crossed, watching her take it in. “Every board member will be there. Including my uncle. Including Serena.”

“And you want me to play the devoted wife.”

“I want you to play my convincing wife.” He stepped further into the room, pulling a dark green gown from the rack without hesitation, like he’d already decided before she’d even walked in. “There’s a difference between devoted and convincing, and I need the second one.”

Mia took the gown from him, fingers brushing his for half a second longer than necessary. “And if I say no?”

“You won’t.” The confidence in his voice wasn’t arrogance, exactly — it was worse. It was certainty born from watching her decide, over and over, that she had more to lose by refusing than by playing along. “You need this marriage to succeed as much as I do, Mia. Your father’s freedom depends on the same contract my company does.”

She hated that he was right.

“Fine,” she said. “But if I’m doing this, I want more truth. Real truth. Not the pieces you decide to give me when it’s convenient.”

Damian studied her for a long moment — long enough that she wondered if he was actually considering it, or simply calculating how much truth he could afford to part with.

“After the gala,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you the rest after the gala.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted. But standing there in a stranger’s closet, holding a dress worth more than she’d made in a year at her old job, Mia understood that with Damian Cross, incomplete answers were the only kind she was going to get — until he decided she’d earned the whole truth, on his terms, at a time of his choosing.

She just hoped she could survive whatever Serena had planned before that day came.