Chapter 12

I didn’t sleep that night.

I lay in Maya’s guest bed, staring at the ceiling, the leather folder resting on the nightstand like a loaded gun.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the numbers. Five hundred thousand dollars per year. Two million total. Plus the bonus. Plus startup capital.

Two million dollars to pretend to be someone’s wife for two years.

I’d picked up the contract a dozen times. Read through sections. Put it down. Picked it up again.

Article II: Obligations

Public appearances as devoted spouse. Physical displays of affection. Cohabitation. Discretion.

Article III: Discretion

Absolute confidentiality. Violation results in forfeiture of all compensation.

Article V: Termination

Early termination permitted only under specific circumstances. Otherwise, two years. No exceptions.

Two years of my life.

Two years of lying to everyone.

Two years as Mrs. Alexander Lockwood.

At three in the morning, I got up and made coffee. Sat at Maya’s small kitchen table with the contract spread before me.

The apartment was dark except for the light over the table. Silent except for the occasional car passing outside.

I read the entire contract. Every word. Every clause. Every protection and obligation and consequence.

It was airtight. Professional. Fair, even, considering what he was asking.

But it was still selling two years of my life to a man I barely knew.

Maya found me there at six, still in my pajamas, surrounded by contract pages.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, starting her own coffee.

“No.”

“Have you decided?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes. “Maya, this is insane.”

“We’ve established that.” She sat across from me. “But insane doesn’t mean wrong.”

“How can this possibly be right?”

“Right and wrong are subjective. Let’s talk facts instead.” She pulled the contract toward her, flipping to the compensation page. “Two million dollars. That’s fact. Enough money to start your own company. To never worry about rent or food or health insurance again. To build something no one can take from you.”

“In exchange for two years of lying.”

“In exchange for two years of playing a role. You’ve been playing roles your whole life, Di. The perfect daughter. The perfect girlfriend. The perfect employee. At least this time you’re getting paid what you’re worth.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“Because marriage is supposed to mean something. It’s supposed to be real.”

Maya was quiet for a moment. “Your engagement to Leo was real. How did it work out?”

The words hit like a slap. “That’s not fair.”

“No, but it’s true. You gave Leo three years of real. You molded yourself into what he wanted. You sacrificed your dreams for his comfort. And he thanked you by fucking your stepsister in your bed.” Maya’s voice was gentle but firm. “At least with Xander, you know exactly what you’re getting. No surprises. No betrayal. Just terms, conditions, and compensation.”

“You really think I should do this.”

“I think you should ask yourself what you want your life to look like in five years. Do you want to still be fighting for scraps? Still trying to convince people you’re not a thief? Still broke and blacklisted and watching Genevieve win?” She leaned forward. “Or do you want to have your own company? Your own money? Your own power? Because this contract is offering you the second option.”

“At what cost?”

“Two years. That’s the cost. Two years of pretending. Two years of attending parties and playing house with a man who’s honest about wanting a transaction instead of lying about wanting love.” Maya squeezed my hand. “Di, I can’t tell you what to do. But I can tell you this: I’ve watched you shrink yourself for other people your entire life. Maybe it’s time to choose something for yourself, even if it’s unconventional.”

I looked at the contract. At the signature line on the last page, waiting for my name.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“Good. If you weren’t scared, I’d be worried. This is terrifying. But terror and stupid aren’t the same thing.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you deal with it. You’re Diana Pembroke. You’ve survived your mother’s death, your father’s neglect, Genevieve’s cruelty, Leo’s betrayal, and getting fired for something you didn’t do. You can survive two years of pretending to be married to a hot billionaire.”

Despite everything, I smiled. “He is hot.”

“Extremely. Which makes this slightly less of a sacrifice.”

I pulled the contract back toward me. Stared at the signature line.

One signature. That’s all it would take.

One signature and Diana Pembroke became Mrs. Alexander Lockwood.

One signature and everything changed.

“What would you do?” I asked. “Honestly.”

Maya was quiet for a long moment. “I’d sign. But I’m not you. Only you know what you can live with.”

I picked up the pen Xander had left with the contract. Expensive, heavy. The kind of pen used for important documents.

My hand hovered over the signature line.

Two years.

Two million dollars.

A chance to rebuild everything I’d lost.

A chance to look Genevieve in the eye as an equal instead of a victim.

