*Chapter Two*
*Her Ruin, His Salvation*
*POV: Ayla*
I didn't answer him.
How do you respond to a man who offers you marriage like a business transaction? Like it's an investment portfolio?
I left.
Or maybe I floated. I don't remember walking out of that bar, but I remember the feel of the cold night air hitting my face like a slap. Sharp. Real. Awakening.
It had to be a dream. A nightmare stitched together by heartbreak and too much whiskey. The kind you wake up from, gasping, praying for it not to be real.
But it *was* real.
Dominic Crane wanted to marry me.
For revenge.
And somehow, that made more sense than the past two years of my life.
—
I didn't go home.
Home wasn't home anymore. It was a crime scene. A tomb of memories soaked in lies and betrayal. My key still worked, but I couldn't step inside.
I slept in my car.
I curled up in the back seat, wrapped myself in my coat, and stared at the roof until my eyes burned. Not a single tear came. Not anymore. I was dry. Empty.
The morning sunlight was cruel, leaking through the windshield like a reminder that the world hadn't stopped even if mine had.
My phone buzzed.
*Unknown Number:* *You'll need a dress.*
I stared at the message.
No name. No emoji. Just cold, bold confidence.
Dominic.
I didn't reply.
*Unknown Number:* *Black. Clean. Nothing too soft. Meet me at 9 a.m. 122 Bellamy Tower. Top floor.*
I should've blocked him.
Instead, I opened Google Maps.
—
Bellamy Tower scraped the sky like it didn't care who choked on the dust below. The lobby was all chrome, glass, and silence. No reception desk. No waiting area. Just a private elevator and a black-suited man who wordlessly scanned my name from a list and let me in.
I expected cold.
I got opulence.
The top floor looked like something out of a luxury magazine. Minimalist, ruthless elegance. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city like it belonged to him.
Which it probably did.
He stood facing the glass, back straight, hands in his pockets, wearing a black suit that made the devil look underdressed.
"You came," he said without turning.
"I'm not here to say yes," I said, voice low.
"Then you're here to think about it." He turned. His eyes cut through me like ice. "That's a start."
I folded my arms. "Why me?"
He walked toward me slowly, controlled, dangerous. "Because you're raw. Wounded. And still standing."
"That doesn't make me strong," I snapped.
"No," he said. "But it makes you angry. That's enough."
I didn't answer.
He handed me a file.
Inside were photos.
Ryan. Maya. Together. Laughing. Drinking champagne on what looked like a yacht. In some, they were kissing. In others… I couldn't look.
"This was last weekend," he said. "While you were planning the wedding, they were celebrating your humiliation."
I slammed the file shut. "Why do you have these?"
He shrugged. "I have eyes everywhere."
"Why are you really doing this?" I demanded. "What do you gain from marrying me?"
Dominic didn't blink. "Control."
Of course.
"This is a game to you."
"This is war," he corrected. "And you need a weapon."
"And you think I'll let *you* use me as one?"
"No," he said. "I think you'll use *me*."
That stopped me.
"What?"
"You don't want sympathy, Ayla. You want power. You want them to regret breathing. I can give you that."
I hated how much those words stirred something inside me.
He stepped closer. "Say yes, and by the end of the year, Maya won't be able to show her face in this city. Ryan will be unemployed, broke, and publicly humiliated. And you?" He tilted his head. "You'll be untouchable."
It was madness.
It was poison.
And it was the most tempting thing I'd ever heard.
"Fine," I whispered. "On one condition."
His brow lifted.
"I won't be your puppet. If I say yes, I get to burn them *my* way."
His lips curled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
I didn't know if he was seducing me... Or destroying me.
But I let him.