A chance to prove I wasn’t destroyed.

I signed my name.

The ink was black and permanent. No taking it back.

Diana Elizabeth Pembroke.

“Oh my God,” Maya breathed. “You did it.”

“I did it.” I set down the pen, my hand shaking. “I just agreed to marry a stranger.”

“A hot stranger who’s paying you two million dollars.”

“That doesn’t make this less insane.”

“No. But it makes it profitable insanity.” Maya hugged me. “Okay. What happens now?”

I pulled out my phone. Found Xander’s number from the business card he’d given me at The Vault, the one I’d kept despite telling myself I wouldn’t.

My thumb hovered over his name.

This was it. The point of no return.

I pressed call.

He answered on the second ring. “Diana.” His voice was calm, unsurprised. Like he’d been expecting this.

“I signed.”

“I know.”

“How do you know? I just signed two minutes ago.”

“Because I’m a good judge of character. And I knew you’d call.” I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “When can you come to my office?”

“Your office?”

“We need to finalize details. Discuss timeline. Get you set up with everything you’ll need.” A pause. “Can you be here by noon?”

I looked at the clock. It was six thirty. “Today?”

“Yes. We have forty-eight hours until the Lockwood Industries spring gala. You’ll be attending as my fiancée. We need to prepare.”

“Forty-eight hours? Xander, I can’t—”

“You can. And you will. This is what you signed up for, Diana. Public appearances starting immediately. Are you in or not?”

The question was a challenge. A test.

“I’m in.”

“Good. I’ll text you the address. Noon. Don’t be late.”

He hung up.

I stared at my phone, my heart racing.

“What did he say?” Maya asked.

“He wants me at his office at noon. And apparently I’m attending some gala in two days as his fiancée.”

“Two days? Di, you don’t even have a ring.”

“I don’t even have an explanation for how we got engaged.”

“You’re going to need one. His family will ask. His colleagues will ask. Everyone will ask.”

She was right. We needed a story. A believable story about how Alexander Lockwood met and fell for Diana Pembroke fast enough to propose within weeks.

I looked at the contract again. At my signature, still wet with ink.

What had I done?

At eleven forty-five, I stood outside Lockwood Industries headquarters in Midtown.

The building was glass and steel, stretching into the sky. Impressive. Intimidating. The kind of building housed empires.

I was wearing the most professional outfit I owned. Black pants. White blouse. Maya’s blazer. My hair in a neat bun. Makeup carefully applied.

I looked like someone who belonged in buildings like this.

I felt like an imposter.

The lobby was marble and chrome. A security desk. Elevators. People in expensive suits moving with purpose.

I approached the desk. “Diana Pembroke. I have an appointment with Mr. Lockwood.”

The guard checked his computer. “Top floor. He’s expecting you.”

The elevator ride felt eternal. I watched the numbers climb. Twenty floors. Thirty. Forty.

Fifty.

The doors opened directly into a reception area. More glass. More chrome. A stunning view of Manhattan spreading in every direction.

A woman sat at the reception desk. Blonde, polished, intimidatingly beautiful.

“Ms. Pembroke?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Lockwood is waiting. This way.”

She led me down a hallway lined with abstract art. Through glass doors into a corner office.

Xander stood by the windows, phone to his ear, looking out at the city. He wore a dark suit, perfectly tailored. He looked like power personified.

He turned when I entered. Said something into the phone and hung up.

“Diana. Right on time.”

“You said not to be late.”

“And you listened. Good.” He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

I sat. The chair was leather, expensive, surprisingly comfortable.

Xander moved around his desk but didn’t sit. He stood there, studying me. “You signed the contract.”

“I did.”

“Any second thoughts?”

“About a thousand. But I signed anyway.”

“Why?”

The question caught me off guard. “You know why. The money. The opportunity.”

“That’s part of it. But there’s more. You could have said no. Could have kept job hunting, kept struggling, kept hoping something would change. But you didn’t. You chose this. Why?”

I met his eyes. “Because I’m tired of being a victim. Tired of letting other people control my life. This gives me control.”

Something flickered in his expression. Approval, maybe. “Good answer.”

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small box. Set it in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I picked up the box. Opened it.

Inside was a credit card. Black. My name embossed in silver. Diana Pembroke.

“What is this?”

“Your card. Linked to an account I’ve set up for you. The wardrobe allowance and monthly stipend will go into it. Starting today.”

I stared at the card. My name on a black credit card. The kind reserved for people with more money than I could imagine.

“There’s already three hundred and fifty thousand in the account,” Xander continued. “You’ll need clothes for the gala. Appropriate clothes. Designer. Expensive. You’re about to become Mrs. Alexander Lockwood. You need to look the part.”

“I don’t even know what the part looks like.”

“You will. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you at Bergdorf Goodman. Two o’clock today. They’re expecting you. Get everything you need. Gala dress, shoes, accessories. Also everyday clothes. You’ll be attending events regularly. You need a wardrobe equal to it.”

My head was spinning. “This is happening very fast.”

“It has to. The gala is in forty-eight hours. Everyone who matters in my world will be there. You’ll be introduced as my fiancée. We need you ready.”

“Ready how?”

Xander sat on the edge of his desk, closer now. “Ready to convince everyone we’re in love. Ready to answer questions about how we met. Ready to look comfortable at my side.”

“And how did we meet? What’s our story?”

“We met at The Vault. Six weeks ago. I saw you across the room. Couldn’t look away. Approached you. We became friends. We talked and I was captivated.”

“Six weeks? People will think we’re rushing.”

“When you know, you know. That’s what we’ll say. I’ve been married to my work for years. Then I met you and everything changed. Love at first sight. Whirlwind romance. I proposed last week. You said yes. We’re getting married in three months.”

“Three months?”

“July. A July wedding. Gives us time to plan something believable without waiting so long people get suspicious.”

I tried to process everything. “What about your family? Your mother?”

“My mother will hate you on principle. She wanted me to marry Isabelle Whitmore. Senator’s daughter. Old money. Appropriate pedigree.” His expression was unreadable. “Your job is to be so charming, so perfect, so obviously right for me nobody can say anything without looking petty.”

“No pressure.”

“You handled impossible clients for three years. You can handle my mother for two.” He stood, walking to the window. “Diana, I need you to understand something. The gala is your debut. First impressions matter. Everyone will be watching. Judging. Looking for cracks. We can’t give them any.”

“So I need to be perfect.”

“You need to be convincing. There’s a difference.” He turned back to me. “Perfect is boring. Perfect is suspicious. You need to be real. Or real enough they believe it.”

“And how do I do something like this?”

“By remembering this is a performance. You’re playing a role. The woman who captured my attention. The woman I want to marry. You don’t have to actually be her. You just have to make everyone else believe she exists.”

I looked at the credit card in my hand. At the name embossed in silver. Diana Pembroke.

Soon to be Diana Lockwood.

“When do I move into your place?” I asked.

“After the gala. We’ll move your things from Maya’s apartment. You’ll have your own bedroom. Your own space. But we’ll share common areas. We need to be comfortable around each other. Natural.”

“Natural. Right.” I stood. “Anything else I should know before I go spend fifty thousand dollars on clothes?”

“Yes.” He crossed to me, standing close. Close enough I could smell his cologne. “At the gala, we’ll need to be affectionate. Nothing excessive. But hand-holding. My arm around your waist. Maybe a kiss or two. You need to be comfortable with me touching you.”

“We’ve done more than touch.”

“In private. This is different. This is performance.” His hand came up, cupping my face gently. “Can you do this? Can you let me touch you in front of hundreds of people and make it look real?”

My heart hammered. His thumb brushed my cheek, and I felt the same electricity from that night at The Vault.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good.” He stepped back, the moment broken. “Go shopping. Get what you need. My driver will take you. I’ll see you at the gala. I’ll pick you up from Maya’s at six thirty.”

“Okay.”

“Diana.” He stopped me as I reached the door. “You made the right choice. I know it doesn’t feel like it yet. But you did.”

I wanted to believe him.

I walked out of his office, through the reception area, into the elevator.

As the doors closed, I looked at the credit card in my hand.

This was real. This was happening.

In forty-eight hours, I would walk into a gala on Alexander Lockwood’s arm as his fiancée.

In three months, I would marry him.

For two years, I would be his wife.

I’d signed the contract. Made the choice. Stepped into the trap.

Now I just had to survive it.

The elevator descended, carrying me back to ground level.

Back to reality.

Except reality had just shifted into something I didn’t recognize.

And there was no going back.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​